Breakaway (Beyond the Play, #2)(94)

“Hey,” I ask Rafael as he passes by. “You see Penny anywhere?”

“I think she went into the kitchen.”

I clap his shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

In the kitchen, though, there’s only one person there—Brandon. Honestly, I’m surprised he showed up. Grateful, because we need as much team unity as we can get, this late in the season and this close to clinching Hockey East, but still. We haven’t spoken outside of necessity since I told him to apologize to Penny, and I don’t think he’s done it.

I lean against the doorway, crossing my arms over my chest. “You see Penny around anywhere?”

“She was just here.”

“You talk to her? I’m still waiting for that apology, you know. Call it a birthday present.”

He walks around the counter, rubbing at his chin. “That’s what I was trying to do.”

“Trying?”

“I don’t know, man. She totally freaked out, she just bolted—”

My stomach clenches. “Which way?”

He holds up his hands placatingly. “I didn’t mean—”

“Which. Fucking. Way?”

“I don’t know. I think maybe she went upstairs.”

I shove through the crowd. At the base of the stairs, I slam into some girl I hardly recognize; she shrieks as her drink splashes on us both, but I ignore it. I take the stairs two at a time and shove open my door. My heart is smashing against my ribcage with every beat. Whatever Brandon did, whatever happened, I’ll handle the moment I know my girl’s okay.

“Red? Baby, where’d you go?”

I don’t see her. I turn in a circle, just in case I missed her, but my room isn’t all that big. My bed is still made, and no one is sitting at my desk. I peek under the bed just in case she’s trying to play some weird form of hide-and-seek, but there’s nothing but dust. She wouldn’t have gone to Seb’s room, but maybe she’s in Izzy’s with Tangerine? Or the upstairs bathroom?

I’m just about to leave when I see that my closet door is ajar.

I crouch down, pushing it the rest of the way open. “Penny?”

My heart thuds so hard I feel it like a bruise. Penny is curled up on the floor of my closet in the tiniest ball she can manage, her face buried in one of my knit sweaters. Her shoulders shake as she sobs, the big gulping kind that comes from deep in your chest. She’s trembling so badly I can see it, even a foot away from her.

Everything freezes. I can’t hear for a moment, the rage coursing through me is so strong, but I shake my head, blinking back the haze on the edges of my vision, and that helps. Forget beating hard. My heart is about to shatter. I say her name again, quieter, but either she doesn’t hear me, or she ignores me, because she doesn’t pick her head up.

I need to see her eyes.

I crawl into the closet with her. It’s a tight fit, considering it’s just a regular-sized closet and I’m twice her size, but I manage. I reach out, laying my hand on her knee, and she jerks it away.

“Red,” I murmur. I have a hard time keeping my voice down, but she’s clearly terrified, and if I yell—even if that’s what I really want to do—I’ll just scare her more. “Hey, gummy bear. Can you look at me?”

She lifts her head.

I bite back a curse. What I’d really like to do is slam my fist against the wall, but I manage not to. Barely.

Her big blue eyes are bloodshot. Her face is flushed, shiny with tears. But all that pales in comparison to the cut on her forehead. It’s already bruising, a trickle of blood making its way down the side of her face.

Everything in the whole goddamn world falls away.

I work my jaw until I can talk semi-normally. “Who did this to you?”

Her voice is a raw whisper. “What?”

“Was it Brandon?” I’m shaking nearly as bad as her. “What the fuck did he do to you?”

Her brows draw together. She shakes her head. “It was the smell.”

I rip a strip of fabric off the hem of my t-shirt and hold it to her bloodied temple. Is she concussed? Her eyes look clear enough. “What smell?”

“His—I didn’t—” Her face twists up as she sobs again. She bats at my hand, but when she sees the blood, she shudders.

“What? Baby, breathe, tell me what’s wrong.”

“His cologne!” she says, her voice flayed raw. “Tropic Blue. The same. The exact fucking same as Preston’s. He always wore it; he was wearing it when he…”

She trails off, shaking her head, and wraps her arms around her knees.

My blood runs cold. I haven’t heard her ex’s name many times, but I figured that was because of an ugly history. This doesn’t sound like your usual shitty breakup. I shut my eyes briefly. I almost don’t want to ask, but now that the door is open, I need to walk through. She needs me. “When he what?”

She sobs again. Her voice feels like knives piercing my skin. I gather her close, rocking her. “When he what, Penelope? Tell me.”

She shakes her head. “Cooper, I can’t. I can’t stand to lose you.”

I’m shaking my head right back before she even finishes talking. “You’re not going to lose me. Whatever it is, you’re not going to lose me.”