I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. I rub my eyes and manage to roll out of bed. My mouth has a sour taste, and I brush my teeth twice to get rid of it. My head pounds. A quick glance at my phone tells me it’s midmorning. Later than I would’ve normally slept… and it’s Tuesday. I’m missing classes.
“Shit,” I mutter.
I get halfway dressed before I realize that making it to campus isn’t going to happen. I stumble out into the living area and glance around. It’s neat and organized, like…
Wait.
What happened last night?
I stand in front of the couch and stare down at it, confusion hindering my thought process. There was the press release on the athletic blog, the football player in the library, Jack waiting for me on my front step.
And then… nothing.
Like my memories have corroded. There’s nothing left except that taste in my mouth. I don’t remember putting myself to bed or what Jack wanted…
Panic surges up my throat. I put my hand over my chest and try to breathe, but getting air in seems to be the problem.
The front door opens, and Willow strides inside. Her voice, calling my name, seems to come from a long way off.
Something crashes, and then she’s right in my face. She lowers me to the floor and kneels next to me. She puts my hand on her chest, miming deep breaths.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to match her. The rise and fall, everything slowing down. There’s still panic riding through me, but after a few tries, I manage to catch my breath. I inhale and exhale until my heart rate slows, too.
“You with me?”
I open my eyes. “Sorry,” I croak.
Her concern bleeds through her expression. “What happened?”
I frown. “I don’t know.”
She frowns, too, and sits beside me. We lean against the wall.
“Walk me through it?”
That’s the problem. I don’t know what happened, and I can’t seem to articulate it. So instead, I ask, “What time did you get home?”
“Eleven. Coach had us learning new choreography, and it was taking forever to get to a stopping point.” She tuts. “You were asleep by then, though. Did you order out?”
I roll my head toward her. “Did I order out?”
“Yeah.” She nudges my shoulder with hers. “There are takeout boxes in the trash. Beer, too. What happened?”
My heart skips, then picks up speed. “I can’t remember.”
She watches me carefully.
“Willow.” Tears fill my eyes. “I walked home, and Jack was waiting on the front step for me. I remember him coming inside, then… nothing. It’s blank.”
“Did he…?” Her gaze drops.
I wrap my arms around my abdomen. “What are you saying?”
“The last time he talked to you, he was awful. I’d never want to accuse someone of… that…”
“He didn’t.” I don’t know how I know it, but I do. He didn’t rape me. That’s the sort of thing I’d be able to feel, right? I’d be sore. Or there would be evidence. Bruising, tearing. All the sort of vicious stuff we hear about in relation to sexual attacks.
Right?
The more I think about it, though, the more suspicious I become. Why don’t I remember? I push myself back to my feet and go to the trash. There are two beer bottles nestled against the plastic, along with a pizza box. Not stuff we’d usually throw away.
We like to recycle, for one.
I have that same untethered feeling as when I was high on the Molly. Like I’m lost and might just float away. So I pour myself a tall glass of water and force myself to drink most of it, then refill and repeat.
Worry churns my gut. I can’t let it go. Something happened, and it’s eluding me. Just out of my grasp. Every muscle in my body is strung tight.
Willow guides me back to bed, and we both jerk to a stop in my room.
My nightstand is tilted, like something crashed into it. My lamp is askew, leaning haphazardly against the clock. It seems like a miracle it didn’t fall and break. Everything else that used to be on it, nice and neat, is jostled, too. My book is on the floor.
“Something happened,” Willow says in a low voice. “I don’t know what, but… we need to find out.”
“I agree.” I’m afraid, but at the same time, I need to know.
“Do you want to stay in my room instead?”
I shake my head and shuffle over to my bed. I fix the lamp, straighten the rest of it, then sit heavily.
“As soon as this headache goes away, I’ll play detective with you,” I tell her.
She nods and watches me. Concern creases the outer corners of her eyes, and her lips press together, but she doesn’t say anything.
“Go to class,” I sigh into my pillow. I wrap my arms around it and bury my face. “I’ll be okay.”
She hesitates.
“Really, Willow.”
“Okay. Under duress. I’ll see if…” She shifts, drumming her fingers on my dresser. “Maybe someone knows something. One of our neighbors.”
We live across the street from other college students. It’s common in this area, really. But if she thinks one of them saw something, I have a feeling she’s mistaken.
Still, I don’t refute her. I want to know—no, I need to know. The unknown is an itch I can’t scratch. My skin crawls, and I can’t seem to tear my thoughts away from what might have happened to me.
I close my eyes. Willow leaves my door open on her way out, and I don’t fault her for that. She’s worried. I’m worried.
Her shower kicks on, and I fail to fully relax. Every time I do, something has me tensing. Sleep haunts me. It’s right there, then gone. My eyes are sandpaper behind my eyelids. The tears that keep leaking out aren’t helping.
I need to know what happened last night.
Which means confronting Jack.
As soon as the front door closes, I force myself back out of bed. I take a shower and dress warmly. A baby-blue sweatshirt over a long-sleeved white shirt with Crown Point Dance across the front. I brush out my hair and braid it back, then hunt down a hat. Winter jacket. Jeans. Boots.
Armor .
I swipe on makeup, to disguise how I feel on the inside, and pop a few Advil.
Then I head to campus.
Today, I draw more stares. I’m not really concerned with them—I am on a mission to find Jack. It’s almost dinnertime, so the sensible place to find him is in the student center.
And, sure enough, I find him with his football friends in a gathering outside the dining hall. He turns and scans the room, like he can feel me enter, and quickly averts his eyes.
Anger surges through me.
It’s the confirmation I need.
I march toward him and stop dead. His leg is in a cast, with crutches leaning on the table beside him. He’s pointedly ignoring me at this point, and so are his friends. Although I doubt his friends have even seen me, since I’m still far enough away to not impose. And Jack isn’t giving them any clues that he’s uncomfortable.
But something happened… and I have a feeling I know who might be behind this. The one person with little regard for anyone else. Or the law. And he’s possessive enough to strike out at Jack if he somehow knew…
I spin on my heel and get the fuck out of there.
Once I’m away from the student center, I fish out my phone.
ME
What time does practice start?
I wait a moment, then bubbles pop up on the chat.
STEELE
Six. Why?
I don’t answer. It’s almost six now, which means there’s a very real chance I could catch Grey before then. I tug the zipper of my jacket higher, burying my chin in it, and hurry to the stadium.
My exposed skin is frozen by the time I make it there. Once inside, I unzip the jacket and rub my hands together. I peer through one of the entrances to the stadium seating.
Jackpot . Only a few people are on the ice, wearing pads and sticks in hand. I hurry to the lower level and watch again, making sure one of them is Greyson. It sickens me that I know him just by the way he moves and the back of his head. The way he skates.
Ah, well.
No time like the present. Except, more people are filing onto the ice from one of the open doors. More players. They skate around, and one of them cocks his head when he sees me.
Still. I step out onto the ice. I’m on a mission, and I feel unstoppable. Unlike the last time Greyson had me on ice, I don’t let fear keep me away.
“Hey,” someone barks. “You can’t be out here.”
I ignore them and head straight for Greyson. He turns and watches me approach. Of course he doesn’t try to get closer, to help me out. No, he just eyes me from behind his mask with a gleam in his eye.
Answers. I’m here for answers .
So when I stop right in front of him and poke his chest, I’m surprised when no words come out.
I hit his chest again, harder.
He just stands there, taller than he should be in his skates.
A lump forms in my throat, and I hit him again. It doesn’t make me feel any better.
Why can I voice what I remember to Willow but not here?
“Violet,” Greyson says in a low voice. “If you came here just to hit me… you could’ve waited.”
“You’re an asshole,” I choke out. The words are shreds of glass moving through my throat. I stagger backward.
He raises an eyebrow. “Okay.”
“You’re fucking with my head. You don’t have any idea what I’ve been through. And then last night—”
He glides forward. Right into my space. He rips his helmet off and leans down, so we’re eye to eye. “Nothing happened last night.”
I grit my teeth. “No.” I try patience, but it’s not my strong suit. “No. Something did happen—”
“Nothing happened to you. Nothing happened to me.” He narrows his eyes. “And nothing happened to Jack.”
So it was him .
I don’t know why I’m surprised—he’s literally the first person I thought of when I saw the cast. But he’s Greyson . He’s the kind of asshole who hits you with his car and puts an innocent passenger in the driver’s seat. He doesn’t beat up ex-boyfriends for fun.
He doesn’t care that much.
“Ms. Reece!” Coach Roake skates toward us. “What the hell are you doing on my ice?”
I face him and wobble. “Um—”
“And I know you’re not my newest hockey player,” Roake snaps, “because tryouts were three months ago.”
My cheeks heat. “Sorry, sir. I’ll just…”
I take a step and, wouldn’t it be my luck, my heel slips out from under me.
Greyson catches me from behind before I eat it. “Got her, Coach.”
I can hear his cheeky smile, even though I can’t see his face. He keeps his hands where they are and lifts me back up, my feet barely losing contact with the ice. He speeds us toward the entrance I came through. He doesn’t set me down until we’re both on the mats.
“We’re not done,” he warns.
We are, though. I can’t just forget about the conversation I had with his dad’s secretary. I can’t forget about ballet and the help I can get. The resources for my leg.
I got my confirmation that he did something to Jack. Why he was at my apartment is a question I’ll just have to live with—especially if I want my future back. It hurts to step away from him again, hurts worse that I won’t get my answers. I take a deep breath and exhale my frustration.
“Goodbye, Greyson.”
He winces.
I’ve got to leave it there. It was a mistake to come here in the first place. I’ve got to focus on my own future, and he has to focus on his.
