Breakaway || Tate McRae + Hockey Romance

09.

Tate's POV

We make eye contact across the room, neither of us making a move to the other. Carter looks tired as if he hasn't slept in months. I hate seeing him this way, but he's still so undeniably hot, even in this state. I know I won't bring him any comfort, but I want him so bad. Olivia sneaks up behind me, placing her chin on my shoulder and staring into the distance.

"Tate," she says softly but quickly changes her tone. "You look like you want to climb him like a tree." She backs up as I whip around, swatting at her with my hands.

"We're just friends, Liv!" I say as she teases me.

"Sureee."

Carter's POV

I can't fucking take it anymore, Tate keeps dragging her eyes to mine, but neither of us will go up to the other. All I see is Tate dancing with her friends, her hands curling around a drink, staring at me. Shit. She can see right through me.

"Yo, Carter!" one of my friends yells; I turn my head toward them, seeing that it's Nate. "Want another round?"

I shake my head in response, returning to face Tate, but she's gone. Shit, shit, shit. I frantically look around, trying to locate Tate, but fail. Did she leave? I have no idea.

"Shh, it's okay, Tate." My head whips around, trying to find the voice saying her name. My eyes land on Olivia holding a crying Tate in her arms, carefully guiding her outside. Did I do something wrong? I hate seeing her like this.

My stay is short-lived; I quickly leave after Tate does. Not wanting to be here without her. I curl up in a ball in my bed, seeking warmth and comfort, but find none. I just want her.

I search around my bed, trying to find my phone and when I finally do, I dial Tate's number, praying that she picks up. Miraculously, she does, but it takes about 8 rings for her to do so.

"Can you come over?" I whisper. "You distract me from all the shit in my life. I can actually sleep when you're here."

"Of course I will, Carter." She whispers back.

"Knock, knock." My head perks at the sound, rushing to get to the door. I swing it open to a tired-looking Tate in some short shorts and one of my hoodies. So she does miss me.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey," she says back, pushing past me and into my house. She pads down my hallway to my bedroom and falls onto my bed. I follow closely behind her, falling onto her on the bed.

"Cart-Carter." Tate laughs underneath me. "Get the fuck off." I do as she says, giving her room to breathe but staying too close for comfort. She props her head up on her hand, and I do the same, facing each other.

"I missed you," I whisper.

"So did I."

My breath is growing heavy, her low-raspy voice sending volts of electricity to my dick. I sit up, pulling her onto my lap, her muscular legs straddling my own. Then her face drops.

Tate puts her head on my shoulder. "I'm so tired."

"Of what?"

"Pretending I don't love you."