Face off

Moving on. Or not

 Chase

   "Yeah, we're cool," was the last thing she said to me. Two weeks ago. I knew at the time she didn't mean it, but I didn't know why, or that it would last this long. So, what if we only knew each other for a month? I loved spending time with her, watching her get comfortable me, and she even started warming up to the guys. Every time we were together just got better every time. She was starting to be herself more often. She was hilarious, witty yet intelligent. Whenever she smiled that cocky shit eating grin it nearly knocked the air out of my lungs. I'd seen her around at the arena and thought she was gorgeous. Even when she was drunk and crying over the things Will said and did to her, she was beautiful. The night I danced with her at the club, it took everything I had not to drag her home with me, but I didn't want to be a one-night stand because she definitely wouldn't be one to me. The thought felt weird at the time and sometimes even now. I'd never wanted a girl enough to just hang out with without sex. Sure, I wanted the sex but just being around her had me grinning like an idiot the whole time. When she told me she called Callum retriever boy I had to laugh. Partly because she was right and partly because she couldn't tell that she had me feeling the same way. For a while. I went from being retriever boy to the grim reaper pretty quick. She barely texted me, the last one being over a week ago. And it showed.

     I was miserable. I used to love being alone, but now every time I holed up in my room, I missed her. I felt like an idiot pining after her like so. I was Chase Andrews for Christ's sake; I could pick up any girl I wanted. The problem was that I didn't want them. It had been over a month since I slept with anyone, and I wasn't even looking to score.

     Though I hadn't been doing much of that lately on or off the ice. I spent a good portion of my last two games trying to scan the arena to see if she'd show. She didn't. I would score a hundred goals just to see her celebrating in her seat like she did at the last game. Hell, I would score a hundred goals if it meant she would speak to me again.

     "Andrews!" The bark was accented with a crisp puck to the side of my helmet. I whipped around to see coach Clark standing there glaring at me. "Get you head back on the ice! Two laps, full tilt!"

     I cursed, taking off around the outskirts of the ice and pushing myself as hard as I could. I knew Coach would only up my punishment if I didn't give it a hundred percent. A puck to the head was my only warning. I came to a stop at center ice, breathing heavily.

     "Whatever is going on with you, fix it. You/re playing like shit and skating like a novice. I don't want to bench you but I will. Get your shit together,"

     "Yes coach," I ground out. Coach Clark was a hard ass, who followed through on every threat he made. When any of us started getting out of control, he liked to make an example out of one of us. Which would look bad on us from a scouting stand point. None of us were here just for fun.

     He jerked his head, signalling me to get back to the others who were setting up for drills.

     "Still nothing from Willow?" Callum asked as I came to a stop behind him.

     "What do you think?" I snapped

     He ignored me, silently facing front again. I pushed myself hard through the rest of the practice and let my anger take over. It was probably that dick head ex of her's fault she was like this. Or maybe she really didn't want to be around me. It was easier to blame that fuck head anyway.

     By the end of practice, I was feeling worse instead of better. I was coiled like a spring under pressure. I had to either let off the steam, or wait until I blew. Which is why instead of turning down the guys offer to join them at the bar, I agreed without hesitation. I hated going out most of the time, but I needed to let off steam. Maybe I needed it to get Willow off my mind.