I slide into the passenger seat, and Ryland starts the car. I shiver and he turns the heat on. I glance back at Elle. I don’t like the glazed look in her eyes, and I’m worried something was slipped in her drink.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, worry leaking into my tone.
She nods woodenly, staring out the window as Ryland pulls away from the curb.
I don’t believe her. How could she be okay? Anyone would be shaken up after something like that.
Heats blasts out of the vents, and I welcome it. It’s late, nearly two in the morning, and all I want to do is go to sleep. I lean my head back and stare out the window at the passing houses. The houses soon give way to businesses and then we’re back at campus.
I tell Ryland the best place to drop us off and I hop out, going around to get Elle who’s passed out in the back now. I manage to get her awake enough that she gets out of the car and can rest against me.
“Thanks for this,” I tell Ryland.
“What’s your number?” he asks. He quickly adds, “So we can meet up and I can give you that tour tomorrow.?
?? He smiles shyly.
I rattle off my phone number, and he enters it into his phone. “I’ll text you,” he says.
I nod and lift my hand in goodbye.
Elle and I make our way back to the dorm. I have to basically drag her up the steps and into the building.
I finally get her inside our room and she collapses on her bed.
I do the same. I’m too tired to change, and for once, I’ll have to commit the sin of sleeping in my makeup.
Before I fall asleep, I hear Elle whisper, “Welcome to college.”
My feet thump against the ground as I run.
I run hard, and I run fast.
I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. The last thing I need to do is blow out my already compromised knee, but I have to run. It’s the only thing that can clear my head.
My head’s a mess lately. Between the injury and the negative media attention, my life has gone to shit. I had it all, and now I have nothing but grains of sand running through my fingers.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
I made matters worse by helping out Grace yesterday.
Fuck. Grace. Her looks were what first caught my eye, but it turns out I actually liked her. Spending the afternoon with her had been nice. I’d felt like the old me, the me before hockey and fame went to my head and ruined every-fucking-thing. I wasn’t going to let it ruin things anymore. I could get my shit together, prove to the world that I was more than a playboy, that hockey really was my life—because it was. It was everything. Without hockey, I had nothing. I’d been playing basically since I could walk. My dad had played too—not professionally, but the sport had been everything to him and he’d wanted to share it with me. So, yeah, maybe he’d pushed me into it, but this was what I wanted to. The last year and a half or so I’d forgotten that, and let the money, the parties, the lifestyle get to me. With beautiful women throwing themselves at you, it was impossible not to indulge in the puck bunnies. Fuck, even some of the married guys were known to do it, so why was I targeted by the media so fucking much? I was pretty much always followed by the fuckers, and they rarely had anything good to say about me. It was like someone had it out for me.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
I needed to get back out on the ice. I needed to start training again.
But I knew Coach Harrison wasn’t going to let me do that. He was going to stick to his word and wait until my leg had loosened up—so I’d make sure it got there as soon as possible.
Thump.