Brutal Obsession (83)

“As soon as this headache goes away, I’ll play detective with you,” I tell her.

She nods and watches me. Concern creases the outer corners of her eyes, and her lips press together, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Go to class,” I sigh into my pillow. I wrap my arms around it and bury my face. “I’ll be okay.”

She hesitates.

“Really, Willow.”

“Okay. Under duress. I’ll see if…” She shifts, drumming her fingers on my dresser. “Maybe someone knows something. One of our neighbors.”

We live across the street from other college students. It’s common in this area, really. But if she thinks one of them saw something, I have a feeling she’s mistaken.

Still, I don’t refute her. I want to know—no, I need to know. The unknown is an itch I can’t scratch. My skin crawls, and I can’t seem to tear my thoughts away from what might have happened to me.

I close my eyes. Willow leaves my door open on her way out, and I don’t fault her for that. She’s worried. I’m worried.

Her shower kicks on, and I fail to fully relax. Every time I do, something has me tensing. Sleep haunts me. It’s right there, then gone. My eyes are sandpaper behind my eyelids. The tears that keep leaking out aren’t helping.

I need to know what happened last night.

Which means confronting Jack.

As soon as the front door closes, I force myself back out of bed. I take a shower and dress warmly. A baby-blue sweatshirt over a long-sleeved white shirt with Crown Point Dance across the front. I brush out my hair and braid it back, then hunt down a hat. Winter jacket. Jeans. Boots.

Armor.

I swipe on makeup, to disguise how I feel on the inside, and pop a few Advil.

Then I head to campus.

Today, I draw more stares. I’m not really concerned with them—I am on a mission to find Jack. It’s almost dinnertime, so the sensible place to find him is in the student center.

And, sure enough, I find him with his football friends in a gathering outside the dining hall. He turns and scans the room, like he can feel me enter, and quickly averts his eyes.

Anger surges through me.

It’s the confirmation I need.

I march toward him and stop dead. His leg is in a cast, with crutches leaning on the table beside him. He’s pointedly ignoring me at this point, and so are his friends. Although I doubt his friends have even seen me, since I’m still far enough away to not impose. And Jack isn’t giving them any clues that he’s uncomfortable.

But something happened… and I have a feeling I know who might be behind this. The one person with little regard for anyone else. Or the law. And he’s possessive enough to strike out at Jack if he somehow knew…

I spin on my heel and get the fuck out of there.

Once I’m away from the student center, I fish out my phone.

Me



What time does practice start?





I wait a moment, then bubbles pop up on the chat.

Steele



Six. Why?





I don’t answer. It’s almost six now, which means there’s a very real chance I could catch Grey before then. I tug the zipper of my jacket higher, burying my chin in it, and hurry to the stadium.

My exposed skin is frozen by the time I make it there. Once inside, I unzip the jacket and rub my hands together. I peer through one of the entrances to the stadium seating.

Jackpot. Only a few people are on the ice, wearing pads and sticks in hand. I hurry to the lower level and watch again, making sure one of them is Greyson. It sickens me that I know him just by the way he moves and the back of his head. The way he skates.

Ah, well.

No time like the present. Except, more people are filing onto the ice from one of the open doors. More players. They skate around, and one of them cocks his head when he sees me.

Still. I step out onto the ice. I’m on a mission, and I feel unstoppable. Unlike the last time Greyson had me on ice, I don’t let fear keep me away.

“Hey,” someone barks. “You can’t be out here.”

I ignore them and head straight for Greyson. He turns and watches me approach. Of course he doesn’t try to get closer, to help me out. No, he just eyes me from behind his mask with a gleam in his eye.

Answers. I’m here for answers.

So when I stop right in front of him and poke his chest, I’m surprised when no words come out.

I hit his chest again, harder.

He just stands there, taller than he should be in his skates.

A lump forms in my throat, and I hit him again. It doesn’t make me feel any better.

Why can I voice what I remember to Willow but not here?

“Violet,” Greyson says in a low voice. “If you came here just to hit me… you could’ve waited.”

“You’re an asshole,” I choke out. The words are shreds of glass moving through my throat. I stagger backward.

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay.”

“You’re fucking with my head. You don’t have any idea what I’ve been through. And then last night—”

He glides forward. Right into my space. He rips his helmet off and leans down, so we’re eye to eye. “Nothing happened last night.”

I grit my teeth. “No.” I try patience, but it’s not my strong suit. “No. Something did happen—”