Brutal Obsession: A Dark Hockey Romance (Hockey Gods)

The trip organizers rented out one of the conference rooms for breakfast. There’s a congregation of CPU students in the room, spread out across tables, at the buffet line. I ignore them all, though, in my hunt for Willow.

I never ended up texting her last night, and I feel a pang of guilt. It eases slightly, though, when I see her sandwiched between Knox and Amanda.

Grey stops beside me. Hearing that I’ve used a nickname he likes—especially coming from me, I guess—does weird things to me. Good things. Strange things. It’s a step in a direction I wasn’t expecting. Like our truce. Like pretending not to hate each other.

I’m pretty sure I have frostbite on my ass, though.

“Hungry?”

I glance up at him. “A bit.”

He smiles. “Go sit. I’ll grab us something.”

“No, it’s okay.” I head toward the buffet.

He snags my wrist. “Vi.”

“Grey.” I narrow my eyes. “I have a weird relationship with food, okay? Don’t fight me on this.”

He appraises me, understanding lighting his expression. He finally nods and releases me, but he stalks close behind. I get the sense that he’s taking notes of what I take, what I waver over, and what I pass by without hesitation.

“Are you trying to dance again?”

I stiffen. “What?”

“If it’s off the table, you could theoretically eat whatever you want.” He looks pointedly at my plate. “Instead, you’re eating the breakfast equivalent of rabbit food.”

I grunt. Aquatic therapy is probably a shot in the dark, and it’ll put me in debt. But damn it, I’m still going to try. And I’m not going to let myself waste away—or slack. Sometime in the middle of the night, I came to that decision. That I’d rather open a few credit cards than not dance again. Screw the consequences.

“I’m not losing hope,” I tell him.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat.

I stop and look at him again. His dark-blond hair is still damp. It’s longer on top, short on the sides, and a few locks curl down over his forehead. Blue eyes. Full lips. Killer jaw. And right now, he gives off the vibe that he’s homing in on something.

What that is, I don’t know.

“You gonna tell me?” he asks again.

I shake my head. I meant what I said yesterday—I’m not going to tell someone my most intimate fear, and new discovery, when I know they won’t care. Deep down, I know Grey doesn’t. He’s incapable of it.

We’re enemies.

This truce is exactly what he called it yesterday: temporary. It’ll burst the moment we arrive back on campus.

So why should I get deep in the trenches with him now? When I know he can twist it around to hurt me later?

I finish filling my plate and head toward Willow. My headache is receding, but my muscles ache. I feel strangely awake, too. Like I’m buzzed without coffee.

That could be from Greyson making you come before you woke up .

He asked if I had a good dream. Sarcastic, sure, but I did. Come to find out my body’s very visceral reaction was from him.

Although I can’t say I hated to be woken up that way…

It’s a little invasive. But let’s be honest. Greyson is a little invasive.

As a human.

“Good morning!” Willow’s singsong voice precedes her shit-eating grin. “Sleep well?”

I grimace. “You abandoned me.”

She laughs and leans across the table. “I was dancing, and suddenly you were gone. I think you abandoned me.”

I squint at her. Huh. My memory of last night is foggy, so I’ll have to take her word for it. But anyway, that’s not what I was referring to—I was talking about the hotel room. I look across the room, to where Greyson is filling his plate. He was too focused on what I was grabbing to take care of his own.

He fishes his phone out of his pocket, sets the food aside, and strides out of the room.

“Earth to Violet,” Amanda says.

I jerk back around, my face heating. “Sorry. What?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I’m good at suppressing pain. I’m good at minimizing my emotions. So I do just that, shoving everything down, and slowly eat my breakfast. My stomach roils.

Steele comes over and takes the seat beside me. He grins at me. “Hey, Violet.”

Oh, yeah. I’m mad at him for going along with Greyson’s stupid ploy to try and make things worse for me. If that was even a thing. Maybe Steele actually was apologizing, and Grey just decided to twist it.

Unsure, I eat in silence and ignore Steele. I ignore everyone, then dump my plate. I grab a coffee from the in-hotel café and return to the room. Greyson isn’t here, and my head still hurts.

I pop another painkiller and set my drink and phone on the nightstand, then flop onto the bed that we didn’t sleep on. My phone immediately buzzes, rattling in place. I reach for it and sigh. A blocked number.

Either a telemarketer or my mother, I’d be willing to bet.

“Hello?”

There’s a second of silence.

“Hello?” I repeat.

“Violet Reece?” A woman. I don’t recognize her voice, but she sounds rather professional. Not in a sell-you-something way or the trying to contact you about your car’s extended warranty way.

“This is her,” I say carefully. “Who am I speaking with?”

“Martha Sanders,” she says. “I’m Senator Devereux’s assistant.”

I sit up so abruptly, the room tilts. I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to lose my breakfast in my lap. What the hell does he want with me?

“Um… Okay,” I reply weakly. “How can I help you?”

“Greyson has informed us that you’re attending Crown Point University.”

I bite my lip, then force myself to release it. I can’t help my tone when I reply, “Yes. And I’ve been here since I was a freshman.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “You see, we didn’t expect to run into this… complication.”

I don’t answer. What the fuck am I supposed to say to that? How is it my fault that they sent Greyson to the same school I attend…?

“Here’s the thing, Violet. We believe that Greyson would do better without distractions. He’s working toward the NHL, did he tell you that?”

“No,” I whisper.

She tuts. “Well. There are rumors that the two of you are romantically involved. Now, I’m sure you know how damaging rumors are. Especially since things on the internet never disappear forever. Right, dear?”

I do know that things on the internet never disappear forever. I do know that there’s a video out there of me giving Jack a blow job. There’s an article smearing Greyson’s name, with mine attached. There’s another article, from six months ago, that didn’t come from me—but it could’ve. The media ran with that for a full twenty-four hours before it was locked down and brushed off. Senator’s son drives drunk, crashes, gets away with it. The paper released an apology shortly after, and I was silenced, but the internet is forever.

There was a lot going on in those days. A lot of trauma. I was half out of my mind on pain medication, my leg in a cast, my future over. Greyson was released from jail before I had even come out of surgery. How fucked up was that?

I was glad he was getting burned from it.

I was happy someone was paying attention to what happened to me.

But it bit me in the ass, and it seems to have left a continual sting.

“What do you want?” My voice is lead.

Martha clears her throat. “It’s come to our attention that you might be able to dance again. Is that true?”

I freeze. My hand, almost of its own accord, slides down my leg. I wrap my fingers around my calf, holding it tight.

“I don’t know,” I answer. “Maybe.”

“Insurance is fickle about these things,” she continues. “And if it’s more physical therapy, or surgery… we’re willing to help you out. Your mom isn’t made of money, is she?” She pauses. “Consider this a donation to your future.”

I stare at the wall. My eyes burn. They’d pay for what I need? To dance again. The MRI, the aquatic therapy. My nerve pain might go away. I might dance again.

Where is Grey?

“Help me out,” I repeat, my brain working to catch her subtle meaning. “Like…”

“Like we did before.”

Huh? “Wait—”

“Violet,” Martha interrupts. “Here’s the thing. You and Greyson just need to keep away from each other. We don’t care how you do it. He’s getting distracted. Even his coach thinks so. That fight yesterday wasn’t like him, and you’re the only new factor in his life. His future is important.”

I dared him to do it . A tear leaks out, rolling down my cheek. She’s right—I’m a distraction to him. And there’s my dreams, being dangled like a carrot on a stick in front of my face.

His future is important . It is—and so is mine.

“Fine.” I say it because if I don’t, I’ll never forgive myself. If I don’t chase ballet as far as I can go, I’ll combust. “I’ll send you the fucking bills.”

“Good choice.” The line goes dead.

And I’m left wondering what the hell kind of deal I just made with the devil.

I toss my phone aside.

A moment later, the door opens, and Greyson appears around the corner. He sees me on the bed and smirks. “Get naked.”

My lips part. “We’re leaving soon.”

“The bus leaves in an hour. That’s plenty of time.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Come on, Vi. Temporary truce and all… this is the nicest side of me you’re going to get.”

I swallow. That’s true . He just doesn’t know it yet. So it isn’t too much of a hassle to push my pants down and kick them off. He stands at the end of the bed and watches my little show. I sit up and strip off my shirt, then unclasp my bra and pull it down. The cool air touches my nipples, and they instantly pebble.

I lean back again, raising my arms above my head. My legs open.

His expression darkens, and he tears off his clothes. His cock is already hard, bobbing in front of him as he crawls toward me. He hovers above me, waiting for a moment, then sinks inside me with one hard thrust.

My back arches, my chest brushing his. He drops his weight on me and wraps his arms tight around me. He crushes us together.

I hook my legs around his hips, crossing my ankles, and hold on to his neck.

This feels like a goodbye.

From playful to serious in a fucking heartbeat.

Regret burns through me, but I shove it aside and catch Grey’s lips. I love the feel of him sliding in and out of me, his skin pressed to mine. The weight of him grounds me.

It shouldn’t, but here we are.

Our tongues touch, exploring our mouths. He tastes like orange juice.

I don’t expect to come like this. I’ve never come without stimulation on my clit. But suddenly it washes through me, and I tighten my grip on him. My muscles clench. He pumps twice more and stills inside me. He lets out a growl that reverberates through both of us.

My heart beats out of control.

He tears his lips from mine and tucks his head into my shoulder. Maybe it was the phone call, or today, or whatever happened yesterday, but it hurts. Everything hurts. My skin, my thoughts, my bones, my heart.

I hold on to him longer. Until our phones go off, alarms set to tell us that we have five minutes before the bus leaves. He releases me, climbs off the bed, and disappears into the bathroom. I lie still, wondering if I can still move after that.

It wasn’t intense physically, but emotionally?

How much can we convey without speaking?

He returns with a washcloth in his hand. He sits next to my hip, and I start when he runs the damp fabric across my core.

“It’s fine,” I say quietly.

I rise and slip into the bathroom. Our stuff is packed and waiting by the door, so once we’re clean and dressed, we both head out.

He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I.

Willow leads me toward the party bus. Away from Greyson and the hockey team’s bus.

And you know what? At this point, I’m okay with it. I’m ashamed to say I’ve grown attached to him. I like his asshole behavior. I like when he pushes my buttons—and when I push his. We’re fixated on each other. We’ve been fixated, but now…

Per his father’s orders, we’re going to be putting distance between us—why not start now?