Willow rushes me after my first class. She almost crashes into me, skidding to a halt inches away, and drags me into the bathroom. She checks each of the stalls and then locks the main door.
“What the hell, Violet?”
I jerk back. “What?”
“What. The. Hell. Violet.” She glares at me. “You should give a girl some more warning before you go off script.”
I drop my backpack and shrug, helpless and more than a bit confused. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You going to tell me or just keep scolding me?”
“This.” She pulls her phone out and shoves it at me.
It’s a blog for the CPU Hawks. All sorts of athletic team write-ups, reports, and coverage of the games… plus notices put out by the publicist. Rebecca Dumont.
“We met with the publicist the other day,” I say slowly.
I click on the most recent post that went live twenty minutes ago.
Didn’t take long for Willow to find it—and then me. I’m not sure what I’m expecting to find. I told Rebecca that the previous article posted in the newspaper was a complete fabrication. There was nothing to tie Greyson and I together except that photo.
Seems like now, their official angle is that the article is my fault. Again.
Just when it had been swept under the rug, they have to drag it right back out into the limelight.
She has quotes from Greyson and me—more from him, of course. And a few from his coach. Even Steele and Knox. They all conclude that I’ve been obsessing over Greyson and his rise to fame since coming to Crown Point University. That, yes, I have a history with him. We knew each other from growing up in the same town. And the accident that took away my career has made me bitter.
Me.
Bitter.
I stare at the words from Steele, and it’s just another confirmation that he and Greyson were messing with me. Figures.
I choke on a laugh. “This has to be a joke. Right?”
They say I supplied the story to the journalist. That someone close to me took the picture in Greyson’s house.
Everything tied up in a neat bow. My fault, my bitterness, my regret.
Well, he’s going to regret getting under my skin.
“It probably won’t be seen by many people,” Willow tries.
I shake my head and toss her phone back. I got backlash for the article that came out and was subsequently pulled. This is going to spread like wildfire… and there’s no one to take the heat off my head.
The only people who were able to smother the other articles had a stake in it. The Devereux name. This is all on me , put there by Greyson. And his coach. His teammates.
Fuck .
“Let’s get out of here,” I eventually say.
She unlocks the bathroom door and walks beside me all the way to my second class. I’m getting more attention by the second, and I hate it. Everyone stares. A guy steps in front of me and looks me up and down, then laughs. Like he’s judged me in two seconds and found me lacking.
I wince.
Willow grabs my hand and keeps pulling me along. “Ignore it.”
Easy for her to say. We part ways a half hour later, and I feel… marginally better. But the rest of the day is hell.
I slink into the library after my last class, intent on just getting through my work before going home. The only good thing is that most people don’t have my new number, and it’s been blissfully silent.
Greyson had to know this was going to happen. I’d be naïve to think he didn’t play a part in this. He spoke with the publicist after I left the room. He got his teammates to back him up.
Fucking hockey team.
I force myself to leave the dance girls alone. I don’t want to drag them down with me. In fact, they should all just pretend I don’t exist until it blows over.
Greyson wins this one.
“No one wants you here.”
I glance up from my laptop. A guy on the football team stands at the edge of my desk, his brow lowered in anger.
“You all take opinion as gospel, huh?”
He steps closer. “Are you calling me dumb?”
No, but you probably are. I smile sweetly at him, hiding my grinding teeth. “Never.”
He leans down in my space, forcing me to scoot back in my chair to put some distance between our faces. “You fuck with the team, you fuck with the whole school. Got it?”
“You should really get better lines.” I roll my eyes. “Go away.”
He sneers. “Just wait. Whore.”
He doesn’t see my flinch. He’s already turned away, striding down the stacks to get back to the main room. Stupid me, I shouldn’t have chosen an isolated desk. I was looking to get a reprieve from the stares.
Of course, I get accosted instead.
I finish my work quickly, but I can’t shake the unsettled feeling.
Whore . I never solved the mystery of who trashed my room. I thought it was the same person who was in my room the second time, but the more I think about it, the less it makes sense.
I flip my notebook open to a new page and start a list.
Greyson and I discovered that we were at school together my first night back. Before the semester had even officially begun. That same night, he gets a video of me drunkenly giving Jack a blow job.
Total mistake, by the way. I barely remember doing it. I think I would, because I like the thrills that go along with something like that. Almost getting caught. Well, obviously we did get caught. Did Jack notice them? Did he see Greyson film and not say anything?
Then, someone breaks into my apartment and trashes my room. They leave Willow’s room—and the rest of the place—alone. They write whore across my wall of pictures. Most of my clothes were destroyed.
I suspected Greyson, but he never said anything about it. At all. He’d have found a way to rub it in my face by now.
The locker room incident was next, followed immediately by the second break-in.
Not long after that, an article comes out that included a picture I was sure I had on my wall. It was of my mom and I in front of the hospital, but we weren’t happy. Not the one on my Instagram, where we faked our smiles. I remember that giving me pause.
The article, featured in print and online, was taken down. I don’t know if the print copies were destroyed, but I do know that they were removed from campus. And maybe other places, too.
I tap my lips.
Since the article, of course other shit has happened between Greyson and me. But beyond that… I’ve felt like I was being watched.
I brushed it off. I foolishly thought Greyson was the one doing the stalking, even when I was with him—or headed to him. I’m a bigger idiot than I give myself credit for. Has someone been watching me?
Did whoever destroy my room have something to do with the article?
By the time the second break-in happened, most of my personal belongings had been tossed. My room is no better than an empty slate at this point. Clothes, some baubles, a few pictures I salvaged and put into frames. If they were looking for more, they didn’t find anything useful.
So what’s the connection?
I don’t have an answer.
Instead, I pack up and head home. The walk home gives me the creeps. I keep my keys between my fingers, hidden in the sleeves of my jacket. My hat is pulled low over my head, covering my ears, and I keep glancing around like someone is going to jump out at me.
Willow has a late dance meeting, so the apartment is dark when I turn up the front walkway.
“Violet.”
I almost jump out of my skin, then focus on the person sitting on my porch steps. They’re no more than a hunched shadow until they rise and push their hood down.
Jack.
Relief goes through me, and I march toward him. I smack his shoulder. “You scared me half to death.”
He chuckles. “Sorry. I tried calling, but it goes straight to voicemail.”
I step past him and unlock my door, flicking on the lights as I go. He follows me in and kicks off his shoes. I pause a beat, then shrug off my coat and toe off my boots.
“It hasn’t rung,” I offer, scrolling through my recent calls. “Not sure what happened.”
He runs his hand through his hair. “Well, I just wanted to offer my support. I know that you might not be getting a lot of that right now…”
“That’s true.” I frown. “One of your football buddies went off on me in the library, actually.”
He raises an eyebrow. “What? Who?”
“Wish I knew.” I sigh. “Actually, it’s probably better that I don’t. Who knew people could be so invested in one guy?”
One popular, hot, charming…
Stop it, brain.
“Well, I’m here to make you feel better.” He steps forward and runs his hands up and down my arms. “Dinner? Movie?”
I take a breath and find myself nodding, although something twists in my belly. I’m not sure why I don’t want to hang out with him—probably because he’s not who I really want here. But who I want is a figment of my imagination. The truce Greyson and I bartered for was temporary. It ended the minute we got back to Crown Point.
So I’m not going to delude myself.
“Sounds good,” I add belatedly.
He flops on the couch and pats the space beside him. “You know,” he says, “if I were you? I’d want to get back at him.”
I raise my eyebrow. “How?”
“I don’t know. Hit him where it hurts. It was clearly Greyson behind it, right? I’ve never liked that guy.” He pats the space again.
I ignore it and sit on the other end of the couch, wrapping my arms around my legs. “Hit him where it hurts? The guy is practically made of armor.”
“You’ve got a point. Not even a defamatory article could bring him down.”
Yeah. That. I think of my list, of the weird things that have been happening since I got back. Maybe it has less to do with Greyson and more to do with me. I’m the vulnerable one.
Either way, I’m not going to solve this mystery tonight.
I settle in and let Jack pick a movie. He orders us food, too, and jumps up to get the door when it arrives. I’m not going to lie… it’s nice to have company. I feel better not being alone in the apartment.
Still, the fact that Jack dropped me so fast after that video went out still stings.
And the worry that he might’ve seen Greyson take the video…
“What’s been up with you since…?” I bite my lip and set down my drink. The pizza is mostly gone, the movie is half over. I didn’t mean to bring up the video, but here we are. He acted so cold outside the dining hall. Hateful, even. And here I am, sitting on my couch with him like everything is fine. It’s not. It’s far from fine. “Actually, Jack, I think you owe me an apology.”
Regret flashes across his face.
We talked briefly after he lashed out at me. But he pretended the whole thing didn’t happen—and now he’s sitting on my couch doing the same thing. It’s not how I want tonight to go. Especially if he’s going to pretend we’re okay.
He twists to face me and takes my hands. “You’re right. I am truly sorry for how I acted after that video was posted. I knew you didn’t have anything to do with it, but Devereux got in my head about it.”
I pause. “What does that mean?”
“Just that he was joking about it to his buddies. He had a good laugh at our expense and kind of blamed it on you…” He shifts.
Jack called me a slut. His apology shouldn’t erase my memory of it.
I pull my hands from his grip and stand. “I’ll be right back.”
What the fuck is happening to me? I lock myself in my bathroom and close my eyes. I shouldn’t do anything with Jack. I shouldn’t even have invited him in… wait, no, I didn’t invite him in. He just… came.
But he is right about one thing. I should hit Greyson where it hurts.
Strike back.
We can’t be together, him and I.
So we may as well be enemies.
The thing is, there’s not much Greyson cares about. Hockey, of course. His friends. Like Willow and me, I doubt they’d be easy to tear apart. But… there is something else.
I splash water on my face and step back into my room. A wave of dizziness washes over me, and I grab the doorjamb.
“You okay?”
My head snaps up. Jack sits on the edge of my bed, his gaze steady on me.
“Just dizzy.”
He hums. “Shame.”
“What is?”
He tilts his head. “The movie isn’t over. But maybe we should get you to bed.”
Goosebumps rise on the backs of my arms, and I head for the hall. “It’ll pass.”
“It’ll get worse.” He rises and grabs my forearms as I pass. He grips me just under my elbows, and my knees give out.
I blink, and it feels slow. Like they’re closed a lot longer than they should be.
When I finally force my eyelids open again, we’ve moved closer to the bed.
“What did you do?”
He makes a face. “Nothing you don’t deserve.”
He sets me down on the edge of the bed and waits. The room swims around me, and I brace my hands on my knees. I try to rise again, but my legs aren’t working. It’s like someone detached my head, and I’m floating up into the ceiling. He swings my legs up, setting my head down on my pillow, and pulls out his phone. I blink again and lose precious seconds.
An alarm goes off in my mind.
His phone flashes, the click of the camera loud.
“Hey!” I didn’t say that. And neither did Jack.
He whirls toward the voice.
I push myself up, but my muscles can’t hold. I catch a glimpse of Greyson storming into my bedroom.
He grabs the phone from Jack and glares down at the screen. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Jack sneers. “You’re not the only one who can use her—”
Greyson punches him.
I close my eyes and try to roll on my side. I teeter on the edge of my bed. My legs hit the floor first, and my body follows. I crash hard, my shoulder catching my nightstand. Searing pain bursts down my arm, numbing it. The room keeps going in and out of focus, and my hearing, too. Like I’m floating through a wave. Caught in a riptide. Nausea hits me, and my stomach knots. I can only hear the grunts that I know come from Greyson. They’re familiar to me in a way Jack never was.
What was Jack going to do to me?
“Come on,” Greyson says, suddenly close. He grips me under my arms and lifts me.
I weakly curl my fingers into his shirt. I force my eyes open and barely see Jack’s legs extending past the end of my bed.
Greyson ignores him and swings me up into his arms.
He carries me into the hallway. I can practically feel his mind working. He goes into the hallway bathroom and sets me down in front of the toilet.
“Sorry, Vi,” he mutters.
Then he jams his fingers down my throat.
I gag and try to fight him off, but it’s fruitless. His two fingers press down on my tongue, and my stomach contracts. I fall toward the toilet as I vomit. I’m vaguely aware of his hand on my back, collecting my hair, and the other one supporting my torso. I sag to the side and close my eyes.
Plastic touches my lips, and then cool water. I open and swallow, and then it’s gone.
“One more time,” he murmurs.
“No,” I whimper.
“He drugged you.” Greyson pinches my chin, directing my face back around to him. Doesn’t matter that my eyelids are so heavy, I can’t keep them open. “The bastard came in here and gave you a fucking date rape drug.”
He doesn’t need to stick his hand down my throat again—that thought is enough to get me to gag. I cough and choke after, the taste burning my throat. He gives me more water, then scoops me into his arms.
He carries me back to my bed and sets me down on it.
“What—”
“You’re safe. Go to sleep. It’s okay.”
He pulls my jeans off and drags the blankets over my legs. I curl on my side, every part of me aching again. I can’t seem to catch a break.
My thoughts are sluggish. I’m vaguely aware of Greyson moving around my room, and then, sometime later, silence.
I’m left with one question.
Why did he come here in the first place?
