Twisted Collide: The new sports romance in the Redville Saints series
Twisted Collide: Chapter 56

It’s been a crazy three days since I returned from New York. I’ve barely had a moment to think. I’m creating a new TikTok campaign, so I’ve been running around the whole city interviewing fans and asking them what they love most about hockey. It’s been amazing. The only downside is that I’ve been too busy to call Dane.

I figure he must be insane with his own stuff because he hasn’t reached out either, so I decide to drop by his place before I head home to say hi.

I lift my hand and bang on the door, then follow by hitting the doorbell.

Maybe I should have called first?

That probably would have been the smart move, but I’m impulsive.

My fingers tap a rhythm on the wood as I wait for him to answer the door.

He might not even be here.

I didn’t call or text, yet I expected him to be, what? Waiting for me at his home despite the fact I gave no inclination that I’d be stopping by.

This is not my finest hour.

I drop my arm.

Tap. Tap. Tap. This time, my fingers drum on my thigh. I’m about to turn around when the front door swings open.

“Josephine? What are you doing?” His voice sounds funny. Slurred. Is he drunk?

“Hi.” I smile.

He steps closer to me until he stands in front of me. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t call, so I figured I’d check in.”

His body sways, and now I’m sure he’s not sober. “And so you decided to just show up?”

I brush my hands against my thighs, wiping away a fleck of dust. Anything not to meet his stare.

“This is what we do,” I remind him. “Bad day?” I ask. I reach my hand out to touch him, but he takes a step back before he crosses his arms at his chest, making it very obvious he doesn’t want me to touch him.

I peer up at his face, taking him in. His eyes look unfocused, and his lips form a straight line.

The playful version I’ve grown to care about is long gone, replaced by a Dane Sinclair I don’t even recognize.

“I wanted to be alone.”

His voice is so foreign, it takes a moment to process his words. When I finally do, I have to force myself to stay upright. My vision starts to blur. He’s reached into my chest and ripped my heart out. Even standing feels like fighting nature.

Breathe, Josie.

“Are—Are you okay?”

His chest rises and falls with jerky movements. Maybe it’s pathetic, but I narrow in on it, desperately seeking something to grasp. A weakness that’ll tell me he’s joking. Someone forced him into this.

“I need air,” he blurts out, and hope blossoms in my chest.

“We’re outside.” I raise a brow. “If this is a joke, I’m not laughing.”

“Shit.” Dane winces like he didn’t mean for me to hear his curse. He thrusts his hand through his hair with enough force to make the team stylist weep. “This isn’t a joke. I’m serious. This isn’t working, hel—Josephine. This isn’t working, Josephine.”

“Dane—”

“Just leave.” He motions between us. “This isn’t going to happen.”

I open my mouth to argue. Something’s clearly wrong. It’s obvious he’s keeping something from me, and knowing him, it’s the same self-sacrificial bullshit that always ruins his life.

I refuse to let him make a choice we both know he doesn’t want to make.

But then his face hardens. He nods to himself like he just gave himself the pep talk of a lifetime. And then he says something that manages to crush my hope into smithereens.

“Leave, Josie. You’re not worth the fight.”

I barely register his wince.

I barely register the tiny step he takes to me or the way his hands jerk forward to reach me.

The only thing I feel is sheer rage.

“You know what? Fuck you, Dane. This time, it is goodbye. Don’t follow me next time you want to get your dick wet.”