I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair is an absolute mess. My clothes, too. And Greyson has my student ID. I curse, then light up and pat down his pockets. Sure enough, my ID is safely tucked away in the left one.
I peel off his jacket and set it on the back of my desk chair. My phone is still on my charger on my nightstand, because I didn’t want Willow to wake up and track my location.
See? Total guilty person behavior.
I exhale and turn on the shower. There’s smudges of dirt on my arms, and it’s all over my clothes. The bed of pine needles and leaves we rolled around in seem to have all come home with me, too.
It’s a slow process to remove my clothing. Another zing of pain travels up my left leg when I try to balance on it, so I lean most of my weight on the counter to peel off my leggings. I touch my clit tentatively and gasp at the sensation. He didn’t get me off—didn’t want to, from the sound of it.
I consider continuing, taking myself there… but then his warning sounds in my head. And as painful as it is, I pull my hand away. I leave myself breathless and horny. Then I get in the shower and try to erase what happened tonight.
18
VIOLET
I wake up to my phone buzzing next to my face. I lift my head off the pillow and make out my mother’s name on the screen. My shock wakes me up a bit, and I swipe to answer it.
“Ah, so you are alive.” My voice is hoarse and rasping. About time she decided to check up about Mia Germain—it’s unlike her to curb her curiosity.
Well, I suppose it’s more like her nowadays, and I just hadn’t caught up to the new her. But she’s calling now, and that’s the important part. Right?
“You signed an NDA,” my mother hisses. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
I rear back from my phone. Not quite the response I was expecting.
“Um…” I scramble to catch up. Did Greyson release the video? I thought it was blackmail… I thought I did what he wanted. Panic stabs through me, ice-cold, and I throw the covers off my legs. The scar on my shin stands out in sharp relief against my pale skin. “Can you fill me in?”
“The Times. Look at the fucking Times.” She moans. “Oh, our lives are over. How could you do this to us?”
I don’t answer, putting her on speaker while I grab my laptop and type in the newspaper’s website. It’s a local Crown Point paper that runs print and digital. I think my mom gets their emails just in case I ever did anything impressive enough to warrant a screenshot—or, worse, for her to find a printed copy and carefully cut out the article or photo that mentioned me.
That was a lifetime ago, though.
Now, it’s Greyson’s picture that’s spread across the front page.
I scroll down, my heart in my throat. The headline says: Crown Point University’s rising hockey star has a torrid past.
I can’t breathe. Mom is still talking about how I’ve ruined us, how they’re going to come after both me and her. I tune her out and scan the article. It lays out an accusation without real evidence: that Greyson was involved in an accident, driving drunk, and it was swept under the rug.
“I didn’t do this,” I say weakly.
“Of course not,” Mom snaps. “That’s exactly what we’re going to say.”
The story goes on to talk about what happened to me. They found a photo of me outside the hospital in a walking boot. One I posted to my Instagram, if I’m not mistaken.
A chill goes through me. Did they do their research on me? Did they just look at my social media, or did they actually try to get in contact with me? It doesn’t seem like anyone wanted a quote. No missed calls or emails…
Farther down, there’s another photo of Greyson on the ice in his CPU jersey, skating along the wall. His expression is serious. The writer goes on to say how all is well in Crown Point, with his past transgressions seemingly swept under the rug.
It mentions us. Me and him. There’s a photo of us together, with Steele blurred out in the background. In his apartment? Who would have taken a picture of that?
I stare at the words on my screen, which go blurry after a minute. Violet and Greyson seem to have no problem moving on. Perhaps they agree that mutual destruction is the way to go. Either way, Crown Point citizens should know who they’re rooting for when Greyson Devereux steps on the ice every weekend.
“Are you still there?”
I flinch. “Yeah.”
“Well?”
“Um, sorry, I didn’t…” I clear my throat. “I’m not quoted. There’s no proof that I said anything at all—because I didn’t.”
Mom scoffs. “Of course not. I said, don’t talk to anyone. This is libel, and I’ll be contacting the newspaper immediately. This is absolutely ridiculous. To think, this piece had to be approved to go to print.”
My stomach drops. “It’s in print?”
“Front-page news,” she says, her tone conveying her continued disgust.
Oh god.
He’s going to kill me. He’s going to release the video that already proves I broke the NDA, and wrap it up with this article, and deliver both to his father. And then I’ll be well and truly fucked.
“Let me know.” I hit the end button, not bothering to say goodbye.
She’ll either make headway or she won’t. Simple as that. And until then, I’m not going to be seen in public. No chance of that. I can afford to miss my Monday classes exactly twice before I fall behind.
I can already picture how pissed Greyson is going to be and what he’ll do to retaliate. This was already a game to him, but it’s getting worse. The stakes are inching higher and higher, and I’m afraid I’m not going to like where he takes this.
The ball’s in his court… Or is it?
What if I act first, for once? What if I set the record straight with him and make him understand that I had nothing to do with this?
Before I can lose my nerve, I text him.
Me
This wasn’t me. I promise.
He texts back a second later.
Greyson
I know.
I narrow my eyes. He knows?
Willow bursts into my room, her phone in her hand. “Violet—”
I motion to my computer, open on my lap, and make a face. “I got a call from mother dearest, accusing me of breaking the NDA.”
She gasps and comes to sit beside me. “You didn’t.”
“I know.” I narrow my eyes. “But someone obviously found out about it.”
She reels back. “You think I had something to do with it?”
Oh god. I grab her hand to keep her from getting too far. “Oh, hell no. Girl, my trust in you is absolute. But I’m wondering if Greyson mentioned anything to… someone else.”
Relief flows across her expression, quickly chased by confusion. “I doubt it. The whole point was to pretend it didn’t happen, right?”
“No chance of that,” I mutter.
Willow checks her phone again. “Wait.”
“What?”
“Screenshot the page,” she orders. “I think they just pulled it.”
I do, making sure to get the headline and all the images, too. I refresh the page, and the headline has been replaced by something else. An abandoned mall being converted into an indoor dog park later this year. I type in Greyson’s name into the search bar and get an error.