Secret Obsession: A Dark Hockey Romance (Hockey Gods)

Violet waits for me outside the Crown Point Arts building. She’s got her bag slung over her shoulder, bursting with ballet stuff. She’s wrapped up in a huge puffy jacket, sweatpants that probably hide another layer of tights under it, and a baby-pink winter hat, complete with a pom-pom, on her head.

Her sleek blonde hair is pulled forward over her shoulders, reminding me how long my hair used to be. There’s a light dusting of snow on her jacket, and when I tip my head back, I’m greeted with softly falling flakes.

If it would only stop snowing…

“How was it?” Violet asks.

I sigh. “Fine. I love those brats, but they’re still—”

“Brats,” she finishes.

After she moved out, money got a little tighter than was comfortable. My parents make a decent living, but they were hesitant to fund an apartment for me, myself, and I. They seemed to think I would get in trouble if I didn’t have a responsible roommate.

They’re not wrong.

But we settled on an agreement. Everything in life can be negotiated. They pay for half of my rent and all the utilities, and I would get a job to cover the other half and my extra expenses. Food, et cetera. The only thing they didn’t want me doing was working at a bar or restaurant. The late hours don’t mix with computer science, I guess.

I acquiesced and instead got a job here, at the slightly run-down Arts building. Now my Sunday afternoons and Tuesday evenings are spent giving voice lessons to children. Tuesdays used to be our rest day for the dance team. But now that I’ve been unceremoniously dumped from that, I suppose I could take on more hours.

If I felt like dealing with shrieking children trying to sing for hours on end.

“Are you honing the next Kelly Clarkson?” Violet grins.

“I wish.” I roll my eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m kidnapping you for a girls’ night out.”

I brighten for a moment—then remember who I’m talking to. Violet doesn’t like to go out. If push came to shove, she’d much rather stay in and watch a movie or play games… So the suspicion that hits a second later is barely masked.

My best friend bursts out laughing. “I’m being serious. Aspen and I want to take you dancing. Thalia, too.”

Well.

“Okay,” I allow.

“Great. Follow me to my place. Aspen and Thal are already on their way.”

“You could’ve just texted,” I point out, sidestepping her to unlock Miles’ car. I’m going to need to get mine back eventually—except, I can’t help but acknowledge that his is a lot nicer. It has a backup camera, even. And the fancy radio stations. I’ve already hooked up my phone to its Bluetooth, making it the primary. Just to be a pain in the ass.

I’ve also completely adjusted everything to my liking. Mirrors, seat, steering wheel, the brightness of the display. The preset stations. Hell, his car even let me change the theme colors of the display.

It’s the little things.

He violates me, I violate his car.

Or… something.

I park behind Violet at her house. Thalia’s car is on the street, and she and Aspen climb out at our arrival. Thalia comes right to me and throws her arms around my shoulders, dragging me into her.

We got close in our semester on the dance team, but…

I pat her back awkwardly. I am the touchy-feely person. Always have been. I love hugs, and physical touch, and being around people. I love kissing cheeks and pressing close, and arms wrapped around me. But lately, it seems like that’s been tainted. It doesn’t really make my skin crawl, nothing so dramatic as that. I just… I don’t know.

It doesn’t bring comfort.

And I can’t pinpoint when that shifted.

When Knox broke up with me in the most humiliating way possible?

When I went home for winter break and my parents barely touched me?

Or was it even more recent? When I woke up to Miles in my bed, forcing himself into me…?

“Let’s get inside,” Violet says. “It’s freaking cold out here.”

We nod our agreement. Aspen catches my hand and squeezes, and I force a smile. I squeeze her fingers back, then find some excuse to pull free. We kick the snow off our shoes and then toe them off. Violet’s house is so warm and cozy, it’s enviable.

Mine never feels warm—and now, with the break-in, it definitely doesn’t feel safe. Not that Miles is going to let me back there anytime soon.

“You’ve been going through it,” Aspen says, nudging me. “We’re here for you.”

I take a deep breath. “Yeah. Thanks.”

We move into Violet’s room. I didn’t even notice that Thalia brought a whole bag of makeup and clothes with her, which she spreads out on the bed. Violet drags me into the closet and starts flipping through clothes.

“What’s wrong?” She glances back at me.

I shake my head. “No, nothing.”

She pulls out a dark-blue dress. “This goes well with your eyes.”

I snort. “Okay.”

I strip right there and tug it on. It’s high in the back, needing to be zipped up, but the front plunges into a low V. My bra is showing. I unhook it and slide my arms out, dropping it on top of my clothes. Violet moves behind me and does up the zipper, shifting my hair over my shoulder.

“What are you wearing?”

She shows me a lavender skirt and crop top. It also matches her name, which is kind of cute. And I’m glad she’s not ashamed of the scar on her leg. There was a time when she wouldn’t wear anything but pants.

I step out of the closet, and Aspen pushes me to sit on the bed. Her and Thalia spend the next thirty minutes doing my hair and makeup unprompted. They take turns getting each other ready, too, but I’m done first.

My phone buzzes in my bag. I go for it, and my heart squeezes.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell them.

Not that anyone pays attention. Violet is doing her makeup in the bathroom, and Aspen and Thalia are giggling about something.

I slip from the room and answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Reed?”

“Speaking,” I answer, my voice cracking slightly. I hurry downstairs and into the kitchen, leaning my hip against the counter.

“This is Detective Barrister,” a woman says. “Our officers went over to your apartment for the break-in, and I was calling to follow up.”

I blink in surprise.

“You’re calling on a Sunday evening?”

She chuckles. “Yes, well, crime never sleeps, right?”

Right.

“I was hoping that you could provide me with a little more information. Your boyfriend said that you don’t have any enemies, and that you keep to yourself and your friends at school. Is that true?”

“Boyfriend…?”

“Miles Whiteshaw?”

Fucking hell, Miles.

“Yeah.” I swallow, fumbling to recover. “I know who he is, obviously. Um, when did he say that? I mean—I agree, I don’t have any enemies.”

Well, I didn’t. But then Amanda kicked me off the team, and Miles murdered someone in my apartment, and Knox made me Public Enemy Number One with his breakup stunt. Not to mention the fact that the whole school seems to think it was my fault.

“Mr. Whiteshaw mentioned that you’d be getting us a list of items that are missing. Have you noticed any unusual activity in your neighborhood?”

“Not really, Detective. I always thought it was a safe area.”

She hums her agreement, then pauses. The line is filled with static for a moment, until she continues, “This type of aggression pointed toward the bedroom can be a sign of—”

“Wait.” I stand straighter, my grip on my phone tightening. My palms are sweating. “What do you mean?”

Silence.

“Did you see your bedroom? In the… aftermath?”

“No,” I whisper. “Miles told me not to look.”

“I see. All right, Ms. Reed. Please let me know if anything unusual in the week or two leading up to the break-in comes to mind. I’ll let you go and touch base with you in a few days.”

“Okay.” My heart is beating too fast. I hang up and leave my phone on the counter, going for the whiskey. I take a swig right from the bottle, grimacing at the taste.

What was in my bedroom that Miles didn’t want me to see?

Now I want to see it. No, I need to see it.

Fuck.

“Violet.” I replace the bottle and hurrying toward the stairs. “I’ll meet you guys at Prime, okay?”

I don’t wait for her answer—because I need some answers of my own.