He smiles. “She’s gives good blow jobs. Surely you saw the video? I might just ask her, myself. If the rumors are true.”
This is what I wanted. But the thought of Erik putting his hands on her—or worse, talking to her? No fucking way.
I don’t realize I’ve shot out of my seat until Miles steps in front of me. He’s a few inches shorter than me, which doesn’t help cut off my line of vision from Erik. Who, unerringly, seems unperturbed by me.
Maybe that’s what bothers me about him. Why we don’t get along. Steele, Knox, Miles. Hell, even Jacob—the last of the starting lineup—seem to understand me without saying much. They have an aggression in them, too, that comes from somewhere deep. It’s not out all the time. Mine brims under the surface constantly, but they’ve figured out ways to keep it hidden.
Erik just glides through life like he doesn’t give a shit. And then he says something like that, and I want to tear his fucking eyes out.
Miles tugs my hockey stick out of my grip. He has to jerk it, because I have a death grip on the thing. And the puck in my other hand. I imagine smashing it into the side of Erik’s face over and over again…
“Take a walk,” Miles suggests.
Knox sighs and sets his stick aside. “Come on, Devereux. I’ll buy you a beer at Haven. And Erik? Stay the fuck away.”
Erik chuckles under his breath, but I’m already turning away. I shouldn’t have had such a visceral reaction to him talking about Violet Reece like that. Deep down, I’m mulling over what to do about it.
Turning the school against her is just a step. But I need to make her Public Enemy Number One, not the girl everyone wants to fuck. Right now, all the guys at school are picturing her blowing them, and that’s fucking infuriating.
Again, I see her with the blood on her head, trapped in that car. I can’t get that image out of my mind. It floats in front of me when I sleep, just flashes that interrupt regular dreams. Reminding me of what we did to each other.
I sigh and follow Knox outside. A few guys on the hockey team share a house. Fortunately, Erik’s room is in the basement. Knox, Steele, Miles, and I have the upstairs bedrooms. Jacob used to live with them until I came along, but he decided to live with others. Maybe to give me a spot, maybe because being around these assholes twenty-four seven can be annoying as fuck.
But it does help us play better. After only a few months, I’m able to read my teammates better than any Brickell team. Crown Point fosters a sort of brotherhood—and I have to imagine the dance coach tries to do the same with her girls.
How would I break us apart?
“You have a scheming face.” Knox nudges me. “You gonna talk out loud or are we going to walk in silence to the bar?”
“Violet and I are acquainted.”
“Shocker.” He raises his eyebrow. “Steele mentioned you got weird when he introduced you on Friday.”
I snort. “It’s a long story.”
Knox shrugs. “We can walk slower.”
“You’re a jackass.”
“I could be worse.” He grins. “Coach is going to kick our ass this week if you’re distracted. Which you are, so don’t try to give me some bullshit answer.”
Bonding. That’s what I wanted, wasn’t it? Guys I can’t charm. Who see through my shit. And he does. So do the other guys. Including Erik, unfortunately.
“How loved is she?”
He tilts his head. “At school? Probably less now that she’s not on the dance team. But she’s got the whole sympathy going for her now. It wasn’t exactly quiet that she was on hiatus for a semester.”
I grunt.
“You want her miserable?”
“I want her alone.”
His eyes go dark. “Well, good fucking luck getting between her and Willow. They’re glued together. Have been since high school. Maybe middle school, I don’t fucking know. Reed and Reece—alphabetically, they’ll almost always be together.”
Huh. I knew they were close, but that makes a lot more sense. I look at him. “Maybe my problem isn’t that they’re close. It’s just that Willow and Violet are too focused on each other.”
He nods along to my words. “True enough.”
“So… we need to give Willow a distraction.” I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. I don’t normally do this. I operate alone. At Brickell, I didn’t have a lot of friends. I had a team that grudgingly admitted I was better than them. But here, I actually feel like I’m making the team better, and vice versa. That’s largely due to Knox and Steele welcoming me into the fold.
They might not if they knew who I was before—but that makes me all the more determined to push him toward Willow. Give him someone to focus on instead of me and Violet.
“I can do that,” he eventually says. “But how about we make it a bet?”
Things just got more interesting.
I grin. “First to fall wins?”
He extends his hand, and I slap my palm into his. Violet’s affection isn’t my goal. I don’t want her to love me. I don’t want her to like me. But it’ll keep Knox busy. He’s a competitive son of a bitch.
Love is overrated. I want to torment her until she breaks.
6
VIOLET
It takes me three hours to put my room back together, sans mattress and box spring. In fact, my room looks a whole lot bigger without the bulky furniture. My pictures are all gone.
When I first discovered it on Monday, I did three loads of laundry to get rid of the paint on my underwear, and I had to toss all the clothes that were ripped to shreds. But I didn’t want to deal with the furniture. I didn’t want to take down the photos. So I hid it from Willow for four days.
Now it’s Friday, a quiet day with no classes, and I have the mental capacity to deal with it.
Whoever did this had a lot of anger, which makes me think of Greyson.
And trust me, I don’t want to be thinking about him.
Willow gets home on the tail end of my cleaning spree, when I’m struggling to push my red-stained, gouged dresser out the front door. The only thing making me feel less guilty about putting it outside with a free sign on it is the fact that I picked it up at a secondhand store for twenty bucks.
She watches me struggle for a moment, then comes and helps me lift it over the threshold. We carry it to the street, and I lean against it.
She waits, clearly ready for me to spill.
I just shrug and turn around, knowing she’ll follow me all the way back to my room. And she does. She gasps softly when she steps inside.
My room is bare. Like, to the bone. The walls are blank, scrubbed paint-free. There’s a few pieces of clothing still in my closet. My backpack that I had with me hangs in the closet. Otherwise, nothing.
“What the fuck?”
“Someone broke in and destroyed everything. On Monday.” I don’t tell her that they wrote whore across my wall, and that all my memories are gone. I mean, they still live in my head. But beyond that…
“MONDAY?” she shrieks. She smacks my arm. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
“Because…” I don’t know. I haven’t cried this whole time. Not when I found it, not when I started to tear down the pictures. Or when I discovered my journal missing. I told myself that tears were useless and action could fix this. Make it better.