Brutal Obsession (19)

Now, my father is the sort of man who will do anything to get his way. What lengths did he have to go to in order to manipulate Violet?

And a better question: how can I exploit that?

Where is the weak point?

Her leg. Her dance career.

Finances, family, her future.

Take your pick. She seemed well-rounded. Friendly. Happy.

I want to press on her bruises. I want her to squirm under me until she can’t breathe. Because taking her breath away has been the most exciting thing to happen to either of us all year—I can feel it. I can sense it. She let her fear in for a second, and then it was gone. The tears in her eyes were a show.

She’s just as angry as me, but she won’t let it out.

Come play with me, Violet.

She doesn’t want to. She wants to remain safe. She wants everything to go back to how it was. The dance team, school, friends. It’s not possible for her, and I doubt it’s possible for me either.

How many ways can a person break before they can be reshaped into something new?

“Devereux! You’re skating like your blades are coated in molasses.”

I heave a sigh and move faster, trying to anticipate the pass from Knox. Erik and I skate up opposite sides, racing toward Miles in the goal. He taps his stick against the ice, his face a mask of concentration.

Knox passes to me. The puck glides across the ice, and I cradle it. One of our younger players, a defensemen who just started this year, comes out to intercept me.

I dart around him, leaping over his stick as it swipes at me. If we had the wrong ref, we’d get shot down for him trying to trip another player. No matter, though. It doesn’t stop me. I aim for the top corner of the net.

Miles catches it. Barely.

Erik and I pass each other behind the net, and he gives me the finger. “Better luck next time.”

I growl and keep moving. Miles sends the puck back out, and another trio takes their turn charging for the goal. I skid to a stop beside our bench and snag my water bottle. I squirt it through the cage of my mask and toss it back.

Coach comes over and slaps my shoulder. “You’re off today.”

I look out toward where Miles and Knox are facing off. “Sorry, Coach.”

He makes a noise of disgust. “I expect my starting line to bring their A game. You’ve got eight hours to pull yourself together.”

I scowl. I always play best under the stadium lights, with a crowd screaming in the stands. With strangers staring at me like they’re going to eat me for lunch, only to be surprised when we outskate them at every turn.

My team is agile. We race each other just for the hell of it, working on our footwork and maneuvers. It gives us a slight edge, but we can’t rely on it. The plays Coach has been drilling into us all month are next level.

We had a slight break from games, and he took full advantage.

“Get back out there.”

I nod and shove off. I’m happier when I’m focusing on what I can control. How fast I move, the way my skates cut into the ice. The stick in my hand, the puck. It all blends into a harmony unlike any other.

“Watch it!” someone yells.

Someone bulldozes into me from the side, and we both go down in a tangle of limbs. He lands on top of me, and it only takes his disgusting grunts for me to realize it’s Erik. Fucking twat. I shove him off and push up, then circle him.

“What the fuck was that?”

He clamors to his feet, leering at me. “You should really watch where you’re fucking going.”

I brush off ice shavings. “You could’ve avoided me. You hunting for a fight, Smith? You want me to beat some sense back into you?”

“Okay, okay,” Coach hollers. He reaches us and looks between the two of us. He seems to be contemplating who was at fault and what to do about it. It only takes him a moment to decide. “Erik, get out of my fucking sight.”

“Coach—”

“OUT,” he roars. “And come back when you know how to skate.”

I wink at him on his way past. He rams his shoulder into mine, but I shake it off. He can be as disgruntled as he wants—for now, he’s gone.

Coach just shakes his head at me. “Sometimes you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

I shrug at him and retrieve my stick. “Sorry, Coach.”

The rest of practice passes relatively quickly. We shower off and grab a bite to eat back on campus, then all stomp to the library. I’ve got a test coming up in environmental economics. That class is kicking my ass. As much as I enjoy making Violet uncomfortable, I really need to get a better handle on it.

So we bury our heads in our textbooks for the next few hours. Erik comes in with some of his buddies and takes a seat at a far table.

Someone catches my attention. Just a flash of blonde out of the corner of my eye.

Violet.

She’s been wearing the strangest outfits lately. Baggy sweatshirts with Crown Point University across the front, or the dance team tshirts that must be free. Black leggings and boots or sneakers. Nothing crazy or outrageous. Nothing that shows off her shape. Just like the pink sweater the first night I saw her at Haven, or the shirt she wore when I dumped beer over her head and then chased her out of the bar like a lunatic.

I don’t regret what happened after I caught her, though…

I shift in my seat.