Preston
MY JAW ACHES WITH how hard I'm clenchingmy teeth
together. It's giving me a headache. I'm fucking exhausted
and the adrenaline crash is riding me hard.
After being picked up by my father's driver, I was
delivered to his new fucking penthouse to have my stitches
removed and another new fucking cut added to my body.
How dare I be tired from traveling after packing up my dorm
room, right?
I haven't had a chance to crash, but it's coming. A few
more hours of putting on a fake fucking face before I can
disappear into the shower and fall apart.
My shoulders are tense as I lift my suitcase to the bed to
unpack it. I force myself to not let out the hiss of pain as my
new stitches pull at the movement. The throb at the back of
my head is taking over and I can barely think around it.
I don'twant to be here, moving into this tiny fucking dorm
room that I have to share. Since I was enrolled past the
deadline, it was too late to persuade the school to give me
my own room. Father is not happy about it, but he made this
fucking choice. I could have stayed in God damn Boston,
stayed close to my sister, who's in boarding school because
God knows he's not going to raise his own child. But no. I'm
here in fucking Colorado."Are you waiting for something?" I snap at the guy I just
interrupted getting a BJ. I'm sure this is exactly what he
wants to be doing right now. Pretty sure the other dude is
also on the team. That should make for some fun situations
later. I wonder how long it'll take for the boyfriend to give
me the "don't touch" speech.
"I guess not." Jeremy stands up a little straighter, his
shoulders squaring, and some confidence slides over his
face. He's cute when he's got some backbone. Too bad I
don't have time for distractions.
"Why aren't you running drills or working out? Theseason
starts soon."I fall back into my asshole ways so fucking
easily. Keep him at arm's length so he doesn't land on
Father's radar. I workout all the damn time, my body is
conditioned much like those who play in the pros since that
is what my father wants from me.
It was incredibly frustrating playing for the juniors in a Tier
Two division for the NAHL when Tier One teams with USHL
have been scouting me since I was seventeen, but I wasn't
allowed to leave New England. Can't stray too far from dear
ol' dad.
He wants to show offhis perfect son, marry offhis perfect
daughter to the highestbidder, and become invincible.
Show his drunk of a father how much better he is because
he has money and prestige. Lily is a very innocent
seventeen-year-old that has not yet felt the wrath of Doctor Andrew Carmichael. I've done everything in my power to
keep it that way.
I just have to make it until her birthday next summer.
Then I can tell my father to fuck offand never look back. I
don't need him.
I unzipmy suitcase to give myself something to do. Even
that small movement pulls on the damn stitches. My body is
riddled with scars, from my shoulders to my knees, from my
father's scalpel over the years. He's managed to keep most
of them from crossing, blaming them on medical procedures
anytime he was questioned. He's a highly respected
surgeon, why would he be lying?
Lifting stacks of clothes out of the suitcase, I get them
placed neatly in the drawers at the end of the tiny bed I'll be
sleeping on for my freshman year.
"We have a workout schedule set by the coach, I follow
that so I don't burn myself out or risk injury." His tone is
sharper thanit was a minute ago. Lookie there, abit more
back bone. My dick almost takes notice.
"If you want to get picked up in the draft, you need to step
up your game. You had anunremarkable year last year, you
have to do better." My words cut through the space between
us with my back to him. I don't plan them, they fall out of
my mouth. They are almost word for word what my father
told me this morning.
"Uh, no. I want to coach."
Silence falls and it is heavy.
Since my suitcase is empty, I zip it back up and slide it
under my bed then turn to face him.
"If you don't want to play, why are you wasting
everyone's time and the school's resources? Someone who
wants to play could have your spot on the team and be seen
by thescouts." Once again, my father's words fall from my
lips. I've said it before to my teammates in the past.
He almost flinches but manages to meet my gaze and
hold it. Why do I want tobreak that strength? Maybe I am
my father's son after all.
Jeremy has no response. It's better that way.
I take a step toward him, crowding him against his bed.
"Let me be very clear, I am not here to make friends. I'm
here to play hockey to the best of my abilities andI will not
let your lack of work ethic drag me down. Get a good night's
rest becausetomorrow you are all in for a rude fucking
awakening."
"You do realize that I was playing on a Tier One team
right? You weren't. I think that speaks enough about my
work ethic." he snaps back. Hmm. I do love the fight.
"I wasn't on a Tier One team by choice. I've turned down
recruiters three years in a row." I hold his gaze, watching as
the confusion crosses his face.
"Why the hell would you turn it down? That's the dumbest
thing I've ever heard!" His arms spread out wide ashe talks.
"That's none of your business, is it?"He stares at me for a minute, confused and disbelieving,
before a phone buzzes and I watch Jeremy look at his phone
on the nightstand next to his bed. Jesus, this room is fucking
small. Pretty sure my childhood closet was bigger than this.
I take a stepback and force my hands into my pockets.
Something about him hasmy fingers itching to touch, but I
can't.
Taking in the shaggy darkblond hair on his head and the
perfectly unscarred expanse of his chest, my skin tingles
imagining him against me despite how much my head
revolts at the thought of being touched. The muscles of his
abdomen flex as he pulls his t-shirt over his headand my
mouth waters. He's hot, there's no other way to put it. With
his boy-next-door vibe, he appears friendly, but I'm willing
to bet he's not so nice on the ice. I vaguely remember
playing against him and I can't wait to get to know how he
plays so I can pick him apart.
Albrooke slides his phone into the pocket of his
sweatpants and runs a hand through his hair. "I guess this
means you don't want tomeet the team for a beer?" His
eyes rake down my body,the muscles in his jaw jumping as
he tenses.
"No."
He slides his feet into some worn blue slip-ons, probably
Vans, and disappears, closing our door behind him.
Finally, I'm able to breathe. My hands shake, my stomach
turns, and my knees give out, dropping me onto my unmadebed. I lean my elbows on my knees and hold my head in my
hands while the breath in my lungs stutters in and out of my
ribcage. In the blink of an eye, I'm hyperventilating, my
eyes fluttering shut as the morning's activities slam into me.
The pull of the stitches being removed from my flesh, the
burn of the scalpel as it sliced the skin on my left pec open.
My stomach turns and I rush to the bathroom to empty its
contents into the toilet. My knees hit the floor hard enough
to bruise but I barely notice the pain. Sweat beads on my
forehead as stomach acid burns my throat and nose.
I haven't had a chance tocrash until now, the adrenaline
high of this morning finally wearing off, leaving me weak
and tired.
"Have you already forgotten your manners? Watch your
fucking mouth."
The memory of my father's barely-contained rage when I
told himI could take the stitches out myself and to leave me
alone sends a shiver up my spine. I fucking hate him. Nine
months and he can't touch Lily anymore. She'll be an adult,
graduated from high school, and finally able to touch the
inheritance our mother left her. He won't be able to touch
her, which means he'll lose his hold over me.
Dragging myass offthe floor, I don't bother turning the
light on before I strip my clothes offand turn the hot water
on. I don't want to see the fucking scars anyway.
I didn't put any shower stuffin here, so I grope at the
walls and find whatever Jeremy fucking Albrooke has. If he notices, I don't give a shit.
I'm careful to keep the bandage on my chest dry, but I
know I'll have to change it and send a picture to dear ol' dad
later. Gotta make sure it's not getting infected, that I'm
taking care of it properly.
The heat of the water doesn't do much to relax my
muscles but I stand under it until it turns cold anyway. It's
peaceful in here, in the dark, alone.
Alone is safe.
Turning the water off, I realize I don't have a towel or a
change of clothes. God damn it.
I feel along the wall until I find the door and the towel
hanging on a hook. Looks like I'm using the roommate's
towel too. The rest of my shit should be delivered tomorrow,
though I'm not sure how I'm going to explain this if he asks.
It's fucking weird to usesomeone's towel that you don't
know.
Quickly, I dry offand grab my clothes from the floor. I
don't want toput dirty clothes on but I can't let anyone see
the scars either. They'll ask questions, and if they push it,
they will disappear. They always do.
Cracking the bathroom door open, I peer around the room
and see it's still empty. I lock the door and hurry to my
dresser to grab clothes. Being covered feels better.
I'm fucking exhausted and I have to be up at four am for a
run. How late is this dumbass going to be? Will I be able to
sleep or will nightmares wake me up in two hours?I check my phone and find a message from my father
wanting a fucking picture. I find the pack of first aidsupplies
he shoved at me this morning and head into the bathroom,
closing and locking the door behind me. This time I turn the
light onand pull my left arm out of my t-shirt so I don't have
to hold it while I deal with the bandage.
Carefully, I remove the gauze that's taped to my skin and
clean the wound. I'm patting it dry with a piece of gauze
when the door to my dormis opened and someone tries the
bathroom knob. My head swings to the side when whoever
is on the other side bangs on the door.
"Hurry up dude! I gotta piss!" Sounds like Albrooke.
"Fuck off," I growl, quickly taking a picture and covering
the wound.
"Unless you're taking a shit or jacking off, open the door!"
He bangs on the door again.
I slip my armback through the sleeve and gather my
supplies back into the brown paper bag.
Ripping openthe door, I stand in the way so he can't push
past me.
"What the fuck is your problem?" he yells, cheeks flushed
from alcohol.
"You. If I'm in here, I'm not letting you in. I don't care if
you're about to shit your pants. Find another bathroom." My
empty hand lands in the middle of Jeremy's chest and I push
him back out of my way.He must really need to piss since he doesn't have a
comeback and just hurries into the bathroom with the damn
door still open. I lift my lip at his lack of privacy and shove
the brown bag into the dresser before turning to my bed.
Shit.
I don't have sheets or a pillow. Great.
Digging through my shit, I find a hoodie, fold it into a
pillow, then lie down, back pressed against the wall, and
close my eyes.
Should I be working out tomorrow? No. Am I going to do it
anyway? Yes.I don't have a reason for the damn stitches so
I can't tell the coach I'm ineligible for medical reasons.