Brutal Obsession: A Dark Hockey Romance (Hockey Gods)

Violet comes home with me.

I don’t ask about the photo album—she doesn’t seem to believe that I’m serious, and I don’t blame her for that. She’ll hold on to it until she feels safe again. And for now, I’m okay with that. After her terrible lie about burning it. She was right. For a split second, I believed her. Then my common sense kicked in… and I was able to piece together her intentions.

Everything I told her was the truth. The last month was my most frustrating—and hockey was my outlet. Now I’m flying high on adrenaline and her . The smell of her. The taste of her. She lies on her side, her head on my shoulder. She’s curled around me, our legs tangled, and I feel… content.

There’s another shoe waiting to drop, though.

Secrets I don’t think she knows.

She seemed naïve about my father paying her medical bills, because that offer didn’t come out of left field.

It’s been tried—with great success.

I force my eyes closed. Six months ago, we were different people. She was hurt, I was angry. Okay, she’s still injured and I’m still pissed, but it was new to us. We didn’t yet know how to live with it. I’d always felt the rage, but what proceeded to happen with her, the media… it turned it into an uncontrolled inferno.

The added complications stemmed from our families.

Would everything be different if it were just her and me?

Yes—I would be rotting in prison. Probably. I don’t actually know what they would’ve charged me with, and I don’t know how much time I would’ve served. Those are mysteries I hope to never know.

Her breathing is even, and it doesn’t change when my eyes open and I slowly reach for my phone.

I’ve got the old article saved.

The one that “broke” the story of me driving drunk, and how easily it was swept under the rug. They included a picture of me leaving the police precinct with a ball cap pulled low, obscuring my face. One of Dad’s bodyguards was guiding me toward the car.

My father was fighting to pass a bill, and he was constantly in the news. That’s why the paparazzi were at the restaurant that night. They were probably tipped off that a Devereux—the name on the reservation—was dining that evening, and they showed up to find me.

I didn’t used to be a heavy hitter in the paper. I didn’t sell copies like Dad.

Still don’t, if we’re being perfectly clear. There are a lot bigger fish to fry in Rose Hill.

There was also a photo of Violet. They didn’t give her much print space. She was used more to invoke anger toward the Devereux name. They said her career as a prima ballerina was ripped away. I find that paragraph and read it again.

Violet Reece, a rising star in the ballet scene, had a promising career as a prima ballerina. Unfortunately, she’ll never get the chance to dance again. Mr. Devereux’s careless driving has ripped that away from her—and he won’t face any consequences for his actions .

Something gives in my chest. A sort of pressure releasing.

Well, she will have her career.

We’re going to make sure that happens.

The first time I read it, I was pissed. It appeared in physical print. Dad tried to squash it, but there wasn’t much he could do after it caught fire. Online media outlets picked it up and ran with it, and all eyes were on me.

And then… it fizzled. Like all things eventually do.

Once that happened, it was easy to get it removed from searches and from people’s memories. There’s always something new and flashy that comes along and diverts attention.

I’ve reread it a few times since, if only to remind myself of what can happen if I’m not careful.

But then my eye catches on the second to last paragraph, and I pause.

Though the world will soon forget Greyson Devereux’s role as the antagonist of Ms. Reece’s life, she has supporters who won’t. The ballet community stands behind her.

No shit.

I squint at the screen and contemplate jostling her awake. She seems peaceful, though. And it’s late.

Hunches and theories can wait until the morning.

My mind spins, though. Does she have supporters who would bring my past out of the woodwork? Does she have superfans who would… do anything for her?

And how mad would they be that she’s with me?

I hug her tighter to my side.

I’m worrying for nothing… or so I hope.