Brutal Obsession: A Dark Hockey Romance (Hockey Gods)

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.

Of course, he was out in less than four hours. Too much time elapsed between the cops interviewing me at the hospital, before I was rushed into surgery, and them arriving at Greyson’s house. They told my mom that they couldn’t administer a breathalyzer test, even though I swore he was drunk. He got away with it.

As the story goes, his dad made some phone calls and nudged the police chief to drop the charges. Greyson walked—quickly and quietly. I don’t know if they even took his fingerprints.

But there was still a civil suit to deal with. Mom threatened it. Loudly. Greyson’s father came and appealed to my mom’s sensible nature. He pointed at me and asked her if she was willing to drag me through a trial.

I would be questioned.

Why I was out.

What I was doing.

What made me pull into the street then.

Did I check both ways?

Did I try to avoid the car?

Questions I can’t answer . The day leading up to the accident is a blank. Like the slate in my mind wiped it clean. I don’t know where I was or how fast I was going, or if I was even wearing my damn seatbelt. If I didn’t see pictures of my car after the wreck, I wouldn’t have believed it.

And after seeing them, I don’t know how I survived. The front, the driver’s-side door, was all crumpled in. It didn’t look so much like metal but shredded paper. The passenger door of my car was open. The first responders pulled me out that way, my neck braced and head supported. That part is blurry, too.

My memory of that entire day starts with pain and Greyson and blood. I might’ve passed out after that, because it seemed like only seconds later the EMTs were helping a girl out of his car and working to extract me.

And I just remember how wrong that felt. To see her stumble between them, apologizing over and over. He didn’t just ruin me—he almost ruined her, too.

“I signed an NDA,” I tell her quietly. Like the walls are going to lean in and steal my secrets. “So even telling you that he was involved could get me in trouble. If I even so much as admit out loud that Greyson had anything to do with a car crash, or my injury, I’m done.”

Devereux. A powerful name in Rose Hill. And their attorney, Josh Black, is an influential man in the community, too. He has friends in high places—and by high, I mean rich. Infamous. They’ve carved out their spots in Rose Hill, been there for decades. Everyone in the county knows their last names—they’re that sort.

It’s Greyson who hit me, but somehow, I was paying the price.

And then the media got wind of the story. Suddenly, they had something to use against me. The defamation countersuit would’ve buried my family.

I signed the NDA so I wouldn’t have to deal with any of it. Signing it meant my mother couldn’t keep pushing. It meant that I could sleep without guilt. Yeah, because I was guilty. Somehow. Mr. Devereux painted it as my fault, and I let myself believe it.

It was a mistake. I should’ve tried harder. Should’ve refuted the defamation suit, should’ve sued Greyson for personal injury. Insurance only goes so far.

“Oh, Violet,” Willow whispers. She closes her eyes. “Fuck.”

“It could be worse,” I offer.

That’s a lie. And even worse, Greyson isn’t going to let this go.

That means I can’t either.

“What are you going to do?” Willow asks. “What do you need?”

I sit up and brush my hair out of my face. I look down at my best friend. She’s willing to go to bat for me. She’s willing to put everything on the line for me. I know that as surely as she knows I’d do the same for her. We’re more than best friends. More like sisters.

“I’m going to ignore it.” I nod. Yeah, it’s a great idea. Ignore Greyson Devereux. No problem. “It’s a big enough campus.”

She snorts. “You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself more than me. But okay. Fine. We’ll play it your way, Reece.”

I grimace when I stand. Today is a bad leg day, I can already tell. I put my knee on the bed and rub my hand down the back of my calf. The scar is neat and precise down the front, starting a few inches under my knee and ending above my ankle. A plastic surgeon had a hand in it, making sure it was the least ugly thing I’d be walking away from the accident with. (Or, in this case, wheeling away from it.) It almost blends into my shin bone.

There was a time when my calf muscles were strong. When I could rotate on a pointe shoe, and my leg would hold me.

Not anymore.

My muscles have gotten weak. It would take a lot of work to get the strength back, if the pain wasn’t a factor.

My mother came to one of my physical therapy appointments. She sat in a metal chair in the corner and watched, and at the end, she said, “You still move like a dancer.”

It wasn’t the compliment she thought it would be. On the inside, I still felt like a dancer, too. I still had a phantom sensation of spinning, leaning, curving my body in specific ways. Rotating my hips, my feet, my knees. My toenails are all but destroyed from years of training. Walking like a ballerina is a hell of a lot different than walking like someone with a broken leg.

“I’m thinking a thriller,” Willow says, drawing me back to the present.

“I’m thinking I need water and Tylenol,” I mutter.

She laughs and hops up. “Did you want me to cut off your drinking?”

Trick question. When has either of us ever listened to the other when we’re in that sort of mood? When Willow broke up with her boyfriend, we went to Haven and got plastered. I got us home and held her hair while she puked all night.

It’s that sort of purge that tends to be necessary.

She gets me the Tylenol while I slowly get dressed. I brush out my hair and pull it up. My bangs, which Greyson oh-so-rudely pushed aside to gawk at the scar, stay down. I’ve got a limp in my walk today, but Willow doesn’t comment on it when we head to the theater.

Willow buys the tickets on her phone. Some thriller, but I couldn’t tell you the name. It sounds up my best friend’s alley… something with one of the Chrises as a lead, and a train.

We stand in line to buy our popcorn.

“Willow!”

She glances back, then tenses. Her back goes rigid, and she makes a face. Just a subtle one, her lips flattening and her brows drawing down. And then her eyes move to me, and she lets out a quiet, “Uh-oh.”

“What?”

She grips my arm before I can turn around. “Um, sorry in advance for not telling you that I slept with Knox while you were gone. A few times.”

My eyes bug out of my head. Willow and Knox ? I make a mental note to interrogate her about that. But it’s too late now because someone steps up beside us.

“Hey.” Knox’s dark hair curls down, almost long enough to get in his eyes. He pushes it back and grins at Willow. He looks at her like he’s ready to devour her. Makes sense, since he’s seen her naked. He steps close, tilting his head down to meet Willow’s gaze. “Thought I recognized you.”

“By the back of my head?”

Seeing my best friend flirt is nothing new—but it is surreal to see her flirt with Knox Whiteshaw . Her fascination with him isn’t a big deal, but it is surprising that she acted on it. We used to whisper about him. Gossip, try vague moves to catch his attention. As previously discussed, he’s one of the all-stars on the hockey team.

One of the guys who easily rules the school, just by existing.

Still, one-night stands haven’t been her thing. Historically.

“By your ass.” He chuckles. “You disappeared last night.”

“We were there for a few hours.” She shrugs and steps up in line, towing me with her.

Knox comes with us, a smile still on his lips. “Well, not long enough.”

“I was drunk,” I say. “She was being a good friend.”

“Jack Michaels seemed to be intent on getting you home, Violet.” Knox winks at me. “Good to have you back, by the way. The dance team has been lacking.”

I bite my tongue. I guess people will find out I’m not back when they make their first appearance at a competition in a few weeks. Or when they perform to send off the hockey team for an away game. Whichever comes first.

“Pretty sure she won’t be competing.”

My spine snaps straight, and I slowly face Greyson. He has on a black CPU Hockey sweatshirt and gray sweats. And a cocky grin. His hair is actually dark blond. It’s easier to see now that we’re not in a dim bar. And those eyes… angry eyes.

For a second, I think he might spill why he knows I won’t be dancing.

“She’s scared.”

I narrow my eyes. Wishful thinking on my part, to believe he’d tell the truth. “Like you know anything about me?”

He shrugs. “Not yet. But I do know that you use too much tongue when you kiss.”

I jerk back.

He grins and pulls out his phone, flashing me a video.

Of Jack and I… making out. Last night. In it, my ex tugs at my pink sweater. His hands slip under the fabric, palming my breasts. I don’t seem to have much to do with it. I hold on to his waist, my back pressed against the wall outside Haven.

“Where did you get that?” I hiss.

Willow makes a noise in the back of her throat.

Greyson raises his eyebrows. “If you don’t want people to see your awful kissing skills, you probably should stick to doing it in private. Or forget lips altogether and keep your mouth on a cock. Judging from the rest of the video, you do that well…”

Shock hits me first.

Did he just say what I thought he said?

Did I do that? In public ? I barely remember last night, but the vague memory of Jack guiding me to my knees is there.

Fucking fuck.

Greyson winks and motions to Knox. He tucks his phone away, smiling at me like he just won. And maybe he did.

“See ya, babe,” Knox says to Willow.

“Maybe in your dreams,” Willow scoffs.

They both head into the theater. No popcorn or anything, just shit-eating grins. We watch them join more of the hockey team—they’re like a cult, only friends with each other for the most part—and give their tickets to the worker at the entrance.

Shit.

“This feels like the start of war,” Willow says quietly. “Did you really suck Jack off outside Haven? I left you alone for five minutes.”

I sigh and rub my eyes. “Yeah, I don’t know. I guess I did. It’s kind of a blur.”

“No wonder he wanted to come inside so bad. Maybe Greyson is just…” She lifts her shoulder, mystified. “Maybe he’s jealous?”

“Next in line,” the guy behind the counter calls.

I sigh. “I’m not even hungry anymore.”

She nods, and we step aside and just go to our theater. The guy at the top of the hallway scans our tickets and waves us through.

My leg still hurts, although it’s reduced to a dull throb that shoots upward with every step. Better than how it was, I guess?

We push through the door into the darkened theater, and both of us stop dead.

“Of course they pick the thriller,” I whisper, eyeing Greyson, Knox, and some other guys sprawled out in one of the middle rows.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Willow answers.

She’s hurt for me, I know. Because I did something stupid, and she couldn’t prevent it. Being mad at them won’t change it. Certainly won’t get them to delete it.

She doesn’t wait for an answer and tows me to the exit.