Kiss To Forget (Blairwood University #2) - Anna B. Doe Page 0,68

his hand with a loud thud. He moves back like I slapped him. In a way, I did. I’ve learned long ago that words can sometimes hurt more than actual punches.

His throat bobs as he swallows, thinking over my words. Finally, he nods his head. “Very well.”

Figures. I look away, huffing silently. And that’s the end of it like it always is.

I’m not sure who I’m angrier at, him or myself, but rage is swirling inside of me like a living, breathing thing just waiting to be let loose.

I force it back, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he affects me.

The rest of dinner passes slowly. Although the coach tries to keep the conversation going, it’s strained on both sides, and as soon as we deem dinner finished, I’m on my feet and getting out of the house without a backward glance.

I’m buzzing with too much pent-up energy, so instead of going back to the dorm, I turn right at the first intersection. I need to get rid of all this adrenaline, all this anger, and there is only one way I can do that.

The gym is buzzing with activity when I get inside. The smell of disinfectant and sweat permeates the air, making my nose furrow.

That’s exactly why I prefer running outside, and I can’t wait for all this snow to melt so I can finally get back to actual running, the hard pavement under my feet, the light breeze cooling my face. But for now, this will have to do.

Finding the first available treadmill, I drop my things to the ground and hop on. Tucking the buds in my ears, I crank the music up until it’s the only thing I can hear and start running, quickly going from a slow pace to a full-on run.

My footsteps are in time with the heavy beat in my eardrums as I push my body to move.

If only getting my mind to empty could be as easy. But of course, it’s anything but. I’m still mulling over my earlier conversation with the coach, replaying every single thing that was said over and over.

How dare he? How dare he think he has any say in what I do with my life? What does he think? That I’ll just change my plans, put my family second because he finally decided to give a damn about me?

Well, too little, too late, old man.

Too little too late.

Get a grip, Yas. He isn’t worth it.

Clenching my hands into fists, I push myself harder. My heartbeat rises, my breathing speeds up, and sweat starts coating my skin. Closing my eyes, I try to push the memories back, but it’s useless.

Nineteen years, and he just realized it now? If I didn’t reach out to him, if I didn’t need him, he wouldn’t have this little part of me either. One fucking day in a week that I spend with him just to keep his mouth shut.

My feet pound against the treadmill, but with my wandering thoughts I lose my footing.

“Fuck,” I mutter, extending my hands to grab the railing so I don’t fall face first.

A hand appears in front of me, pressing the buttons on the machine. The treadmill slows until it comes to a complete stop.

Sighing in relief, I lift my head only to find Nixon standing in front of me. There is a furrow between his brows as he looks at me. His mouth moves, but between the music still playing, and the echo of my heartbeat in my ears, I don’t hear a thing. Standing straight now that the belt’s not moving any longer, I pull the earbuds out.

“You planning to kill yourself today?” Nixon asks dryly.

I glare at him. His whole body is rigid, his fingers twitching on the console. “I just got distracted.”

“You could have gotten killed.”

I pull a towel off the rack and wipe at my sweaty face. My skin feels all hot and icky from exertion. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Well, you could have gotten a concussion, at least.”

“I’m fine,” I insist, done with overbearing men for today, or maybe a lifetime. “It was just a little slip, hardly anything to worry about.”

“Because I was here to stop the damn machine.” His clenched fist pounds against the treadmill. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I needed a place where I can come and get rid of all this pent-up energy,” I hiss quietly. “That’s what I’ve been thinking. Not that it’s any of your business.”

My breathing is hard, breaths coming

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