Finally, finally, I can focus on what I need to do. The plays. The ice. I envision the stick in my hand, my blades gliding across the ice. The soft scrape as I dig in and fling myself forward. The weight of the puck as I push it forward.
All at once, loathing constricts my chest.
I shouldn’t have to go fetch Violet to get back in the zone. I’m pissed that this even had to be an option. That my teammates would mess with me—and worse, that Violet would put me in this position.
Without thinking, I slip my hand into her jeans.
She tenses, but she doesn’t move. I glance to my left and find Knox has gone elsewhere. There’s no one in our row. And no one else can see—not that I’d mind if someone saw my hand down her pants, but I think she’d try to get me to stop.
And that sort of fight doesn’t go over well in public.
I touch her clit. She’s wet, and she lets out a harsh breath when I rub slowly, back and forth. She doesn’t lift her head from my shoulder. My lips brush her ear.
“Remember the last game you went to, Violet? Remember what happened to us?”
Me and her. Caught in a loop.
She nods, her lips parting.
I reach farther, sliding two fingers inside her. Her pussy clenches at me, and I stroke inside her. Then out, back to her clit. And repeat. She shifts her hips, trying to get more from me.
“If we win this time, what will you give me?”
She opens her mouth wider, then closes it. She doesn’t know what the fuck I want from her—I don’t even know. I wonder if her cut has scabbed over and begun to heal. I wonder if she’d let me slice her open again.
My cock is rock-hard, caught between us.
This sort of energy will get me through the game.
“What do you want?” she finally asks.
The song changes. Something a little faster. I rub her clit to the beat, aware that the music pounds in both of our ears. I want so many fucking things from her. I want everything.
“I don’t think I’m going to tell you,” I say. I move my fingers harder, and she shudders.
A tell. Another fucking tell.
“Maybe it’ll involve my team. Maybe I’ll let Steele watch me fuck you, so he’ll know there’s no way he can do better than me…” I catch her earlobe with my teeth. She’s more turned on now than she was a minute ago. Bingo. She’s just as depraved as I am. “You like that? Do you like the thought of other eyes on you?”
“In your dreams,” she replies.
I bite harder on her ear. Her breathing is coming quicker now, her hips moving just a bit. It’s causing agony across my groin.
“In my dreams and your fantasies, I think. It’s okay, baby. You can be just as twisted as I am, and I won’t judge you for it.”
She turns her face more into my shoulder, and she comes on my fingers. I relish the spasm of her muscles. That her release is tied to whatever fucked-up madness is running through my head just makes it ten times better.
I pull my hand out of her jeans. My fingers glisten.
She lifts her head and watches me lick my fingers clean. Her taste is sweet, unlike anything I’ve sampled before. I don’t know why she’s like a drug to me.
“Good girl,” I murmur in her ear.
We’ll return to normal tomorrow afternoon. And Monday, what I told the publicist will go live. Our destruction is imminent.
26
VIOLET
Willow gets me to Dr. Michaels’ office five minutes before my appointment time. Mia Germain rises from her seat in the waiting room and strides toward me. She looks the same, if not a tiny bit older. Time marches on for all of us, after all.
I hold my breath when she gets closer, convinced she’s going to make a comment on my physique.
Instead, she just spreads her arms and wraps me in a giant hug.
Her dark hair is streaked through with random strands of silver, giving it a tinsel appearance. It’s twisted into a bun on top of her head. Her oversized sweater makes her seem smaller.
“I’m so glad you made it,” she says, withdrawing.
I grin. “Me, too. This is my best friend, Willow Reed.”
“My parents are hippies,” she says, trying to explain away her name as she shakes Mia’s hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Mia chuckles. “I wasn’t going to comment. I’ve known some extraordinarily talented young girls and boys who have the most eccentric names.”
Willow cracks a smile. “I’d have fit right in, then. Darn.”
“I can give Violet a ride home,” Mia says to Willow. “These appointments can take some time.”
My best friend nods. “Sounds good. See you back at the hotel.”
I follow Mia down a hall and into an appointment room. Dr. Michaels comes in a few minutes later, introducing himself with the sort of charm I expect from Greyson. The-world-is-my-oyster type.
Oddly enough, it puts me at ease.
If someone has to be the smartest in the room, I’d prefer it be the doctor with my career in his hands.
He leads Mia and I back into his office. On the wall behind him are two x-rays. He flicks the light box they’re clipped to, then takes a seat. He motions for both of us to sit, too, at the front of his desk.
“You got these x-rays done last week, correct?”
I nod. I had slipped away to have them done midweek. It feels like a lifetime ago. They sent them to Dr. Michaels.
“The good news is, the fractures healed well. The bones realigned perfectly, and the surgeon used minimal hardware.” He gestures to a spot halfway up my leg. “When we talk about shattered bones, it usually means a comminuted fracture—that means it’s broken into several pieces and needs to be reset. I’m not seeing evidence of that here—or you’ve healed spectacularly well.”
“Good news,” I echo. First time I’ve heard those words…
Mia squeezes my hand. “So, what’s next?”
“We’re going to test mobility, see where the pain might be, and strength tests. It’s going to be a long appointment, Violet, and it will get uncomfortable at times.” His expression turns sympathetic. “We see many dancers come through our clinic after injuries. Before we begin, are you sure you want this?”
Am I sure? I’ve never felt so sure in my life. “I’ve been waiting for this opportunity for months.”
He smiles. “All right. Let’s begin.”
The rest of the appointment is a blur. He has me change into athletic shorts and hop up onto a table. He runs his hands down either side of my leg, his eyes narrowed in concentration. He spends a lot of time prodding it, feeling the bone through my muscles.
Then we move to a different room, where Mia guides me through warm-up exercises. She gradually increases the level of each skill. When I step out of the last one, the pain buckles my knee.
I hit the floor.
Dr. Michaels helps me up, bracing under my elbow. “What did you feel?”
I want to shrug it off—but I can’t keep collapsing after exercises if I want to go on stage. No one would cast me.
“I get a shooting pain occasionally,” I mumble.
“Occasionally?” Mia raises her eyebrows.
“Usually daily,” I amend.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“I thought it would go away. It will—”