Brutal Obsession: A Dark Hockey Romance (Hockey Gods)

My teammate nods to the guy sitting at a table full of girls. “Jack, Greyson. Jack is the quarterback on the football team.”

I quirk my lips. The football team lost spectacularly this year, no thanks to Jack here. It’s a good thing the hockey team is picking up the slack and bringing some attention back to this school.

That’s where I shine.

In the spotlight.

Well , correction: that’s where I used to shine.

My gaze goes to the girl beside Jack, who seems like she’s about to be violently sick. She looks familiar in the way most girls do. Like I might’ve had a chance encounter with her at some point in my life but nothing worthy of me remembering.

Maybe we ran into each other here, at Haven. After a game.

I smirk at her, and she flinches. Not the usual reaction.

Interesting .

Steele is going around the table, introducing the dance team. I register it faintly, still trying to figure out the girl under Jack’s arm. She’s watching me, too. Her blue eyes on mine are like daggers. I’m intrigued.

“And Violet,” Steele finishes. “Back from…”

“Hiatus,” she says faintly.

She has an unusual name. I’ve only heard of one other…

“Violet Reece,” Steele continues. “Best damn dancer on the team—no offense, ladies.” He winks at the other girls.

Violet Reece .

I clench my jaw to keep from saying anything. My expression smooths, although what I really want to do is ask why the fuck she’s in my town. I’ve been here since the start of the fall semester, and I haven’t seen or heard of her. Not even a fucking whisper.

Best damn dancer on the team. Back from hiatus . So, what, this is a massive coincidence? My luck. No, her luck. I’m glaring holes in her skull, I think, but she makes a point to not look away.

Challenge accepted .

“So, how are you liking playing with the Hawks, Greyson?” one of the girls asks.

I tear my gaze off Violet and try to find who asked. The girl in the center, with perky breasts peeking out from a low-cut shirt, leans forward. It seems to be a tactic girls employ to drive attention down to them.

So I go with what she wants and let my eyes fall to the swells, then back up to her face. She’s flushed from whatever they’ve been drinking. I’ve seen her with some of the other girls who always shadow the team. We’re regulars at Haven—the owner has a soft spot for the team, especially after a win—and she just has the look.

A puck bunny in hiding. They’re usually not so subtle. Although I’m not sure what she’s doing is subtle . Maybe she’s just in denial.

“It’s a good change,” I finally reply. “Much better than where I was.”

Violet lifts the shot glass in front of her, slamming it back. My attention is pulled back to her. It’s unnerving. She swallows delicately, her throat moving. She’s stopped staring at me and has chosen to go with ignoring my existence.

But it’s subtle enough that I don’t think many other people pick up on her snub.

Maybe she’s regularly like this.

Cold.

It’s all the more intriguing, because I realize that I don’t actually know her. I’ve only heard her name in association with my future being choked to death.

“We’ll see you ladies around,” Steele says. He pulls at my sleeve. “Come on, man.”

“You look like you have room for two more,” I say.

The girls giggle. Except the one on the end, across from Violet.

A best friend? She seemed to catch whatever was going through Violet’s mind.

“No,” whoever she is says. “We’re celebrating—no boys allowed.”

I raise my eyebrow. “Oh? Hear that, Jack?”

He flushes. “She meant no hockey boys allowed.”

I sneer. “Right. Well, catch you later.” I stick my hands in my pockets and follow Steele back to the bar. More dance girls—the ones I’m more familiar with—are waiting for us with my buddies, Knox and Jacob. The right wing, Erik, leans against the bar, as well. He and I don’t get along as well as Coach hoped.

Not my fault he’s a fucking dumbass. He’s graduating this year, though. Good riddance. Next year, when Knox, Steele, and I are seniors… we’ll take the hockey world by storm. More than we already are. Then we’ll take on the NHL.

“You meet the rest of the dance team, Greyson?” Paris puts her hand on my arm.

I let her. Why the fuck not? She’s pretty, too. And she sucks dick well enough. Found that out last month, before we all split for winter break. The hockey team came back a week ago to get back into practice, and now everyone has returned to Crown Point. School starts back up on Monday, and this is the last weekend hurrah.

There’s a new reverence around me. My old school didn’t have that, although I sure as fuck made the title for myself. Everyone knew who I was at Brickell University because of my last name. Money can open a lot of doors—but charm keeps them open.

Good old Dad taught me that one.

It worked, too, until everything blew up in my face.

I order a beer and rest my elbows against the bar, sandwiched between Paris and another girl. Paris has her long blonde hair loose, fanned out across her shoulders. Despite the fact that it’s January—and fucking cold out—she only wears an off-the-shoulder black blouse and tight jeans. She’s still running her hand up and down my bicep, stroking me like a fucking dog.

“Grey?”

My brow lowers. “It’s Greyson or nothing at all, Paris.”

She flushes. “Sorry.”

“Steele introduced me to the rest of your team. What’s up with the moody one?” I tip my head back to the table we just left.

Paris scoffs and glances over. “I don’t know. Everyone’s hung up on Violet not coming back to the team.”

I rotate a bit and study Violet. Her hair is ashy, and the bangs that sweep to either side of her face hide half her forehead. In a split second, I can see her clear as day with blood running down her temple. The way she was after the crash.

Did she get that haircut to hide a scar?

Even now that I’m gone, she still seems stiff. She drums her fingers on the table and doesn’t seem to care much when Jack leans into her. He whispers something in her ear and doesn’t get a reaction.

My blood boils.

Instantly.

I clench my jaw and force my reaction to be minimal. So slight, the girl in front of me doesn’t notice until I ask, “You friends with her?”

“Violet?” Shock colors her tone. “We’re friendly, sure.”

“But not best friends.”

She wrinkles her nose. “No. She was Coach’s favorite.”

Was . I read between the lines—now that Violet’s gone, the top dog spot is open for Paris to take. For a second, I’m impressed with the level of ruthlessness girls like Paris possess. But then I remember that, if not for me, Paris would probably still be seething in silence. She wouldn’t have done anything to unseat Violet.

That’s fucking cowardly.

Jack stands, and Violet slips from the booth. She hurries to the bathroom, still so stiff. Her outfit is drastically different from the girls I’m used to seeing here. Even from her teammates at her table. Friends . They wear dresses, the skirts short enough to leave almost nothing to the imagination.

I gulp my beer and wait a second, then follow her.

It isn’t anything I consciously decide—I want to, so I do.

I push into the women’s restroom and duck down to check the stalls. They’re all open except one. A thrill goes through me, and I flip the lock on the exit door. I lean against it and wait.

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.