Brutal Obsession: A Dark Hockey Romance (Hockey Gods)

I stride into the Crown Point Ballet building. I’ve been coming here for years, but this time feels more significant. There’s a new energy in the halls. People I don’t know—men and women auditioning, hoping to be signed on for the performance season.

The familiar faces, though. They smile when they see me. Hug me, say they’ve missed me. I’m not sure I believe them. I got a lot of condolences when I was in the hospital. No one knew why I had driven back to Rose Hill—my hometown—that day. I asked them because my memory was… blank.

I remember being in Crown Point the day before. We were preparing for the home performances, and then the touring would begin after that. There were interviews and clips of rehearsals to be filmed, costume fittings, classes.

Being back here reminds me that I never did find out why I went back.

At the time, I assumed it was for my mother. I never asked her, and she never said. I guess she thought I’d know.

“Violet,” Sylvie, Mia’s assistant, calls out. “This way.”

I follow her into one of the large studios. It’s set up for a barre class. A handful of dancers are already here. They’ve claimed spots and are slowly warming up.

“You’ll be auditioning with everyone else,” she says when I reach her side. “Mia wanted me to apologize—”

“It’s okay,” I say. “I get it.” Expected it, even. She can’t give me preferential treatment just because she likes me.

She leaves me there, and I drop my bag next to one of the bars. I sink to the floor and unzip my bag. The first thing in it surprises me. I half pull it out, rubbing my fingers through the soft blue material. Devereux , it says in white letters. He put his jersey in my bag.

I allow a small smile, then lean down and press my nose to the fabric.

It smells like him, too.

Focus, Violet .

I stow it away and get ready, putting my earbud in to replay the audition music. It reminds me a bit of Grey, listening to music to get in the zone. We’re similar in that regard. I stretch, slip on my pointe shoes, and secure the ribbons. My body is ready, and my mind is there, too. Ready to work.

I block everything out until the ballet master arrives. The room is full, my muscles are warm, and I feel… decent, actually. I stow my earbuds and put my bag against the wall, then get back into position. It’s been a while since I’ve been in a group class, but I ignore that twinge of nerves and focus on the ballet master.

She strides around, correcting various positions, technique, and calls out changing positions. She also brings our attention to those who are doing well—and some who could be doing better.

“If I tap your shoulder, you are dismissed,” she calls.

She arrives next to me and watches for a moment, then offers a small smile. “I’m glad to see you back, Ms. Reece. It looks like you’ve even managed to improve.”

“Thank you,” I manage.

She moves on without a backward glance.

When her class ends an hour later, she’s halved the room. We put the barres away and return to the center. Mia enters, followed by the choreographer, Shawn, and her assistant. The ballet master stamps her cane into the floor, catching our attention.

“Mia Germain,” she introduces. “Artistic director for the Crown Point Ballet.”

Mia dips her head. “Thank you. Welcome,” she greets us. “We’re so pleased to be offering spots in our company to talented dancers. As most of you are probably aware, our upcoming season will be focusing on Sleeping Beauty . The wonderful Shawn Meridian is our guest choreographer, splitting his time between here and the American Ballet Theatre in New York City. He’s joining us today to offer his input as we not only hope to offer contracts but to also cast our Aurora.”

We applaud until Shawn steps forward and raises his hands.

He’s easily recognizable as one of the most talented choreographers of this decade. I still remember being awestruck by him in high school—although that feels like forever ago now. He definitely doesn’t remember me.

Although, Mia was right. I sure did talk about it a lot when I got to Crown Point Ballet. I was giddy at the prospect of giving him a CD of me dancing. Even though it led nowhere.

He appraises the room, then motions to the doorway. Annabelle, another principal dancer at CPB, comes into the room. She smiles at him, then us.

“Annabelle is going to run through the audition piece,” Shawn says. His voice is deeper and raspier than I remember. “Ready?”

The pianist strikes up the singular melody of the piece I learned. In a way, it’s more haunting with just one instrument. Not as joyful.

Giselle was joyful before she turned to tragedy, too .

Annabelle dances it well. Her turns are perfect, her extensions… she’s a beautiful dancer. But maybe she lacks the passion because she’s never been in love. Or because she thinks she’s not being judged right now.

A mistake. We’re all being judged.

She finishes in a flourish, posing with her arms uplifted, her knee bent, her head thrown back. A wide smile on her face.

“Thank you,” the ballet master says to her.

We don’t immediately proceed into that, though. There’s still more to come. Leaping, turning. We line up and cross the room, showing our lines and movement, our turnout. We pair up and show how we do with partner work.

I get lucky and end up with a dancer who already belongs to the company. He and I have danced together for a few years, and he winks when he steps up beside me.

Finally, we break. We’ll do the audition solo one at a time—those who want it anyway. Mia, Shawn, and the ballet master have already further whittled our numbers down.

Annabelle dances again. Then another principal dancer, and another. I swallow.

“Lydia Parker,” the girl beside me introduces, offering her hand.

I shake it. “Violet Reece.”

“I was a principal dancer in Arizona. The heat was killer.” She leans in. “Are you familiar with Mia?”

“A bit.” I glance at her. She’s a few inches shorter than me, with dark hair wrapped in a neat bun. Minimal makeup. Pretty, though. Ideal casting. “Why?”

“I’ve just heard rumors, is all. That she’s a good person to dance for.”

I nod. “I’ve heard that, too.”

“Violet,” Mia calls.

I smile at Lydia and step forward. The music starts. Even though it’s a little different, it feels the same. I let myself radiate the joy of a birthday party—that’s what the dance is about anyway. Aurora arrives at her sixteenth birthday party. The solo ends before she meets the four suitors, and before she pricks her finger on the spindle. But this part is freedom. Happiness.

My smile only widens during the more difficult bits of choreography, and I end in the same pose as Annabelle.

There’s a smattering of applause, and I make eye contact with Shawn Meridian. His brow is furrowed, confusion etched across his face.

I don’t know what to make of it, so I back away and rejoin the girls against the wall. Lydia goes next. And another, another, another. I sit and stretch and try to keep nimble in case something else is needed, but by the end, it’s almost two o’clock.

“Thank you, ladies,” Mia says. “We will be contacting those we are offering contracts, and then the cast list will be posted on our website later this month.”

We collect our things. My leg is sore, a phantom pain tracing up my thigh and into my hip. I try not to let it worry me. Just more water therapy, more strength training… and maybe I’ll have to live with it forever.

It’s not too heavy of a price to pay to dance again.

“Violet.”

I’ve made it to the hallway, but I turn back to see the choreographer coming toward me. I’m surprised he remembers my name, and I try to hide it. He stops in front of me, then glances over his shoulder.

We’re alone.

I hitch my bag higher on my shoulder and wait.

“I’ll admit, I’m confused to see you here.”

I stare at him. “What?”

“Um…” He shifts. “Sorry. Do you not want to talk about this here?”

What the hell is going on? “I just think you might have the wrong person,” I say slowly.

He motions for me to follow him. Against my better judgment, I do. Even knowing I have a stalker, my curiosity is greater than my fear. He leads me into an empty office and closes the door.

His gaze drops to my leg, and he winces. “Do you remember what happened the day of your accident?”

I hate the word accident. For the longest time, it didn’t feel like it was an accident. It was more than that. But then I register his expression, and his question, and a chill creeps up my spine.

“Have we met? In the last few years?” I take an involuntary step backward. There’s no way a man like him would recall a teenager giving him an audition tape. I was in high school, and he was a big hotshot choreographer. This feels like more than that.

Shawn frowns. “That answers that question.”

Oh my god. Is Shawn my stalker? Did he have something to do with that day—and everything that happened after?

Maybe he finally revealed himself. He’s muscular. Tall. He could be the same build as the person who broke into my apartment.

“I’m leaving,” I say quietly. I head toward the door, but he blocks my path.

“Just wait, please.”

I skid to a halt. “Get out of my way.”

He raises his hands. “Two minutes. That’s all I ask.”

He’s not threatening to kill me… yet. That’s a good sign, right? If I can get him talking, then maybe he’ll just let me go. Or I can figure out a way to get him away from the door… I look around the room and circle behind the desk, putting it between us. I drop my bag on it and press my back against the wall.

“You and I met that day in Rose Hill,” he says. “It was out of the blue, yes, but you drove down. You seemed excited about it.”

“Why?” I demand.

“Because I was trying to recruit you.”

I rear back. “For what?”

He gives me a look. One that says: you should know . But even if I have a theory—and one is beginning to form—I don’t trust him. I don’t believe him.

“I wanted you to dance for the American Ballet Theatre,” he says carefully. “And that might sound crazy, but I was given the chance to handpick some dancers for their upcoming touring season. I chose—”

“Giselle .” I cover my mouth. My mind is going a hundred miles a minute. “So I met with you that day?”

He nods. “We went over choreography. You were going to be in touch later in the week to come and dance for the board of directors.”

This doesn’t make any fucking sense.

“I was Odette.” My brow furrows. “I was the principal dancer for Swan Lake .”

He scoffs. “You think Crown Point Ballet can stand up to what ABT can offer you? You and I both know that they’re leagues apart. I was giving you a chance.”

“But then I broke my leg. My memory of that day was just…” I snap my fingers. “It was gone. How can I believe you?” I squint at him. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

“What about your phone? We had conversations. I left you a voicemail, you called me back.”

I’m already shaking my head. “Smashed in the accident. I lost data from a week prior, since my last cloud backup.”

He sighs. He’s right to sigh—the signs of the truth are there. In the dance I somehow knew, in the spaces of my memory. But it doesn’t stop him from opening his phone and setting it on the desk.

A video plays. He stands in a studio that looks awfully familiar, and I face the mirror. Someone else holds the phone for him, filming me dance. Poor Violet back then, she had no idea what was about to happen. When I finish, I turn and beam at Shawn.

It goes black, and I step back. I let out a shaky breath.

“What time was that?”

He looks at the time stamp on the video and wordlessly points. Seven-zero-five p.m. Greyson hit my car closer to eleven.

“Did I leave after that?”

Shawn narrows his eyes. “Yeah, Violet. You got a call and left.”

I swing my bag back over my shoulder. “It’s been two minutes,” I say stiffly. “And it doesn’t really seem to matter much, since you’ve probably chosen for ABT. That was months ago. Besides, we’re both here.”

Shawn reads my stiffening posture, and he immediately raises his hands again. Like he’s not a threat to me. “I’m sorry. I was just surprised, is all. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I thought you knew me.”

He steps aside, and I rush out the door.

My mind is a mess. He wanted me to dance for him at the American Ballet Theatre? One of the best ballet companies in the US? I’d only just debuted as a principal. Hadn’t had a chance to dance a lead in front of an audience before it was ripped away from me.

I wipe at a tear that rolls down my cheek. Then another.

“Fuck,” I mutter, turning the corner.

I almost crash into Mia.

She grabs my shoulders and lets out a laugh. “Violet! I thought you had left already. Oh—what happened? Are you okay?”

I sniffle and step back. Her hands fall back to her sides.

“I’m okay, thanks. And thank you again for the opportunity. It was nice dancing in a company again—even if it was just for today.”

Mia rolls her eyes. “None of that pessimistic bullshit. You were excellent.” She hooks her arm through mine and continues with me toward the door. “Between you and me, I think you have an outstanding chance of being cast as Aurora.”

“Thank you.” I turn toward her. “And thank you for… all of it, I guess. Helping me get back into it, setting up the initial appointment with Dr. Michaels. You’ve done a lot for me.”

She pats my hand. “You know what? I think I need to buy you a drink.”

It’s only two o’clock. Willow will expect a phone call by three, which gives us plenty of time. I nod and let her lead me to her car. This part is familiar. I can’t begin to count how many times she’s given me a ride home or spent extra time with me in and out of the studio.

She stepped in to be a mother figure when mine was being chaotic.

I toss my bag in the trunk and climb in the passenger seat. She joins me, pulling out onto the road moments later. We head away from downtown Crown Point.

“Where did you have in mind?” I ask.

Mia glances at me, then back to the road. She doesn’t answer.

“Mia?”

Her lips press together.

“Where are we going?” My voice is as level as can be expected, I think. There’s not a trace of panic in it—although that panic is wrapping itself around my throat. Maybe I’m just working myself up over nothing. I’ve known Mia for years and years—she’s never had anything but good intentions.

“Hush,” she finally says. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“I just need to swing by my house. I forgot my credit card at home this morning.”

I nod along with her words. With her story.

Watch. In ten minutes, we’ll have grabbed her credit card then moved on to a local bar. She’ll buy me a drink, we’ll celebrate a successful audition, and I’ll meet Willow and Amanda. I’m overreacting.

Except … I’m not.

Because we get to a road that goes from pavement to gravel, and the driveways get farther apart. And then we’re just on a little one-lane dirt road. Minutes later, we arrive at a log cabin. There’s a dog on a chain out front, and the porch light glows dimly.

“You live here?”

Mia exhales. “Only when I want to get away,” she says. “Come on, I’ll give you a tour.”

“Oh, no—”

“Get out of the car, Violet.” She meets my gaze for a second, then turns away to open her door. She climbs out, leaving me alone.

The dog can’t quite reach the porch. It strains toward Mia, still barking. Its tail wags, though. I swiftly hop out and follow her, skirting the dog. Spit flies from its mouth with each bark, and I find myself flinching each time, too.

I hurry into the cabin, and the door slams behind me.

I spin around.

Mia stands in the shadows, her arms folded over her chest. “Had a good little chat with Shawn, did you?”

“What?”

“After all I’ve done for you, Violet? You were going to leave me?” She steps forward.

I glance around the room. It’s completely not her style—an old, colorful blanket tossed over a worn leather couch, a thick rug, and wood coffee table. Dark wood everywhere. The heavy curtains are pulled shut over the windows, blocking out most of the sunlight.

“Sit down,” she hisses at me.

“I think I’d rather go,” I tell her.

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Mia, I wasn’t going to leave you.” I step back and bump into a side table. The lamp on it wobbles, and I grab at it.

Turning my back on her is a mistake.

She wraps her arm around my neck, yanking me into her. I lose my balance and grab at her, and that’s when she tightens her grip. It doesn’t matter how much I struggle, or scratch at her, or try to kick. She just doesn’t let go.

Until white spots dance in front of my eyes.

This is where Grey would release me .

But she doesn’t. Not until a cold darkness reaches up and drags me down.

And maybe not even then.