Brutal Obsession (93)

Whose responsibility is it to keep a family together?

“Vi,” Greyson says.

I tap my fingers on his wrist. “Your father’s secretary called when we were still in Vermont. She knew…”

“Because I mentioned Dr. Michaels.” He rubs his eyes. “Goddammit, I just wanted to know if he had heard anything about the man. I didn’t expect him to piece it together—especially since he knew where we were.”

“She said, and I’m assuming this was coming straight from your father, that I was a distraction for you. They had high hopes of you going to the NHL or something.” I hate that they were able to twist me like that. They played me like a fiddle. “They took care of my medical bills. The MRI, the water therapy. The place just bills them every time I go.”

Shame fills me.

“I don’t know what to do. Because ballet is finally within reach again. My leg feels better than it has in months. But…” You.

He leans forward and kisses me. Hard. It reopens the nick on my lip from where I bit it earlier, but neither of us care. We’re suddenly dying to get closer to each other.

I crawl into his lap, straddling him, and wrap my arms around his neck. We’re chest to chest. It’s not even a surprise when his cock slides into me again. I rise on my knees and lower myself slightly. My groan gets lost in his mouth.

He pulls away a bit, still flexing his hips up to meet me. “That’s it? That’s how they’re bribing you?”

“That’s it,” I confirm. “But it feels like a whole lot.”

“Violet, I have a trust fund. I’ve had access to it since I turned twenty-one three months ago.” He cups my cheeks. “My father can fuck off. If you need someone to cover that therapy, I will.”

I shake my head. “I won’t ask you to do that—”

“You’re not asking.” He thrusts into me harder, then brings my face down to him. He plants a kiss on the corner of my lips and sweeps across to my ear. “I’m fucking telling you, Vi. It’s you and me. Only us. I’m not letting anyone or anything come between us again. You can count on that.”

“Only us,” I repeat, clutching him tighter. “Okay.”





40





GREYSON





Violet comes home with me.

I don’t ask about the photo album—she doesn’t seem to believe that I’m serious, and I don’t blame her for that. She’ll hold on to it until she feels safe again. And for now, I’m okay with that. After her terrible lie about burning it. She was right. For a split second, I believed her. Then my common sense kicked in… and I was able to piece together her intentions.

Everything I told her was the truth. The last month was my most frustrating—and hockey was my outlet. Now I’m flying high on adrenaline and her. The smell of her. The taste of her. She lies on her side, her head on my shoulder. She’s curled around me, our legs tangled, and I feel… content.

There’s another shoe waiting to drop, though.

Secrets I don’t think she knows.

She seemed na?ve about my father paying her medical bills, because that offer didn’t come out of left field.

It’s been tried—with great success.

I force my eyes closed. Six months ago, we were different people. She was hurt, I was angry. Okay, she’s still injured and I’m still pissed, but it was new to us. We didn’t yet know how to live with it. I’d always felt the rage, but what proceeded to happen with her, the media… it turned it into an uncontrolled inferno.

The added complications stemmed from our families.

Would everything be different if it were just her and me?

Yes—I would be rotting in prison. Probably. I don’t actually know what they would’ve charged me with, and I don’t know how much time I would’ve served. Those are mysteries I hope to never know.

Her breathing is even, and it doesn’t change when my eyes open and I slowly reach for my phone.

I’ve got the old article saved.

The one that “broke” the story of me driving drunk, and how easily it was swept under the rug. They included a picture of me leaving the police precinct with a ball cap pulled low, obscuring my face. One of Dad’s bodyguards was guiding me toward the car.

My father was fighting to pass a bill, and he was constantly in the news. That’s why the paparazzi were at the restaurant that night. They were probably tipped off that a Devereux—the name on the reservation—was dining that evening, and they showed up to find me.

I didn’t used to be a heavy hitter in the paper. I didn’t sell copies like Dad.

Still don’t, if we’re being perfectly clear. There are a lot bigger fish to fry in Rose Hill.

There was also a photo of Violet. They didn’t give her much print space. She was used more to invoke anger toward the Devereux name. They said her career as a prima ballerina was ripped away. I find that paragraph and read it again.

Violet Reece, a rising star in the ballet scene, had a promising career as a prima ballerina. Unfortunately, she’ll never get the chance to dance again. Mr. Devereux’s careless driving has ripped that away from her—and he won’t face any consequences for his actions.

Something gives in my chest. A sort of pressure releasing.