Brutal Obsession (10)

There was a time when my calf muscles were strong. When I could rotate on a pointe shoe, and my leg would hold me.

Not anymore.

My muscles have gotten weak. It would take a lot of work to get the strength back, if the pain wasn’t a factor.

My mother came to one of my physical therapy appointments. She sat in a metal chair in the corner and watched, and at the end, she said, “You still move like a dancer.”

It wasn’t the compliment she thought it would be. On the inside, I still felt like a dancer, too. I still had a phantom sensation of spinning, leaning, curving my body in specific ways. Rotating my hips, my feet, my knees. My toenails are all but destroyed from years of training. Walking like a ballerina is a hell of a lot different than walking like someone with a broken leg.

“I’m thinking a thriller,” Willow says, drawing me back to the present.

“I’m thinking I need water and Tylenol,” I mutter.

She laughs and hops up. “Did you want me to cut off your drinking?”

Trick question. When has either of us ever listened to the other when we’re in that sort of mood? When Willow broke up with her boyfriend, we went to Haven and got plastered. I got us home and held her hair while she puked all night.

It’s that sort of purge that tends to be necessary.

She gets me the Tylenol while I slowly get dressed. I brush out my hair and pull it up. My bangs, which Greyson oh-so-rudely pushed aside to gawk at the scar, stay down. I’ve got a limp in my walk today, but Willow doesn’t comment on it when we head to the theater.

Willow buys the tickets on her phone. Some thriller, but I couldn’t tell you the name. It sounds up my best friend’s alley… something with one of the Chrises as a lead, and a train.

We stand in line to buy our popcorn.

“Willow!”

She glances back, then tenses. Her back goes rigid, and she makes a face. Just a subtle one, her lips flattening and her brows drawing down. And then her eyes move to me, and she lets out a quiet, “Uh-oh.”

“What?”

She grips my arm before I can turn around. “Um, sorry in advance for not telling you that I slept with Knox while you were gone. A few times.”

My eyes bug out of my head. Willow and Knox? I make a mental note to interrogate her about that. But it’s too late now because someone steps up beside us.

“Hey.” Knox’s dark hair curls down, almost long enough to get in his eyes. He pushes it back and grins at Willow. He looks at her like he’s ready to devour her. Makes sense, since he’s seen her naked. He steps close, tilting his head down to meet Willow’s gaze. “Thought I recognized you.”

“By the back of my head?”

Seeing my best friend flirt is nothing new—but it is surreal to see her flirt with Knox Whiteshaw. Her fascination with him isn’t a big deal, but it is surprising that she acted on it. We used to whisper about him. Gossip, try vague moves to catch his attention. As previously discussed, he’s one of the all-stars on the hockey team.

One of the guys who easily rules the school, just by existing.

Still, one-night stands haven’t been her thing. Historically.

“By your ass.” He chuckles. “You disappeared last night.”

“We were there for a few hours.” She shrugs and steps up in line, towing me with her.

Knox comes with us, a smile still on his lips. “Well, not long enough.”

“I was drunk,” I say. “She was being a good friend.”

“Jack Michaels seemed to be intent on getting you home, Violet.” Knox winks at me. “Good to have you back, by the way. The dance team has been lacking.”

I bite my tongue. I guess people will find out I’m not back when they make their first appearance at a competition in a few weeks. Or when they perform to send off the hockey team for an away game. Whichever comes first.

“Pretty sure she won’t be competing.”

My spine snaps straight, and I slowly face Greyson. He has on a black CPU Hockey sweatshirt and gray sweats. And a cocky grin. His hair is actually dark blond. It’s easier to see now that we’re not in a dim bar. And those eyes… angry eyes.

For a second, I think he might spill why he knows I won’t be dancing.

“She’s scared.”

I narrow my eyes. Wishful thinking on my part, to believe he’d tell the truth. “Like you know anything about me?”

He shrugs. “Not yet. But I do know that you use too much tongue when you kiss.”

I jerk back.

He grins and pulls out his phone, flashing me a video.

Of Jack and I… making out. Last night. In it, my ex tugs at my pink sweater. His hands slip under the fabric, palming my breasts. I don’t seem to have much to do with it. I hold on to his waist, my back pressed against the wall outside Haven.

“Where did you get that?” I hiss.

Willow makes a noise in the back of her throat.

Greyson raises his eyebrows. “If you don’t want people to see your awful kissing skills, you probably should stick to doing it in private. Or forget lips altogether and keep your mouth on a cock. Judging from the rest of the video, you do that well…”

Shock hits me first.

Did he just say what I thought he said?

Did I do that? In public? I barely remember last night, but the vague memory of Jack guiding me to my knees is there.