Brutal Obsession (98)
I grab my phone and scroll through my archive of private posts. I find it relatively quickly—there are just a few that I’ve been annoyed with and taken off my public feed.
The picture is black and white. It’s clear I took it myself. It’s just of my leg, in a cast and propped up on pillows, in my hospital bed. My other leg is under the blankets.
I wrote: I will probably never dance again. Pray for my leg. And let’s not even talk about the shape my car is in…
Greyson reads it and winces. He passes the phone to Willow, who frowns.
“Yeah, I remember that. You called me right after it.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know. Has anyone stood out over the years? Since you joined Crown Point Ballet?”
I shake my head.
“Continue with your theory,” Greyson says to Willow.
She raises her eyebrows. “You care what I think, Devereux?”
“I’m curious about your take on it,” he retorts.
Not the best comeback…
Still, my best friend accepts it. “Fine. Violet posts that, and whoever follows her career decided to look into it further. They find out you were responsible and were released without being charged.
“Then, just a few months later, you come to Crown Point and join the hockey team. You rise to infamy yet again.”
He snorts. “Sure.”
“Whoever leaked your story to the media obviously knows your name,” she points out.
“Wait.” I hold up my hands.
They both look at me.
“Who wrote the article? Those last lines felt personal, you know?”
Greyson pulls up the screenshots and shows me the name. Marcus Vindicta. The name isn’t at all familiar to me.
A quick search online doesn’t bring up anything else for his name either. Like, nothing. We search just the last name, and I immediately freeze. It’s Latin for revenge. At least, that’s what the online translation page says.
“A fake name?” I shiver. “This is getting creepy.”
“Let’s just assume that whoever wrote it was able to convince the editor to put it under a pen name,” Willow says. “I hate assuming, but we don’t have much to go off of right now. Whoever it is then witnesses Violet’s return. And your… interactions.”
“And they react poorly against both of us,” I finish. “God, now that you put it out there…”
I’ve got goosebumps. And without any idea of who to trust, everyone feels like an enemy. How am I supposed to go about my business after this?
I hop up and spin to face them. “I almost forgot!”
They both wait.
“I have an audition,” I blurt out. “For Sleeping Beauty. CPB is doing that next, and they’re casting in a few weeks. It’s perfect timing for me.” I can’t believe I forgot about it. In all the bustle of Knox and Willow moving her stuff in, and classes… Mia called me this morning to let me know I had a spot for an audition if I wanted it. Which would mean potentially re-signing with Crown Point Ballet for a year contract.
Those are a big deal. It’s security. It’s basically a full-time job that could launch my career. I had that—and I lost it in the snap of my fingers. Easy to go, hard to get back. So, yeah, a big fucking deal. A terrifying opportunity.
Greyson stands and cups my face. He kisses me soundly, his tongue sliding along the seam of my lips. Too soon, he pulls back slightly. “Fight for it, Vi.”
Willow practically shoves him out of the way and hugs me. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”
I hug her back. “Thank you.”
“And you’re coming to finals, right?”
“For the dance team?” I scoff. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
We’re only halfway through the semester, and it feels like our junior year is coming to a rapid end.
Knox breezes in and freezes when he sees Willow and me embracing. “Did I miss something?”
“Nope,” she says smoothly, releasing me and stepping away. “I don’t suppose you have a bedroom for me to stay in, Whiteshaw? Or are you taking the couch while I take your room…?”
She strides toward the stairs.
He gapes for a moment, then gives chase.
Greyson grabs my hips and pulls me close. “Promise me something,” he says in my ear.
“What?”
“That you won’t do anything stupid.”
I sigh. “I don’t think anything I do is stupid. But, sure, if you need that promise from me…”
“I do.”
I face him and loop mine around his neck. “I won’t do anything stupid.”
He grins. “We have a game tomorrow. Will you meet me in the locker room afterward?”
I mirror his expression. I feel… happy. Even with a stalker, who has yet to be found. Like everything is finally going right between Greyson and me. I tap his hand, which has slipped under the hem of my shirt to press against my bare back. His knuckles healed just fine after the last fight. No breaks, just a sprain that healed rather fast.
So I don’t feel particularly bad for saying, “Only if you get your knuckles bloody.”
43
GREYSON