“Creating a theory,” Willow says carefully.
“Don’t let me stop you.” He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles.
The move is unexpectedly sweet, and butterflies flutter in my chest.
Willow sniggers when he keeps my hand. “Okay, so. Someone’s been following Violet’s ballet career. Enter: Greyson Devereux and the car crash.” She side-eyes him. “Violet is taken to the hospital, presumably, and Greyson goes on his merry way—”
“Until he’s arrested,” Greyson grumbles.
“Until he’s arrested,” Willow agrees. “Let’s say whoever was following her career was already interested in her personal life. Maybe Violet posts something on social media about being in the hospital, or an accident. Something.”
“I did,” I pipe up.
Greyson makes a noise of contention. “Did you delete it? I don’t remember seeing it on your Instagram.”
My face heats. “Actually, yeah. It was pretty negative. I think I was still coming down off the anesthesia when I posted… I was really upset.”
I grab my phone and scroll through my archive of private posts. I find it relatively quickly—there are just a few that I’ve been annoyed with and taken off my public feed.
The picture is black and white. It’s clear I took it myself. It’s just of my leg, in a cast and propped up on pillows, in my hospital bed. My other leg is under the blankets.
I wrote: I will probably never dance again. Pray for my leg. And let’s not even talk about the shape my car is in…
Greyson reads it and winces. He passes the phone to Willow, who frowns.
“Yeah, I remember that. You called me right after it.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know. Has anyone stood out over the years? Since you joined Crown Point Ballet?”
I shake my head.
“Continue with your theory,” Greyson says to Willow.
She raises her eyebrows. “You care what I think, Devereux?”
“I’m curious about your take on it,” he retorts.
Not the best comeback…
Still, my best friend accepts it. “Fine. Violet posts that, and whoever follows her career decided to look into it further. They find out you were responsible and were released without being charged.
“Then, just a few months later, you come to Crown Point and join the hockey team. You rise to infamy yet again.”
He snorts. “Sure.”
“Whoever leaked your story to the media obviously knows your name,” she points out.
“Wait.” I hold up my hands.
They both look at me.
“Who wrote the article? Those last lines felt personal, you know?”
Greyson pulls up the screenshots and shows me the name. Marcus Vindicta. The name isn’t at all familiar to me.
A quick search online doesn’t bring up anything else for his name either. Like, nothing. We search just the last name, and I immediately freeze. It’s Latin for revenge. At least, that’s what the online translation page says.
“A fake name?” I shiver. “This is getting creepy.”
“Let’s just assume that whoever wrote it was able to convince the editor to put it under a pen name,” Willow says. “I hate assuming, but we don’t have much to go off of right now. Whoever it is then witnesses Violet’s return. And your… interactions.”
“And they react poorly against both of us,” I finish. “God, now that you put it out there…”
I’ve got goosebumps. And without any idea of who to trust, everyone feels like an enemy. How am I supposed to go about my business after this?
I hop up and spin to face them. “I almost forgot!”
They both wait.
“I have an audition,” I blurt out. “For Sleeping Beauty. CPB is doing that next, and they’re casting in a few weeks. It’s perfect timing for me.” I can’t believe I forgot about it. In all the bustle of Knox and Willow moving her stuff in, and classes… Mia called me this morning to let me know I had a spot for an audition if I wanted it. Which would mean potentially re-signing with Crown Point Ballet for a year contract.
Those are a big deal. It’s security. It’s basically a full-time job that could launch my career. I had that—and I lost it in the snap of my fingers. Easy to go, hard to get back. So, yeah, a big fucking deal. A terrifying opportunity.
Greyson stands and cups my face. He kisses me soundly, his tongue sliding along the seam of my lips. Too soon, he pulls back slightly. “Fight for it, Vi.”
Willow practically shoves him out of the way and hugs me. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”
I hug her back. “Thank you.”
“And you’re coming to finals, right?”
“For the dance team?” I scoff. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
We’re only halfway through the semester, and it feels like our junior year is coming to a rapid end.
Knox breezes in and freezes when he sees Willow and me embracing. “Did I miss something?”
“Nope,” she says smoothly, releasing me and stepping away. “I don’t suppose you have a bedroom for me to stay in, Whiteshaw? Or are you taking the couch while I take your room…？”
She strides toward the stairs.
He gapes for a moment, then gives chase.
Greyson grabs my hips and pulls me close. “Promise me something,” he says in my ear.
“What?”
“That you won’t do anything stupid.”
I sigh. “I don’t think anything I do is stupid. But, sure, if you need that promise from me…”
“I do.”
I face him and loop mine around his neck. “I won’t do anything stupid.”
He grins. “We have a game tomorrow. Will you meet me in the locker room afterward?”
I mirror his expression. I feel… happy. Even with a stalker, who has yet to be found. Like everything is finally going right between Greyson and me. I tap his hand, which has slipped under the hem of my shirt to press against my bare back. His knuckles healed just fine after the last fight. No breaks, just a sprain that healed rather fast.
So I don’t feel particularly bad for saying, “Only if you get your knuckles bloody.”
43
GREYSON
Today’s the day I get to tell my father to fuck off.
Never thought that would happen.
It’s also game day.
There’s a certain magic that happens to the school on Friday nights when the hockey team is playing at our home stadium. There’s a buzz in the air that’s infectious. It keeps me light all day, instead of worried. Instead of plotting the ways this could all go wrong.
Because it could go wrong in a shit ton of ways.
I don’t think my father can take away the trust fund. Not since it’s currently in my possession. I even checked with a lawyer yesterday who told me what I needed to hear. If I wanted, I could move the money into a separate account without his name on it.
That’s exactly what I did.
Whether or not Dad’s accountant will catch it in time to ask me about it today is another matter. This could come up on Monday, or a month from now…
Anyway. I lace up my skates and join Jacob and Erik on the ice. They’re warming up, stretching their legs by doing a few laps around the outside perimeter. I come up behind them and fall in line.