Page 17 of Ricochet
“Huh. Wasn’t expecting that.”
Sliding my book back toward me, I open it right back to the page I was on. “Now, if that was all…”
“Look, Cal—”
“It’s Callum,” I correct him while shooting him a fresh glare. “You don’t get to call me Cal like we’re fucking buddies.”
It’s too much. Too personal. I want toforgethe ever saw me, not be reminded of it every time he says my name. I already have to be every time those rain-washed eyes are on me.
“Fine.Callum.” He leans forward and lowers his voice. “This is my last year of hockey. I don’t plan on going pro.”
“Don’t have what it takes, huh?” I ask. Because I just can’t stop myself.
He tilts his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Come on. You know that’s not true.”
I peer down at my book before I roll my eyes again.
“I know you hate me.”
I hate you even more now that you’ve brought the nightmares back.
“And that’s fine. Hate me all you want. But I have every intention of making it to the championship. If you keep bringing all that hostility toward a teammate with you onto the ice, we’re not even going to make it to the fucking playoffs.”
I know he has a point.
And I know Idohave a problem. I’ve always been so good at hiding.
Why the fuck can’t I hide from him?
“You don’t owe me anything, Callum,” he continues when I’ve still refused to even look up from my textbook. “But you do owe your team.”
Fuck him.
He needs to stop making so much fucking sense.
“So what can I do? What do you want?”
I look up at that because he actually sounds…genuine. And his expression matches—brows drawn, eyes serious, no annoying smirk.
What do I want?
I want you to disappear.
I want you to stopseeingme.
I want the nightmares to go away.
Instead of saying any of that, I shake my head and mutter, “I don’t know.”
“You wanna knock me around with your stick?”Nowthat infuriating smirk is back. “Tie my skate laces together? Punch me? Bite me? Though, fair warning, I might enjoy that last one.”
That’s fucking it.
Grabbing my things off the table, I start shoving it all back into my bag. He’s clearly not going to leave, and there’s no way I’m going to be able to get any more studying done with him sitting across the table from me and refusing to shut up.
“I just want you to leave me the hell alone.”
“That’s not going to do any good, and you know it.” He stands when I do and starts following me through the library. “You’re still going to see me on the ice almost every day. I could transfer out of anatomy and walk the other way when I see you around campus, but that’s not going to do a goddamn thing.”