Blindsided

13 - I'm Blonde for Christ's Sake

Due to the somewhat complex terminology of hockey, I have included some definitions that some readers may not already know. If I miss any and you feel lost or are just curious, feel free to message me!

1: Bench Brawl - When a fight escalades from two players to the entirety of both teams, turning the initial fight into an all out brawl. 

...  

"Bench brawl?" Mack laughed the second she saw me. I let out a frustrated breath and started my warm up laps around the track. Because we were working on my endurance, I had to do ten laps to warm up, subsequently followed by an arm or leg workout, and ten more laps between each muscle group. It was hell, but my endurance was one of my best skills on the ice. I had no doubt that maintaining it until Boston would determine whether or not they let me keep my spot on the team.

"Nah, got in a fight with the stairs," I laughed, trying to make fun of myself to avoid further confrontation. But Mack was trained in being observant, to be a living heart monitor, doctor, therapist, and motivational speaker all in one. No way was I getting away with my lame excuse, and I should have known that before I got here. She stopped me and pulled me to the side of the track so that we weren't in the way before I could even finish my first lap.

"Did this happen at hockey, or do I need to call the cops on someone?" she murmured, asking me in all honesty and not wanting anyone to overhear. She was a friend and she cared about me, so I could only imagine what she was thinking right now. She didn't like Jared, never had, and I never tried to convince her otherwise. But this was the first time she had ever sensed that my injuries weren't hockey-inflicted, and I prayed that she didn't assume that Jared was the culprit.

"You aren't going to call the cops—"

"Bullshit I'm not. Did he do this to you Paige?" she asked softly, the look in her eyes nearly forcing the truth from my mouth. But I looked away for the slightest second and stood my ground. I had made the decision not to throw Jared under the bus, and telling Mack would ruin that entirely. Not only would she actually call the cops, but she would be calling to tell them that if they didn't beat her there, she would kill Jared herself.

"Mack, it's all good. I've got it handled," I insisted, starting onto the track again. But I was so absorbed in getting away from Mack that I didn't look behind me before I stepped in someone's way. Someone running crashed into me in a painful twist of limbs, crumbling to the ground and taking me with them. I reacted fast enough to brace myself to hit the rough floor of the track, but instead my attacker held me to their chest and took the brunt of the fall.

"Shit, Paige, watch where the fu—Sebastian! Get off my client!" Mack screeched, grabbing my arm and pulling me up from where I was still lying disoriented against a firm, broad chest. I scrambled to my feet, wiping off non-existent dirt to avoid making eye contact with whoever I just tripped. When I told myself that I could keep the shame off my face, I raised my eyes to meet a pair of emerald green ones. "Sebastian, we're trying to workout here. Do you mind?"

"Not at all," Sebastian smirked, but in a way that made my palms sweat and Mack scowl even harder. I caught a hint of a British accent and it makes the breath I was taking hitch in my throat. He trained his eyes back on me and I wished that I had kept looking at the floor. His gaze pierces through me like a knife, but I tore my eyes away to take him in. His mocha hair was shaved on the sides, but longer on the top so that a few stray pieces fell around his face. He was tall, even for me, and I was 5'9". His olive skin glistened with sweat from what I could only assume was a grueling workout; his athletic body was heavily built.

I know I recognize him from school, but I'm nearly positive that he graduated last year. I also know that his little brother plays on the guys' hockey team, but I forget his last name.