“Get the fuck out of here, St. Clair.”
I couldn't stand fast enough. No really, with my pads on, when I stood, the chair came with me, fused to my ass. I shoved the arms. It popped free of my backside and clattered loudly when it hit the floor. I had one hand on the doorknob when Coach tossed out his parting words of wisdom.
“If you don't get your act together, not only will I bench you, I'll make you see the team therapist.”
I shuddered. Damn if the cranky old bastard didn't know exactly what to say to keep my ass in line. Therapy? Um, fuck no. I cleared my throat a couple times and replied without turning to look at Coach V. “That won't be necessary. I'll make sure of it.”
I took off, knowing I'd keep my word. During my time in lockup, I spent hours in therapy, talking out my “problems” until I was hoarse and my brain had liquefied to one step up from vegetable. None of it helped. All that time spent “reflecting” and I left juvie just as angry and fucked up as the day I went in.
By the time I got back to the changing room, everyone was gone. Except Ev. Dressed and showered, my best friend leaned against the wall near my space. Great. One more person to add to the shame pile.
“I already apologized, Evvy. Not sure what else you want from me.”
Ev stared at me like I was the biggest fuckstick on the planet. And maybe I was. What the hell did I know anymore?
“I don't want anything from you, Seb. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
I cursed. More guilt. Seemed I brought a lot of that upon myself lately.
I didn’t want to argue, so I started to strip, eager to put some space between my long-suffering olfactory nerves and my rank, swampy hockey gear. “I’m good,” I said as I dropped the last pad, wrapped a towel around my waist, and headed for the showers.
“Wait.” Ev grabbed my arm as I walked by. “Dude, I know something’s up with you. Not to get all Dr. Phil, but you haven't been yourself.” He shook his head. “That's not entirely true. It's like you were better for a while. Kinda like a happier version of you.” Evvy grimaced. “But now you're back to being an angry son of a bitch. Angrier if that’s even possible. Just…if I can do anything to help—”
He didn’t mean to, but Ev’s little speech dredged up memories of Kylie and it pissed me off. I tore out of Cal’s grasp, ready to bite his head off, and caught myself. I was too fucking exhausted, being angry all the time, skin like an overinflated balloon, all tight and itchy, ready to pop at any second. It was time to pull the plug, let out the extra air, and stop being a miserable bastard all the damn time.
I gave Ev a wan smile and patted his arm. “Thanks, man. I appreciate the offer but there's not much you can do.”
He pushed off the wall and nodded. “I get it. Just… take care of yourself.” Ev lightly punched me in the shoulder and left.
I cranked the water to peel your skin off hot and stood under the spray as I wondered what to do next. When it came down to it, there was really only one viable option, because constantly pining over Kylie, fucking up my game and my head, sucked. I either had to confront her and get some answers or forget she ever existed and go back to burying myself in detached, meaningless sex with easy women.
I winced. The second option kind of made my stomach hurt.
It made the decision easy.
Kylie
“Kylie?”
Oh god. No, no, no.
Between the desperate ache in my heart for Seb, the need to hide my mental anguish from Rocco, and my stupid stomach, fine one minute, making me do the fifty-yard dash to the bathroom the next, the last thing I needed was to be around someone with a freaky, superhuman ability to suss out emotional issues.
“I’m okay, Piper,” I said from where I hunched over the toilet in one of the stalls at work.
“You don't sound okay. Besides, don’t think I haven’t noticed you've been getting sick a lot lately.”
I rolled my eyes. See? Like Rocco, Piper was too darn observant. I was convinced they were both X-Men and half expected Patrick Stewart to roll in from stage right whenever one of them entered a room.
I flushed, exited the stall, and washed my hands. A quick glance in the mirror and some of the tension left my body. For once I didn't look like I went fifty rounds with the porcelain god. A little pale, maybe a bit of sweat at my temples. I could live with that. I dried off my hands and headed for the door.
“Kylie…” Piper shifted to block the exit. “What's going on?
”
“Nothing.”
Piper glared, her way of letting me know she thought my answer sucked. I huffed and threw my arms out.