Page 1 of Break my Heart

1

Ava

Unknown number:

We need to talk.

Those four words hit me like a punch to the gut, and the ground drops from beneath my feet. My sneakers squeak against the tile floor of the corridor as I stumble to a halt. As I stare at my phone, the words blur before my eyes.

I really thought this nightmare was finally over.

It takes a handful of seconds for my brain to play mental catch up as my fingers hover over the keyboard, and I fight the urge to smash my cell against the wall. It’s so tempting to ignore the message and pretend I never saw it.

How the hell did he get my number?

Again.

Every time I change my digits, he figures it out. My heart slams against my ribcage as a potent concoction of anger and frustration surges through me like wildfire.

Screw him.

That’s all it takes for something to snap inside me as I stab out a response.

Me:

Don’t contact me again. There’s nothing more for us to say.

Nausea roils in my stomach as I hit send.

Why won’t he leave me alone? It’s been more than a year.

Before I can take a steady breath, my phone vibrates with another message.

Unknown number:

We both know that’s not true. There’s quite a bit to say. In person.

No.

There’s no way that will ever happen.

This time, I don’t bother with a reply.

My thumb lingers for half a second before I block the number.

Not that it’ll do any good.

With a frustrated huff, I pocket the phone in my jacket and shove through the door into the men’s locker room.

Transferring to Western was supposed to be a fresh start. That’s one of the reasons Dad took the head coaching position last summer—to give all of us a break from the mess back home.

It seems like no matter how far or fast I run, some things refuse to stay buried in the past.

The second I step inside, I’m hit by a wave of steamy moisture, thick in the air with the undeniable scent of sweat, wet gear, and damp towels.

My nose scrunches.

You’d think I’d be used to it by now, having spent my whole life around hockey teams.