Page 7 of The Heart Breaker

Miles lifts his hands. “Just saying what I heard,” he says, tugging off his pads. “Everyone’s talking about it.”

“I mean, not to, like, defend the guy or anything,” Liam says from the end of the bench, yanking his jersey over his head, “but three years of long distance? I mean, come on. Everybody knows that shit never works.”

“Not an excuse, Turner,” Austin shoots back, glaring down at him. “I’d die before I ever cheated on Maisie. Doesn’t matter if she moved to Mars. Wouldn’t change shit.”

Liam lifts both hands. “Yeah, yeah, message received, man.”

Everyone knows Austin doesn’t mess around when it comes to Maisie. The guy nearly chewed my head off once just for mentioning her name.

“Think she’d go out with me now that she’s single?” Holden, another rookie, adds, earning a few laughs from the guys.

“Yeah, keep dreaming,” Logan says with a scoff. “You wouldn’t last five minutes with her.”

Laughter ripples through the room and I shove my stick onto the floor, stripping off my gear.

Can I get through one day without hearing her name? One goddamn day where Aurora Prescott isn’t dragged into the conversation.

I finish tying my laces, my jaw aching as I chew harder, wishing I could rip the sound of her name out of the air, out of my skull, out of every place she’s managed to wedge herself without permission.

I stand, sling a towel over my shoulder, and head for the showers. I take an empty stall, tossing the towel over the wall before turning on the water.

I tilt my head forward and let the water run down the back of my neck. I brace my hands against the wall and breathe through my nose.

I don’t care.

I don’t care that she walked in on them. I don’t care who he was with. I don’t care that the whole team’s suddenly acting like she’s some tragic victim. Poor Aurora, who loved too hard and trusted the wrong guy.

It’s bullshit.

She’s a snake.

Always has been.

I scrub harder, dragging my nails over my scalp like I can scrape her out of my head if I try hard enough. By the time I shut off the water and head back into the locker room, most of the guys have already left. I towel off, pull on black sweatpants and a T-shirt, then yank my hoodie over my head. I shove my feet into my sneakers, grab my gear bag, and head toward the exit.

As soon as I step outside, I let out a breath, hoping the cold air will clear my head. It doesn’t. Not when I spot her leaning against Isabella’s car, scrolling on her phone with her sunglasses pushed up on top of her head.

She looks up and spots me, her eyes narrowing instantly.

I should keep walking. God knows I want to. Most days I’d rather bite down on glass than give her another second of my time.

But instead I head straight for her, watching as her glare sharpens.

“Heard you finally dumped Westbrook’s golden boy,” I say, chewing my gum.

She tilts her head. “Did you come over here expecting a thank you?”

I drag my tongue along my teeth. “Pretty sure you don’t know how to do that.”

Her arms fold across her chest. “What do you want, Reaper?”

I shrug, rolling my gum between my teeth. “Thought you might finally admit I was right.”

Her mouth twists, a humorless laugh slipping out. “You never miss a chance to be an asshole.”

I shift my weight and let my gaze rake over her for a second before it settles back on her face. Sunglasses perched on her head, that long blonde hair still perfectly in place, her arms folded like she’s bored.

“You don’t even care, do you?” Her brows knit together, but I keep going. “You walk in on the guy you dated for three years screwing someone else,” I say, gesturing vaguely at her, “and you’re out here acting like nothing happened.”