I swear to God, if Allie got back together with that undeserving ass, I’m going to…what? Lose it again? “Break up” with her? All I’ve done so far is avoid her, big talker that I am. Truthfully, I’m afraid of what she might say.
Footsteps echo beyond the door. I instantly tense. Wait, it’s the wrong door, I realize. Not the one leading out to the ice, but the one that opens to the main hallway.
“Dean?” Allie’s voice has my head snapping up.
How the hell did she get back here? We have security guards manning the facility during home games to prevent people from stealing into the locker rooms and messing with the equipment. That actually happened a couple years ago—a rabid fan of our opponents’ snuck in and spray-painted LOSER on our lockers. I hadn’t realized some colleges let in five-year-olds.
There’s a soft knock. “Dean, are you in there?”
I answer on a ragged breath, “Yeah.”
Allie pokes her blond head in the room. She spots me on the bench and makes a beeline toward me. She’s in jeans and a red sweater, with her hair up in a messy bun, and either I’m imagining it or her eyes are rimmed with red. Has she been crying?
“How’d you get past security?” I ask gruffly.
“I told the guard I’m your girlfriend and that I desperately needed to check on my man. There may have been some crocodile tears involved.” She grins wryly. “The ability to cry on command really comes in handy sometimes.”
“And he bought it?”
“Yep. I’m very convincing. But I did have to show him my Briar ID to prove I wasn’t a saboteur.” She sits beside me. “Why did you get kicked out of the game?”
I stare straight ahead. “I sucker punched someone. Damn foolish on my part. I deserve to be in here.”
“Maybe. But it still sucks.” She goes quiet for a moment. I can feel her blue eyes boring into the side of my face. “You’re avoiding me.”
I glance over. “Just a bit.”
“A bit? There aren’t degrees of avoidance, Dean. You’re either avoiding someone, or you aren’t.”
“Not true. Sometimes there’re extenuating circumstances. Unexpected variables.”
“Like what?”
I shrug. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter,” she corrects, “but we can put a pin in that for the moment.” She presses one hand against my cheek, then slides it to my chin to twist my head toward her. Forcing eye contact. “I know you’re pissed at me for seeing Sean.”
“I’m not pissed. You can see whoever you want.” I put on an indifferent tone, when inside, I’m bristling. “But let me just point out the hypocrisy of that. Weren’t we supposed to give each other a head’s up before we hooked up with anyone else?”
“I didn’t hook up with him.”
“No?”
“No,” she says in a firm voice. “And if your silent treatment also has to do with you thinking Sean and I got back together, I can assure you, we did not. He wanted to, but I said no.”
I can’t explain the gust of relief that slams into my chest. “Good to know,” I say lightly, but the knowing gleam in her eyes reveals she is absolutely aware of how pleased I am.
She takes my hand and twines our fingers together. “Sean and I are over. I don’t want to be with him, and that’s exactly what I told him yesterday.”
“Bet he wasn’t thrilled to hear it.”
“Nope, but it’s something he’ll need to accept.” She rubs her thumb over my tender knuckles. They’re not bleeding anymore, but the way she gasps, you’d think my hand had been amputated. “You shouldn’t be fighting,” she says sternly.
“Hockey players are hot-blooded, babe. We fight sometimes. Not the end of the world.”
“What did the jerk say to get you to punch him?”
“I don’t even remember,” I admit. “It was all a blur, and I was already in a shitty mood to begin with.”
Guilt fills her expression. “Because of me?”
“Naah.” My fingers tighten through hers. “O’Shea is on my case again because another goddamn picture showed up on Instagram.” I chuckle harshly. “I really need to start paying more attention when I’m at Malone’s.”
“O’Shea is your assistant coach? The one who forced you to volunteer at the middle school?”
“Defensive coordinator, and yes.”