Secret Obsession: A Dark Hockey Romance (Hockey Gods)

My parents aren’t home. I know that as soon as the taxi pulls up to the curb in front of their house. There are no lights on, no cars in the driveway, and the place seems sealed up tight. There’s even a layer of snow dusting the pavement, with no tracks to be seen.

I pay the man and climb out, ignoring the stiffness in my limbs and my numb ass. The backseat was the opposite of comfortable for the hour car ride. He speeds away before I’ve made it halfway up the walkway, but that’s okay. He tried to make conversation for some of it. I couldn’t come up with answers fast enough.

So we lapsed into silence.

I have a key to the house in my purse, and I stand on the porch and frantically search for them for a minute. It’s dark out, and my phone died about fifteen minutes into the drive. But then my fingers graze the collection of keys, and I lift it out with triumph.

Once I’m inside, I kick off my shoes and flip the lights on.

“Hello? Anyone home?” I wander farther into the house. Wishful thinking that I’ll get an answer. “Surprise! I’m back…”

Nothing.

Even upstairs, everything is cool and dark and still.

Where did they go? Out to dinner, maybe? It’s Saturday night, after all. They can’t be working.

My bones ache. I step into my room and inhale. I’m wrapped in nostalgia and homesickness, but I’m reminded painfully of the last time I was here, when I spent most of my time crying myself to sleep over one Whiteshaw brother. Now my instinct is to do the same for the other?

Fuck that.

I grind my teeth together. I plug my phone in and sit on my bed, pulling my legs up. What I would love to do is have a drink and drown myself in it, until I forget that today even fucking happened.

Instead, I dig through my bag for a pack of gum. Because it’s that or grind my teeth to nubs, and I happen to like my molars.

And what I find instead is Miles’ phone.

But even more surprising, is that the thing unlocks with my face.

First of all. When did Miles set up his phone to recognize my face? And second, why? But then it’s open, and I quickly set it down.

Snooping is wrong. Especially after I just…

I shudder.

Stare at the wall, which has a corkboard of memories front and center. I rise and drift toward it, my attention snagging on one photo in particular. It’s from the dance competition my sophomore year. One of the first that I had a solo, and I was so fucking nervous… until I peeked out from behind the black curtains and spotted Miles in the crowd.

The photo is of Violet, me, Amanda, Michelle, Jess… and Miles. He’s on the end, his smile big and bright.

My stomach rolls.

All the times he found me in the quiet come flashing back to me. At the competition. On the ice, when the dance team decided to go to one of the hockey practices, and then Paris led us down to the benches. And from there, onto the ice.

The feel of his hands on mine, the weight of his body as I dragged him down. I didn’t like not being able to stand on my own. It left me off-kilter.

Now he’s the one making me wobble and not trust my legs.

His phone rings.

I automatically swipe to answer the call from Violet’s number. He doesn’t have it saved, but I recognize it anyway. I’ve been calling her since we both got cell phones in high school, after all.

“Hey,” I whisper.

“Oh, thank God.” Violet’s voice comes through loud and clear. “Miles said—”

“I don’t want to talk about him,” I interrupt. “Please.”

“Okay. No problem. Where are you?”

I sink onto the bed. Then off it, until I’m in a ball on the floor. My eyes fill with tears, and I have to wonder why the hell I’m so damn broken. “I’m home. But no one is here.”

“I’m coming,” Violet says. “Do you hear me? I’m coming for you, Willow. Just stay there.”

“Okay.”

“It’ll be—hey—”

“Willow.” Miles’ voice fills my ear. He sounds as fucking broken as I feel. “You just left?”

“That’s what I do.” I hate the lump in my throat and the agony ripping through my chest. “I leave people, Miles. It’s better that you learn it before you get too invested—”

“Oh, fuck off,” he growls.

I rear back.

“Too invested? I’ll show you too invested.”

The line goes dead with a beep. I rub my sternum, trying to get the knot there to loosen. It’s like I can’t take a deep enough breath, and I hate the way it hurts. I toss the phone away from me and reach up, fumbling for the blanket that’s folded at the end of my bed.

When my phone is charged enough, I’ll call my parents. Or my sister.

I’ll figure out where they are, and if they’re coming home, and I’ll pick myself up. Shower. Pull myself together. Pretend everything is fine.

But when it does turn back on, vibrating on my nightstand with notification after notification, it takes me a long moment to unfold myself from the floor. I glance at the incoming texts from Violet and Aspen. Even Thalia, who didn’t come with us, sent a message just to check in.

Setting it back down, I strip and head for the bathroom I share with my sister. My skin still carries traces of Miles, from his cum to his teeth marks, and I pause suddenly at the cuts in my breast.

I touch the X carefully. It’s scabbed over a bit, but at the scratching from my nail, it opens up again. There’s more blood on my chest, but it’s not all mine. Some on my other breast that my heart tells me is Miles’.

He cut both of us open.

For what?

In the shower, I scrub at the cuts and the dried blood. And between my legs. It’s hard to even tell if I’m crying or if it’s just too hot. The water is scorching, turning my skin red and a little too painful. But I don’t stop until I’m clean. Whatever that means.

I find sweatpants that didn’t make it back to my apartment, old underwear with holes in it. A sports bra. It’s weird to dress myself. Isn’t that funny? After so much time letting Miles decide, I’m suddenly forced to choose for myself. A piece of independence stolen back.

There are no good t-shirts, nothing warm enough, until I raid my sister’s closet. She has a CPU sweatshirt and also some other colleges’ paraphernalia. She wants to go somewhere else, I can feel it. But I grit my teeth at the sight of the Shadow Valley crew neck. They’re one of CPU’s biggest rivals. Of course she’d want to go there. I pass it by for my own school’s sweatshirt. The memory of being beat by their dance team last year still rankles.

Digging deeper, I gasp and retrieve a tank top from the depths of the closet. The hanger comes loose, falling to the floor. “That sneaky bitch.” I laugh. I was fully convinced I’d lost this tank, which I tie-dyed for senior day in high school. And she had it all along.

Needless to say, I’m stealing this sucker back.

After the shirt situation is sorted, I shoot a text to her and ask what they’re up to. If Violet’s on her way, chances are good we could just… go back to Crown Point. Or have a sleepover here.

INDIE

NYC for the weekend.

With Mom and Dad?

Ya.

I scowl at her lack of information. But they probably won’t be back until tomorrow, so… I’ve got a full night of being away from Miles and everyone else. Better that than going back to the hockey house. Or worse, sleeping on Violet’s couch and pretending like I’m not intruding. Which I totally fucking would be.

My next stop is covering this horrible cross on my chest. Every time I catch the angry red skin out of the corner of my eye, it makes me angry. My parents have an assortment of bandages in the linen closet, so I grab the largest one and plaster it over the cuts.

There.

Slightly better.

Except it still stings a little, and I probably should’ve added an antiseptic ointment. With my luck, it’ll get infected and scar.

I close myself in my room and crawl into bed. If Violet’s on her way, she can let herself in. And if she’s not… well, I’m exhausted. Mentally and physically.

In no time at all, my heart rate is slowing and my eyelids get heavier. Worries about Miles and love and loneliness flutter away, and I drift to sleep.