I know I say I’m not, but I, too, am very distracted by Jayden Sinclair.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

But it won’t ruin my game because I’m going into the draft.

With my man.

As I sprint up and down the ice, shooting the pucks that are lined up for me before sprinting back, I ponder whether this would be easier and I wouldn’t want to puke if Jayden were here.

The answer is no.

When I finish, I swallow down the bile that wants to escape as I gasp, looking at my father.

“You’re faster,” he observes, and I nod.

“I’ve been running.”

“You’re running?” he says slowly and I shrug, panting for breath.

“Sinclair makes me.”

He scoffs. “I don’t think anyone makes you do anything. Seems like you just want to be better.”

“I do,” I pant. “I am better.”

“Good, thirty laps and you’re done.”

Fuck me.

Sucking in a deep breath, I carry my stick as if it weighs a billion pounds and start my laps. I’d rather be in bed—I don’t have class until eleven today, and I could have slept in since Jayden and I were up for most of the night. But instead, here I am.

Yay.

Skating around for the third time, my belly is queasy but I ignore it, pushing hard around the rink while my dad plays on his iPad. I want to hate him for that, but he isn’t the one working to get into the NHL. He made it, he won the Cup, and he quit it all for me.

Now I’ve got to work so that he knows he did right for me.

Digging in, I make my laps and wonder where Jayden is. His test must have taken longer than he thought. I kinda wish he were here, though; he makes laps and running bearable. Probably because I get to stare at him while I do it, and he lies to me by saying I’m doing so well to make me feel good. We all know it’s a damn lie, though, but still, it works and makes me smile. I really don’t know why I hate running so much; give me a stick and a puck and I can murder. Make me run for days, and I’ll be the one being murdered.

Damn cardio.

When I finally finish my laps, I lie out on the ice as my dad stands, folding up his chair. “Good job, Bay. We need this game that Mr. Fisher will be at to go well. I know you blame yourself for little Sinclair, but you gotta let that go. It’s time for you to shine.”

I can only nod as he walks off the ice. I know he’s right and I know I can shine, I just wish the butterflies in my gut would go somewhere else. I really don’t have time for them. I need to be confident. I need to believe in myself.

Pushing myself up, I skate off the ice, bent over, still gasping for breath before getting off the rink and heading to the locker room. Entering, I drop down on the bench and just lean back into my locker, letting my breathing regulate. I’m the only one here, so I take a moment to breathe. Usually I rush to get undressed and in the shower, but today, I’ll breathe.

When I’m breathing normally, I still only take my equipment off, leaving my tank and shorts on as I enter the showers with my towel and shower caddy. Must be habit, I guess. Going to my shower, which is the one in the corner so if anyone peeks in the window they can’t really see anything, I turn it on the hottest setting and remove my tank and shorts before pulling my hair out of its braid.

Going under the hot stream, I close my eyes and let the water just relax my aching muscles. Resting my hands behind my head, I suck in a breath and let it out slowly, just enjoying the hot water against my cool skin. Ugh, I needed this. Reaching down, I get my shampoo out of my caddy and start washing my mane of hair. After washing all the soap out, I put in conditioner, letting it soak in as I wash my body. I’m about to wash off when I hear the door open.

Looking back, I gasp, covering my lady bits as McCarthy strolls in, obviously unaware I’m here.

“Um. McCarthy, I’m in here,” I say, and he looks over at me, shrugging before going to the shower four down from me.

Okay, maybe he is aware and he’s just a dick.

“Yeah, so?”

“So I’m trying to wash,” I say, turning so he can only see my back…and bare ass.

“I don’t care. I just got done working out; I need to shower before class.”

“Okay, I’ll be done in—” I cut off when he drops his towel and turns the water on.

Yeah, I didn’t want to see his dick.

Looking over at me, he says, “I’m taking a shower, and you’re not going to stop me.”

As his gaze roams over my body, his eyes are menacing, and within seconds my chest hurts from my heart pounding in it and all I can do is blink. Finally, I recover; he won’t do anything to me. He wouldn’t dare. I’ll just hurry.

“Oh, don’t be shy, baby doll. I won’t look,” he says, and then he grins. “Much. Nice ass, by the way.”

“Disgusting,” I mutter, trying to go under the stream with my back to him to get the soap out of my hair.

“What, scared I’ll touch you? Force you to do something you don’t want to?” he asks and I pause, my hands in my hair.

“You touch me, I’ll kill you.”

“You know you want it. I see you looking at me,” he calls over to me, laughter in his voice.

“I’m not playing, McCarthy. I will hurt you,” I warn, looking over my shoulder at him. Washing my hair out, I try to be quick but I have so much hair.

“No one could hear you screaming, you know,” he warns then, and fuck it, I’m out. I’ll wash my hair at the house, or better yet, my dad’s.

Reaching over, I turn off the shower and grab my caddy and my towel, wrapping it around myself before heading for the door. But before I can reach it, he grabs ahold of my arm, knocking my caddy out of my hand, my hair and body stuff hitting the tile in a crash.

Whipping me to him, he grins and his dark eyes bore into mine. “Where ya going, baby?”

My heart is in my throat. I feel frozen, but there is no way I’m getting raped by this fucker. Ripping my hand out of his, I pull back, my fist coming forward and getting him in the mouth. His head whips back and he goes to call me something, but then I go to kick him in the dick and he blocks me, pushing me against the wall. Covering my body with his big one, he goes for my hands, but I’m swinging and kicking with everything inside me. When his mouth comes down toward mine, I bite his lip, causing him to scream out before covering his mouth and glaring at me. I’m ten steps from the door—all I have to do is get him away from me and I’m golden. Because he’s right, I can scream all I want. My dad won’t hear me in his office.