ake Dating My Ex’s Favourite Hockey Player
Chapter 139
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I’m too irritated and honestly, a little tipsy for the gym. But I drag myself there anyway. Seeing hot, shirtless men has never failed to lift my spirits, and right now, I need that.
Eric was soft in the belly, no abs, and had this weird thing against deodorant. That’s what I remind myself every time I start to miss him. That I didn’t actually lose the love of my life.
That I dodged a dad bod.
I swipe into the gym, adjust my cap, and hope no one notices the slight wobble in my step.
And then – I see it.
Abs. Shoulders. Sweat. Glory.
Sweet mother of endorphins.
I almost drop my nonexistent water bottle. If heaven were real, it would smell like
eucalyptus and protein bars and be filled with shirtless men lifting heavy things with perfect
form. I’m about to do a very embarrassing little happy dance when I hear my name.
“Lacey?”
Of course it’s Liam.
I whip around, too fast, and nearly knock over a hand sanitiser station. He’s standing by
the cable machine in a tank top, looking like he belongs on the cover of a fitness magazine for emotionally unavailable men who secretly read poetry.
“I literally told you I’d be here less than fifteen hours ago, dumbass,” Liam says, grinning.
His tank top clings in all the right places, and his arms look like they’ve been personally
sculpted by divine intervention. I resist the urge to comment – not because I don’t want to, but because Emilia already got there first. God, that woman hit the jackpot.
“I was distracted,” I say, waving it off. “Julie called to check in on you.”
He blinks. “Jules? Since when does she call you to check in on me?”
“Yeah, valid. She actually called to check on me,” I admit, grabbing a towel off the rack
beside us. “But I figured I’d kill two birds with one gym trip. Bribe you into convincing her to
cool it with the maternal death grip.”
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Liam chuckles and wipes his hands on his shorts. “You’re talking to the wrong person, I’m afraid. Julie only listens to God and her horoscope.”
“Not even her horoscope,” I mutter. “She just cherry–picks whatever suits her mood.”
He raises an eyebrow. “So what’s the bribe?”
I shrug. “Emotional support. Company. Possibly snacks. And a deeply embarrassing confession if you say yes.”
“That last one’s tempting,” he says. “But you do realise she’s probably called me to ask if you’re spiralling, right?”
“She’s dramatic. I’m not spiralling. I’m… wobbling slightly. On a completely manageable emotional axis.”
Liam studies me for a beat longer than I’d like, and I already know he sees more than I want him to. “You smell like a beer.”
“It’s called a pre–workout.”
“Uh–huh. And it’s not even afternoon yet.” He tilts his head. “Lace… are you okay?”
I hate that question. Mostly because it’s coming from someone who actually cares.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly. “Just blowing off steam. Hydrating. With electrolytes. And beer.”
Liam walks over and bumps his shoulder against mine. “Instead of drinking more, come with me? I was going to look for Emilia anyway.”
I gulp, trying to swallow the emotions building in my chest from the kindness in his eyes. The softness in his voice. How fucking similar he is to Julie. I’m not sure what Mr and Mrs. Calloway put in that half–done porridge to raise eight kids this kind and thoughtful, but whatever it is, they got it right.
Then I remember I’ll never get the chance to do the same.
My chest tightens. I look down, blinking hard and blaming the blur in my vision on the leftover alcohol in my system, not what’s twisting itself through my ribcage.
“Okay,‘ I manage,
I should’ve said no, Should’ve gone back to my room and cried in private, where nobody
could see how broken I actually feel. Should’ve kept my distance and reminded myself that
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people like me don’t get the kind of life I wanted. Not love. Not a family. Not any of it.
But I followed him instead.
And ended up crying about how the person I loved the most had stuck a knife through my
heart.
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