I take a deep breath and go back to the window. There are scrape marks in the paint on the sill. Evidence that someone gouged into the wood in order to unlock it. Whoever did it could come back, and that makes me act.
I call Willow.
She answers on the third ring. The noises behind her almost drown out her voice, but she yells at me to hold on, and then the voices fade.
“Hey, where are you?”
I dig my nails into my palm. “Um, home.”
I explain the situation quickly. That I got home and took a shower, and when I came out there was someone in my room. They came in through my window. That I don’t think she should come home tonight—either that, or she should come home immediately and save me from going absolutely insane.
“Oh my god,” she gasps. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I lie.
“Oh, wait—”
“Violet?”
I grimace at the new voice. Knox, I think. I’ve never spoken to him on the phone, and it gives his voice a different quality. Willow’s in the background. Saying something to him.
“Someone broke in?”
“Yeah. I just—”
“Who the fuck would do that?” He pauses. “I’ll take care of it.”
It? What it?
Is Willow the it?
“Thanks,” I say, instead of asking the questions I want to ask. “Can I talk to Willow again?”
He grunts, and then her voice is in my ear.
“He looks mad,” she whispers, breaking off to giggle. “You good?”
“Yeah. Is… um, is Greyson there?”
If rolling eyes had a sound, that’s what would be coming through the phone right now. I can practically feel her judgment—and her curiosity. I told her what I could, but beyond admitting that he was the one who hit me and broke my leg, there’s not much I could say without incriminating her.
I still want her to be able to look him in the eye. Because if she can’t, then I’m fucked. He’s smart. He’d be able to tell why my best friend is suddenly icing him out… and then other people might pick up on it, too.
She doesn’t have a good poker face. Not enough to save either of us.
“He got here about an hour ago,” she says. “I mean, we’re at his house. So.”
My eyebrow lifts. “Oh?”
“Yep. The whole team is here celebrating their win. I thought they were going to go to Haven, but apparently that’s out for now… Change of scenery, Knox said.”
I sigh.
“Oh.” Her voice pitches lower. “Knox is talking to Greyson.”
“Stop it.”
“Well, I don’t know what he’s saying.” She breaks into more giggles—of the nervous variety. “You don’t think he’s going to send Greyson to get you, do you? That would be…”
“Terrible,” I finish. “I hope not.”
But I don’t have to worry. An hour later, it isn’t Greyson who comes to get me—it’s Steele.
13
GREYSON
“What do you mean, someone broke into her apartment?” I glare at Knox. On one hand, I shouldn’t fucking care. But that persistent side of me that wants to claim her—publicly—rears its ugly head again.
He lifts one shoulder. “She called and seemed pretty upset. She wanted Willow to find somewhere else to stay…”
“Because her being alone in that apartment is a good idea.” Sarcasm is my default when I’m trying to hide my real feelings. It’s not a great sign that it’s choosing to come out now.
“Listen, man. Steele offered to go pick her up and bring her here. It isn’t ideal, seeing as how we’re in party mode…” He gestures to the beer bottle in my hand. “But whatever. She can hang out in one of the rooms upstairs if she wants.”
Violet didn’t call the police.
Which probably means she thinks I’m behind it.
I frown and shake my head. Then the first part registers. Steele went to get her? Steele offered?
I didn’t think I’d have to knock his teeth in, but I will if I have to. Happily.
Jesus, when the fuck did I get like this? All twisted up on the inside?
“When did he leave?” I bark.
Knox shrugs, but there’s something else there. A glimmer of triumph.
“You ass,” I groan. “You did it on purpose? Because of the bet.”
He snickers. “I can’t give you a leg up in this competition.”
No doubt he doesn’t care that Violet sucked Steele off at the stadium. If Steele opened his mouth anyway. I push my bottle into his hand and storm toward the door. I don’t really care what Steele wants—I need control over this situation.
I need to kick the shit out of Steele and remind him that there’s only one reason why Violet went down on her knees for him. Because I allowed it.
I get as far as the foyer, and then the front door opens, and Steele and Violet enter. She looks around and finds me almost immediately, then her gaze shifts away. Black leggings, and white sneakers. Under her unzipped coat, she wears an oversized blue Hawks shirt that hides her curves. Her hair is damp and braided, hanging over her shoulder. Not a speck of makeup, and definitely no hint of what happened between us not too long ago.
“You can stay in my room if you don’t want to hang out with us,” Steele offers.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, shedding her coat. “But I think I want something to relax.”
“I’ve got what you need,” I interject.
Her gaze flicks to me, eyes widening in surprise. I pull her jacket from her grip and tip my head, indicating that she should follow me. She does without a word. Her attention is fixated on my back. Her focus makes me feel like I’m stepping into a warm bath.
I lead her to the stairs and up, then down the hall to my bedroom. Knox has the largest, with its own bathroom. Steele, Miles, and I all share the one in the hall. I guess she’ll just have to deal with that.
She follows me like a lamb to slaughter, all the way into my room. She lets me close the door behind her and toss her jacket onto the bed.
“Sit,” I order.
She doesn’t. She stays in the center of the room, looking around like she’s never seen a guy’s room before. Maybe Jack was a different breed and never let her go over to the house he shares with some of his football buddies.
My room is neat and organized. It reflects my mind. I don’t like chaos, I don’t like uncertainty. And Violet is the biggest uncertainty I’ve faced. She’s unpredictable.
In here, I know where everything is. My desk is clear of papers, notebooks, and textbooks. The pens and pencils sit in a mug that says Number One Hockey Babe that was a gift from a nameless puck bunny. A thank you for an orgasm, probably.
The walls are cream, my bedspread quilted, dark-gray and soft. White sheets—I’m not a monster, and I’m not sixteen anymore. Black sheets are a red flag… and I go out of my way to eliminate all the red flags that might make someone run.
Well, not Violet. She had the chance to run because she’s seen past the veneer, and she knows what my family is capable of. When it comes to Devereuxes, you’re either in our good graces, not worth our time, or you’re our enemy.