Maybe she heard me enter, because she doesn’t seem particularly surprised to find me. She’s shorter than I would’ve guessed. Her pink sweater hides her body, the leather pants only giving away muscular thighs and calves that must’ve come from years of dancing.
Did she pick pink to look innocent? If she did, her red lipstick throws it off.
She goes still, her hand gripping the edge of the stall. Her chin lifts. “What do you want?”
I laugh.
What the fuck do I want?
I shake my head slowly and step toward her.
She steps back.
Mistake.
I’ve never quite felt such an awakening to my anger like this. Like… like I can get my revenge and actually satiate that part of me. The craving for retribution.
After I was arrested, a local news outlet picked up the story. They smeared my name across the state, and the effect on my life was immediate.
The Brickell hockey coach called and said I was off the team. Bad publicity. Even though the article was only live for a few days, the damage was done.
Then the college dean called and strongly advised me not to return.
I couldn’t go any-fucking-where without people staring. For the wrong reasons. Because they thought I was a shitty person who drove drunk, who crashed their car and framed an innocent girl. Beyond that, they made all sorts of assumptions and accusations. That my life was gilded because of my last name. They wondered how many other offenses I ducked.
And my father…
Not going there.
“Tell me what you think I want,” I say. “Let’s see how close you are.”
Her brows draw together. “I don’t know.”
“You recognize me.”
I’m still getting closer, and she’s still retreating. She bumps into the trying-to-be-cool spray-painted wall and stops, but I keep approaching. Right until I’m inches away. Heat pours off her body.
Or maybe it’s my imagination.
Either way, I’m enjoying this much more than I should be. This close, she feels electric. I know, it sounds insane. But there’s something immensely satisfying about it. About her.
“I don’t think I could ever forget your face,” she admits. “Now get the fuck away from me.”
I reach forward and touch her chin. My fingers wander up the side of her face, and I push aside her hair. She doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t hide from me when my fingertips brush the ugly scar on her temple. It snakes into her hairline, silver against her red face. The only part of her that isn’t burning hot, I imagine.
Oh, I think I like touching this girl. She shivers, glowering at me like her expression will get me to back off. It’s a nice try—it might work on lesser men.
Even through that, I register that I can’t be attracted to her. I’m suddenly furious at myself, too. It’s her fault. She cracked the gilded mirage I’ve been living in. She hurt my relationship with my father, jeopardized my future. All because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut.
“You ruined a whole lot for me.” I lean in closer, like I’m telling her a secret. When really, I want to know how she’ll react to me. “So how about I do the same to you?”
She flinches.
I see it, I catch it. I savor it. Her immediate blast of fear is what I’ve been waiting for, and something in me knots with anticipation. Her fear is so like the fear I felt sitting in that jail cell, even if I only had to suffer for hours. She’ll suffer for a lot longer.
Oh, yes.
This is going to be fun.
“When I’m done with you, your precious little dance team won’t be the only thing I take from you,” I promise.
I withdraw. She’s stuck against the wall, her chest heaving. I didn’t even touch her that much, but she looks at me like I just stuck a knife into her and twisted the blade.
I can’t wait to see how she looks when she breaks.
3
VIOLET
Sunlight slants across my face, and I groan. I block it with my hand, but then my overhead light flicks on.
“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty. It’s almost one o’clock.” Willow climbs onto my bed, flopping beside me. “How are you feeling?”
I squint at the ceiling. “Like my head is an anvil and it’s being struck by a hammer over and over. Undecided on my leg. Or the rest of me.” That’s a lie. As soon as I focus on my lower leg, pain shoots up into my hip in waves. I grit my teeth.
“Well, you went a little hardcore…”
Yeah, that’s true. I couldn’t bear to look at Greyson at the bar. He completely ignored me after accosting me in the bathroom. Instead, he flirted with Paris and one of her friends. And meanwhile, I kept freaking out.
Why the hell is he here? Did he know I went here? Crown Point University is so far removed from our hometown, Rose Hill. Different state. Hours away. This small town was my reprieve, and now it’s becoming my nightmare.
He’s the hotshot no one can shut up about.
My friends are obsessed with hockey.
And, admittedly, I’m friendly with them, too. The team. At least, I was. I now have the urge to avoid all of them.
Am I going to run into him on campus on Monday? Am I going to have to avoid him like the plague?
If only I could just leave. Go back to Rose Hill, climb into the narrow daybed my mom shoved into the corner of her living room while I recovered, and hide under the covers. But with dance gone, and the money for college slowly dwindling, I don’t think I have much of a choice but to persevere.
“What happened with Jack?” Willow asks.
I grunt. “He’s a sloppy kisser when he’s drunk.”
Another mistake. Willow refused to let him back into our apartment, even though he pleaded. Which is probably a good thing. No doubt he would’ve climaxed in less than ten minutes—or taken an hour. No in between. Meanwhile, I would’ve been left to live with the ache between my legs or take care of myself.
It’s his toxic trait. Leaving me hanging when he’s blasted.
“What do you want to do today?” She picks up my hand and threads our fingers together. “I’m thinking a movie. A matinee? Then we can just relax.”
“Sure.” Really, anything dark sounds good. The light is still burning into my eyes, and I roll onto my side to face Willow. “Has Greyson been big on campus the whole time I’ve been gone?”
She narrows her eyes. “I thought I saw something on your face when Steele introduced you two. What happened?”
“Um…” I swallow. A lump forms in my throat. If I tell Willow, she’ll go protective mama bear on my ass. Or worse. Potentially way worse. I’ve just got to blurt it out. So I do, in a rush. The words mash together on their way past my lips. “He’s the one who hit me.”
She pauses a beat. Then, “Bullshit.”
I wince.
She stares at me and rises on her elbow. “Violet Marie Reece, you’ve got to be KIDDING me right now. He hit you? He’s the one who did…” She waves vaguely at my leg.
“Greyson Devereux.” I exhale sharply. “I can’t make this shit up, Willow. The asshole hit me with his car. But—” I reach out and grab her hand. “You can’t tell anyone.”
“Why not?”
Because I signed a nondisclosure agreement. It was part of the reason why I dropped the charges. My mom didn’t want to let go. She wanted to wring out every last penny from the Devereuxes. Wanted them to cover the medical expenses, wanted Greyson to serve jail time.