Brutal Obsession: A Dark Hockey Romance (Hockey Gods)

We’re going all out for this. The whole dance team is going to the game, and half of them are in our apartment. While Greyson was whispering in my ear to come to the game, Knox was inviting the whole damn team via Willow. What started as Knox innocently asking if Willow and I were interested—which she responded, maybe —turned into him trying harder. More persuasive of an argument, I would assume. Based on Willow’s pink cheeks anyway.

Amanda and Jess are in Willow’s room, applying their makeup on the floor using one of those cheap wall mirrors. Paris has planted herself beside me in the bathroom, using our curling iron. The rest of the girls are in the living room.

“You’re wearing that?” Paris asks, wrinkling her nose.

I look down at my blue tank top. It has the Hawks mascot in white across the chest. Underneath it, I have a lacy black bra that’s visible on the sides. I fully plan on layering it with a black jacket and scarf, because the stadium will be cold. And in that case, it’s the thought that counts when it comes to school spirit.

“Um… yes.” I lean closer to the mirror and run my nail under my lower lip to perfect the line of dark-blue lipstick. My eyeliner is blue, and so is the obnoxious eye shadow. It’s a remnant from our dance team competitions and performances during the football and basketball halftimes.

She’s got similar makeup anyway. Her winged eyeliner is sharper, and she went with a red lip instead of the blue. But that’s fine. She’s a good three inches taller than me.

“It’s cute,” she offers.

I don’t know why she came. She doesn’t like me and has never made that a secret.

“Thanks.” I can’t help how flat my voice is. “When do your parents come into town?”

She smiles. “In two weeks. They’re actually attending a charity event with Senator Devereux, so it might turn into a whole thing.”

A whole thing? I nod dumbly, not sure what she means. It doesn’t really matter anyway. The last thing I need is to get caught up in Greyson’s web. I don’t need to be his victim again.

And yet, I’ve been pondering what the fuck he wants with me. Why he made me come on his fingers… on the street, no less. Where anyone could’ve seen us.

I get the uncomfortable feeling that he did it on purpose. There . For an audience.

I let out a sigh and cap my lipstick, tucking it into the little clutch I’m taking with me. “We need to leave soon.”

She twirls a lock of hair around her finger, posing in the mirror for a moment. “I’m done anyway.”

She stalks out and almost crashes into Willow in the hallway. My best friend wears a white long-sleeved shirt with the Hawks logo in dark blue. It was a craft project last year, where she carefully cut the sides and retied them. It looks like ribbons up either side, exposing slices of her tanned skin. Her hair is up in a crown braid with a few loose curls.

“Cute,” I say, and unlike Paris, I mean it.

She grins. “You’re going to be freezing.”

I shrug. “Layers.”

“Let’s go round up the cats,” she says. In the living room, she pulls on her jacket. She claps to get everyone’s attention. “We’re leaving in two minutes. Y’all ready?”

She’s greeted by a chorus of yeses, and I smile. Willow should’ve been the captain of the dance team. All the girls respect and listen to her. But instead, Paris won out. She’s a senior, after all.

I let out a minuscule sigh.

“The Wolves won’t know what hit them,” Jess says in my ear. “When’s the last time you went to a Hawks hockey game?”

“Last year.” I roll my eyes.

She grins. “Just wait until you see Greyson skate. He’s so freaking fast. And he clicked with the other guys instantly.”

“We don’t know what kind of work went into it.” Paris breezes past us. “He’s talented, of course, but he’s also hardworking. They probably all took a lot of shit from their coach. Like us.”

I snort. “When’s the last time you took shit from our coach?”

“She’s not yours anymore, Reece.” Paris levels me with a look. “Or did you forget?”

Ouch .

Willow grabs my hand and squeezes. “You don’t need to rub it in her face like a bitch, Paris.” And to me, under her breath, “I brought a flask. We can drown her out if necessary.”

“Or we can get her drunk enough to shut up,” I whisper back. It took way too long in the shower to get the smell of beer off me. I’m not sure I want to dull my senses before meeting Greyson—if they win—and I’d rather watch Paris make a mess of herself.

The rest of the way to the stadium is relatively painless. Paris complains a few times about the cold and the walk from our apartment—without ever offering her place to get ready. Truth is, she lives farther away than us. We live in prime real estate, and we got it by pure luck. And then we refused to let the lease go at the end of our freshman year.

Our student IDs get scanned on the way into the stadium, and we join a horde of similarly dressed students. We find the section we usually sit in and take our seats. I end up between Willow and Amanda.

The energy thrums throughout the stadium. We’re on one of the corners, closest to the blue-and-silver painted goal and a good view of the rink. The student section fills quickly, and the ticket holders fill in more gradually. But soon enough, the whole lower level of the stadium is full.

Diagonal to us, the students who traveled with the Wolves sit in black-and-lime-green attire. They have banners and tassels, and one occasionally sets off an air horn. It’s followed by cheers and screams from their section.

The lights dim, and an announcer’s voice booms over the speakers. “Introducing… the Pac North University Wolves.”

The crowd in their section goes nuts, jumping up and waving their flags. The skaters slip out and race around their half of the rink, quickly moving into formation. Their uniforms are all-black with neon-green numbers, and their names printed in brick letters across their shoulder blades.

“And for our home crowd,” the announcer continues, “the Crown Point University Hawks!”

A door opens across from us, and white-and-blue-clad hockey players burst onto the ice. My heart jumps into my throat as they split apart and zoom close to the glass. I catch a flash of what I think is Greyson, his head angled toward the crowd.

And I swear he spots me, but then he’s past. His stick is loose in his grip. A spotlight appears in the center, and the announcer calls out the starting lineup for the Wolves. Then the Hawks. First Knox, team captain and center. Then Erik Smith. Greyson Devereux. I lean forward as he lifts his hand and acknowledges the crowd.

They scream and cheer for him, and my stomach somersaults.

How did he rise so quickly?

We climb to our feet as the last few names are called. They skate around, doing quick drills on their respective sides.

“What’s up with you and Knox?” I ask Willow.

To my astonishment, she blushes. “Not much. I mean, we hooked up. I told you that.”

“Yeah…” I follow him on the ice. “But he’s flirting.”

“Right?” Willow immediately turns toward me, her expression pained. “I don’t know what to make of it. Is he just trying to sleep with me again? Because he doesn’t need to try so hard. I’ve got nothing against a fling. But when he talks all nice, I don’t know what to think.”

I think he’s trouble.

I wouldn’t have thought that last year. But now, he’s friends with Greyson. And if Greyson is anything, he’s a dangerous influence. So… yeah, I’m worried.

“Just don’t let your heart get involved,” I warn her. “I’m all for a fling, too.”

“Especially now that you’re free of Jack.” Amanda chuckles. “No offense, Violet, but he’s been holding you back.”

I grimace. “He’s…”

“Comfortable,” both girls say.

I smack my forehead. I can see the truth in their words. I can see it, but I didn’t see it back then. I was so in love and so obsessed with the idea of being the perfect couple. It wasn’t until the “perfect” part fell through that I realized we didn’t have anything else between us.

I had dance. He has football.

When we couldn’t be the college versions of prom king and queen, we were just… drifting away.

“Now you get to try something new,” Amanda says. “Preferably someone more exciting. Greyson was eyeing you last week at Haven.”

I snort. “Did you miss the part where Paris laid claim to him?”

And she definitely missed the part where he dumped beer over my head.

I shouldn’t want Greyson, of all people. He’s vile and twisted and probably a psychopath. My lungs ache just from remembering our last encounter.

And… ugh. I’ve been turned on by thinking about it, too.

“We’ve only got a finite amount of time left,” Willow says. “We should be adventurous before the rest of the adulting shit has to happen.”

I grunt my acknowledgement. The problem is, I’m not sure if I want my adventures to begin—and most likely end—with Greyson. If that’s a battle I want to engage in.

A whistle shrills, and the nonstarters leave the ice. A referee in black and white meets the two opposing centers in the middle circle.

He says something to the players. Both Knox and the Wolves guy give a brief nod. We stand as soon as the ref drops the puck. Knox gets control over it and snaps it over to Greyson. He immediately takes off, and my attention stays on him. Even when he sends the puck soaring across the ice to Erik. He skates easily, like the blades are an extension of him. Easier than walking.

I envy that.

Dancing was like that for me, except it was just my body that I had supreme control over. Every little muscle, every expression. Down to my fingertips and my toes. It was a way to express myself, yes, but it was more than that.

It was more beautiful than that.

I see it in Greyson. In the way he skates.

And I’ve never wanted to break his legs more than I do right now.

“I need a drink,” Willow informs me after Knox is slammed into the glass, fifteen minutes into the first period.

Greyson passes by us with a scowl, his head on a swivel. For a moment, I’m afraid he’s going to start a fight. Avenge his friend. But he lets it go, and the game continues. Back and forth. I love the rapid speed of motion, the adrenaline rush from just watching.

Willow squeezes past us. The game has my rapt attention. Some of the other girls have started a chant. Something basic. Let’s go Hawks , and Defense! Defense! I keep my mouth shut. It’s dry anyway. Greyson checks one of the Wolves into the glass, and I smile at the retribution.

Hockey is brutal.

It suits him.

It suits all of them, really.

Miles, their goalie, is put to the test when the Wolves bring it back to our section. Greyson and Erik move on their line, and eventually Steele gets the puck back to Greyson. We burst into cheers, and Steele winks at our section as he coasts past.

He knows how to play the crowd.

And off they go again.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

Willow returns with two beers, and I gulp one down. It doesn’t quite quench my thirst or hose down my nerves, but it helps. A little.

She pulls her flask and takes a swig from the metal mouth, then chases it with the beer. I stare at her, but she just shrugs. “Liquid courage.”

“To do what?”

She winks. “Approach Knox, of course. Why do you think all the puck bunnies go to the bar and drape themselves across the players? Because they have all that excess energy…”

“And you’re trying to get to him before someone else picks him up?” Amanda asks.

Willow nods emphatically.

“Who would you get with?” I ask Amanda. “If you have a preference.”

She shrugs and looks out on the ice. “I don’t know. Steele, maybe. Miles and I had a fling last year, so I don’t think I’d go near that again. Too messy.”

I scoff. “You two dated for two weeks.”

“Yeah. We were seen in public together.” She eyes me. “People remember that kind of thing.”

“Noted,” I mutter. My mind goes back to Jack. When we went out after his games, I was always on his arm. And if I wasn’t, no one else approached me. I was untouchable in that regard.

But now I’m… not. Protected anyway.

And it feels good.

In the strangest way, it’s scary, too. The door to my cage has been left open, and I didn’t even realize I was living in a prison. It didn’t feel like one. It didn’t feel like I was trapped or contained. It was just safe and easy and comfortable.

Exactly what the girls said my relationship was. They spotted it before I did.

I heave a sigh.

It’s not like Jack was abusive, or manipulative, or controlling. He was cautious. Protective of what other guys might do or say to me. He often said he knew what went on in locker rooms and he didn’t want any of that to touch me.

Whatever that meant.

The ref blows the whistle, signaling the end of the first period. The players go back to their locker rooms, leaving the ice empty.

Immediately, my phone buzzes.

A text from a number I don’t have saved. I click on it, and it opens to a preexisting message thread. Just one word sent from my phone: Vi

Ah. Greyson.

GREYSON

Saw you wince for Knox. You got feelings for him?

I roll my eyes.

Did you see me smile when you knocked the other player into the glass? Don’t judge.

Didn’t take you for one to be bloodthirsty.

I smile, despite myself.

Some things can’t be helped

I certainly hope not.

My stomach flips, and my phone goes off one last time.

Remember our deal.

Why does he go from somewhat charming to irritating in a split second? I glance at the scoreboard, which still rests at zero-zero.

You haven’t won anything yet.

An hour later, they win. Two to nothing.