Secret Obsession: Chapter 12

My head throbs. I’ve got strands of long hair caught in my fingers, and I frown as I drop them to the floor beside me. I didn’t think I held Amanda’s hair that tightly—it was my initial instinct as she clawed at my neck, probably trying to do the same thing. Except my short hair helped me out and she couldn’t get a good grip.

Their coach returned to the ice after dealing with her, spared an ugly glance for me, then continued on with practice as if nothing was wrong. Maybe Amanda pled her case in the parking lot, and he’s just gearing up to deal with me after practice.

So here I sit, my jacket newly zipped up to my collarbone, the bandages secured against my neck where her nails broke my skin, and the ice pack held dutifully to my aching cheekbone.

After another forty minutes, if that, it seems like the team is done. Coach Roake knocks on the glass, waiting for me to unlatch the door to the penalty box. It swings inward, and he looms in the doorway. He scours me for a moment, seeming to take stock of my injuries.

“Fighting happens,” he finally says. “I understand that. So this is your one warning. Pull a stunt like this in my arena again, and I’ll bring you to the dean of students for misconduct myself. Clear?”

“Yes, sir.” My voice is hoarse. I don’t remember using it with much vitriol. Did I scream?

“I’m closing practices for the rest of the week,” he adds. “So if anyone comes crying about it, I’ll be pointing them toward your feud with the other girl. Are you going to press charges?”

I blink. “Um… on Amanda?”

“Yes.” He raises his eyebrows. “We have security cameras, I’m sure you’d have evidence. If you’d like her to be arrested for assault…”

“No.” I understand why Amanda was so furious. I would be, too, if I was her. “I don’t want to press charges. I don’t want anything to happen.”

He shrugs. “She’s going to lose her position at this school either way. But this is a discussion for when I’m not in the middle of practice.”

I nod. He leaves me there and skates away, exiting the rink and following the players out. I stay where I am, my body thrumming with energy.

Fuck, I feel—

I don’t know. Somewhere different than the limbo I’ve been floating in since Knox ended things. I’ve done everything I can to avoid thinking about the empty cavity in my chest.

Miles can punish me all he likes—it’s not going to make me feel anything else.

Okay, maybe a little lust.

Don’t go there.

Coming face-to-face with Knox was not how I saw today going. And then Miles. And then Amanda. She really laid into me, but I could tell she was hurt by my post, too. I didn’t have a chance to defend myself or tell her that I was hacked before she was on me.

It was survival after that.

Movement catches my eye. I look up, finding Miles skating toward me. He’s lost his pads and, helmet. The doors at the far end of the rink are open, and a Zamboni rumbles through it. He steps up into the penalty box, and my breath catches.

It’s too tight in here, and with him now filling the space, it’s like all the oxygen was sucked out.

He takes my hand holding the ice pack and pulls it away from my head.

“You might have a shiner in the morning,” he says.

I don’t know what to do with that.

Or him.

“Nothing worse than my sister and I would give each other,” I manage, tugging my hand from his grasp. “I’m going home.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“No—”

He shakes his head. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t say no to you?”

“Exactly.”

The notion is ridiculous. I stand—and immediately regret my decision. Rising puts me chest-to-chest with him, and my face heats against my will. I meet his icy gaze.

How can he be so cold?

“No,” I repeat. “No, no, no. See, Miles? You can’t just eradicate the word from my vocabulary.”

The corner of his lip lifts. Just a twitch. A smirk that was never supposed to slip past his mask, but I catch it and I find myself holding on to it.

“Move,” I demand.

“No,” he mimics.

He grabs my waist. I yelp when he swings me up into his arms and steps backward onto the ice. He cuts a path across the rink, to the far side where the fight happened. The Zamboni is only half finished, but I didn’t think about the slick path already cut. It’s one thing to walk on ice that’s been properly used, and another to think clean ice would be manageable in street shoes.

He sets me down once we’re through, heading to the locker room.

Too much bad shit happens in the locker room, so I wait outside the door. I can’t stop scanning the area, half convinced that he’s right, and Amanda is going to spring out of the shadows again. Not that I’d be particularly worried about fighting her. But by now, she could’ve rallied any number of girls to come help her.

Miles reappears silently and tips his head to the exit.

Maybe the paranoia is getting to me, because I don’t even offer him a snappy reply. I just follow.

“See?” Miles jerks his head.

Amanda leans against the hood of her car, just a few down from his, with a cigarette dangling from her fingers. She blows smoke and rises. She glares at me.

I stick close to Miles, and he opens the passenger door for me.

“Watch yourself, Reed,” Amanda calls.

“Fuck off, Henderson,” I yell. “I could press charges, you know. Good luck finding your next job, psycho—”

“Willow.” Miles shoves my head down and into the car.

I hit the seat with a huff and barely get my feet in before he slams the door. He gets in and starts it, blasting the heat.

“I hate winter,” he says under his breath.

I twist to face him. “You play a winter sport.”

“It’s temperature controlled,” he responds.

“It would help if you wore a coat. It’s like fifteen degrees out and you’re only wearing…”

A delicious sweater.

Not that I’d ever call it delicious out loud, but that’s exactly what it is. It clings to his arm muscles and his torso, outlining his broad shoulders and tapered waist. The dark-blue color brings out the blue in his eyes.

Freaking hell, I’m a disaster.

I turn my attention to the window, just in time to catch Amanda’s glare from the driver’s seat of her car. I flip her off for the hell of it.

“You really like to piss people off, hmm?”

I shrug. “Maybe. But she’s the one who jumped straight to physical violence without hearing me out.”

He grunts.

Nothing to say because I’m fucking right.

“My laptop?” I remind him.

“What makes you think I have it?”

I hate him.

I knew I hated him already, but now I really do. And my stupid freaking phone won’t load the apps. I’ve tried everything—restarting my phone, deleting the apps and redownloading them. I even pulled out my SIM card, just to see if that would do anything.

Nada.

“Can I see your phone?”

He glances at me. “Um, no.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s my phone, and I don’t want you to steal screenshots of my private conversations and post them.” He sneers. “You have a history of doing that, you know.”

“I was hacked.” I focus on where we’re going and sit up straighter. “Why are we going to your house?”

“Because I want to go home.”

“Take me to my apartment.”

He ignores me.

“Miles.” I push at his arm. “Take me home. To my home.”

Oh. My. God.

“Can you even hear me, jackass?” I shove his arm harder. Not smart, since he’s driving, but sue me.

He reaches for me too fast, his hand going around my throat. He shoves me against the door, his fingers digging into my skin. I go completely still for a split second, then try the sensible thing—you know, to remove his hand.

His grip tightens when I try to yank it away, and suddenly, my vision is speckled black. He’s not blocking my airway—but he is pressing on my pulse points. Everything goes weak—and then fades. My hand slides off his wrist, and my eyes roll back.

Out like a light.

I wake up flat on my back. The surface under me is hard, and it takes me a second to try and piece together what the hell happened.

One minute, I was trying to get Miles to take me home.

The next, his fucking hand was around my throat, and I lost consciousness.

I crack my eyes open and glance around, and my heart sinks. Unfortunately, I know exactly where I am.

On the freaking floor in the living room of the hockey house.

And utterly alone.

I pick myself up slowly. It seems like I was just dropped unceremoniously in the space between the coffee table and the television. Not on the couch, which is empty. That would’ve been too easy.

My laptop is open on the coffee table, swiveled to face me with a video playing on mute. I squint at it, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.

It starts over.

My breath stalls. It’s an overhead view of the players’ entrance. Amanda squaring off against me. She says something, and then she lunges. She strikes me first, an open-handed slap that whips my head to the side. She gripped my neck after that, trying to haul me closer. She’d been watching too many hockey fights, I think.

I hit her, and then Miles and his coach come into the frame. But not before Amanda punches me, the hatred in her eyes so fucking clear. My cheek pulses, and I brush my fingers against it. My skin feels tight and hot.

But then I get a good hit, slamming my knee into her stomach. I’ll never forget the quick groaned exhale and the way it felt to grab her hair and throw her to the floor. And then Miles is there, crowding me backward, while his coach dealt with Amanda.

The video cuts there and starts again.

I shake my head and crawl to the table. I exit out of the video and open my social media tabs, going to my page to delete the post about her.

But it’s already gone.

I sit back on my heels and rub my eyes. I’m probably ruining what’s left of my makeup. My head hurts, still. Passing out definitely didn’t help. My whole body is out of sorts. Clammy, cold.

I close my laptop and tuck it under my arm, rising slowly. My head swims, but my legs aren’t too unsteady. I head for the kitchen in search of a drink.

Noise from the basement draws my attention. After a second of debating, I follow the sound and descend the steps.

Knox and Steele are on the couch, controllers in their hands. A video game plays on the huge television mounted to the wall.

“You finally wake up, baby?” Knox calls.

My brow furrows.

Am I living in an alternate reality?

He pauses the game and cranes around. “What are you doing just standing there? Come here.”

It feels so much like how he acted when we were dating, I almost move forward. My body sways, and then I shake my head. I bite the inside of my cheek.

Blood blooms across my tongue, keeping me grounded.

He broke up with me. Admitting I loved him was his sole goal the entire time we dated.

“Did you cheat on me?” The words come out before I can stop them. I set my laptop down against the wall.

He tosses his controller aside and stands. He circles the couch and stops a foot away from me. Way too close for comfort, and my muscles have locked up now that his attention is on me.

“Why do you ask?”

I shrug.

“Would it make it better or worse?” He reaches out and tugs on a lock of my short hair. “I didn’t kiss or have sex with anyone while we were together, babe. Okay?”

Not really.

Because a million sleepless nights where I found him flirting with other girls come to mind. I was way too confident in us. How many excuses had I used?

“Can I have a drink?”

Knox gives me a look. “Tequila?”

For the wild child?

“I don’t think I need to be dancing on any tabletops tonight,” I joke. But really.

He grins. “Just checking.”

There’s a bar cart set up in the corner. I go to the couch and fall into the space next to Steele. He seems equally confused about me being here, but whatever.

“You fight like a hockey player,” he says. “You ever think of playing women’s hockey?”

I wrinkle my nose. “No.”

“You’d probably be good at it,” Knox says, reappearing at my side with a glass in his hand.

I take it from him and sniff. “This is tequila.”

“It’s a margarita.” He waves his hand, then reclaims his spot on the other side of Steele. “It’s different.”

“It’s really not,” I mutter.

Steele chuckles.

“Where’s Aspen?” I ask suddenly. “There’s not some get-together happening here, right? Because the last thing I need is—”

“Actually, she’s on her way over. So if you could switch seats…” He shrugs. “Sorry.”

Except he’s definitely not sorry.

I heave a sigh and rise. Before I can make it past Knox, he grabs my hips and drags me down on his lap. I cringe and try to spring away, but he holds me tight.

“You jerk,” I grit out.

“Stay here for a minute, and let’s enjoy the repercussions. You can thank me tomorrow.”

Fuck.

And then I hear what they must’ve heard signs of before—someone’s upstairs.

It doesn’t take them long to come down, and I just know it’s Miles. Because my life has been anything but easy in the past month, and he’s been driving me insane for the last few weeks.

So maybe this will work in my favor. If I can get over the snakes writhing in my belly. I loop my arm around Knox’s shoulders, and he gives me a shit-eating grin. He knows exactly what I’m doing, and he’s on board with it.

Some of my nerves settle—like the ones that wanted me to get as far away from Knox as possible initially—while others, the ones preparing for Miles to blow a gasket, are only ramping up.

I sip my drink. Then think better of it and down the whole thing. The tequila does its job, spreading warmth through me. I set the glass aside and wait for the fireworks.

Knox picks up his controller and resumes the game, his arms on either side of me with the controller, and his hands hovering near my hip.

“What the fuck is this?” Miles’ voice comes from behind us, low but deadly.

It does some strange shit to me.

I look over Knox’s shoulder, because Knox hasn’t so much as moved an inch. With his arms locked around me, even if I wanted to spring off him, I couldn’t.

Miles’ expression is devastatingly hot. And I mean, in a molten-lava, going-to-burn-your-face-off kind of way.

Although I guess that’s sexy, too…

“Get up,” he orders me.

I lean on Knox’s arm. “This is a brothers’ issue, not a me issue,” I inform Miles. “I didn’t choose to sit here…”

“And yet, there you sit,” he growls.

Steele pauses the game and faces us just as Miles rounds the couch. He snatches the controller from Knox and throws it across the room. It crashes against the far wall, but Knox just smirks up at him and settles his hands on my thighs.

It’s a little too close for comfort, and I wince.

Just a little.

Miles sees it, though, and his fury escalates. He grabs my arm and yanks me up, spinning me around and pushing me face-first into the wall next to the television. He leans into me, guiding my hands up until my palms are pressed to the paint on either side of my head.

“Don’t move a fucking muscle.”

Or what? I almost ask.

But then the weight of him, his body heat, disappears.

There’s a scuffle behind me. The thuds of what I can only imagine is fists hitting flesh. Something crashes, and I flinch when something slams into the wall beside me.

I don’t want to know.

I press my forehead to the wall and close my eyes.

What’s miraculous is the fact that I’m listening to Miles’ order. The snakes in my belly have quit moving, even with the fight. Everything just slips away, and I focus on keeping my muscles still.

“Time to go.” His words aren’t for me, though.

The silence in the room grows louder. All I can concentrate on is my ragged breathing. And then a finger runs down the back of my neck, catching the edge of the bandage, and goosebumps break out in its wake.

“You’re a bad girl,” Miles says, his fingers trailing lower. Down the small of my back, then farther down. Until his palm is cupping my ass.

I shudder.

He removes his hand, and I crack my eyes open.

Smack.

His palm strikes my ass, and I jump. My forehead bumps the wall harder, and my fingernails dig into it.

“Fuck,” I groan. “What the fuck was that for?”

“Unbutton your jeans.”

I glance over my shoulder at him. He’s got a bloody nose, for fuck’s sake.

“Don’t make me repeat it,” he threatens.

I shake my head and fumble for the button.

“Zipper,” he says next.

I slide the zipper down, still facing the wall.

“Hands back on the wall.”

He hooks his fingers in the waistband and drags my jeans down. My thong gives him a perfect view of my ass. And then he grips my hips and pulls me out. I end up leaning my upper body over, keeping my arms stretched in front of me. There’s a wicked thrill coursing through me, but confusion, too.

He caresses my bare cheek, rubbing it with light circles. I shift my weight, but then his palm disappears.

I tell myself not to flinch, but I do anyway. This strike is harder. Pain echoes through my ass and straight to my core.

You’re not getting turned on by this.

“Why?” I ask.

He goes back to rubbing it. Squeezing. It stings a bit, a residual of him spanking me like a child.

“Every time you sit down, I want you to think of this moment.” He moves behind me, and suddenly his teeth are on my ass cheek. He grips my hips hard, keeping me from escaping. “And if you ever sit on my brother’s lap again, I’ll spank you so hard, you won’t be able to walk without thinking about me.”

Fuck.

He inhales, and I go completely still.

“Well, well…” He runs his finger down, slipping under the hem of my thong. The thong that’s doing very little to hide my arousal.

“Don’t touch me,” I hiss.

He hums, but he withdraws. He pulls my jeans back up and reaches around me, doing up the zipper and button easily. His chest is pressed to my back. Can he feel my heart pounding?

“Go home,” he finally says.

Shock flickers through me. I turn around carefully, my ass stinging. He’s right—I doubt I’ll be able to sit down tomorrow without remembering this.

Asshole.

His nose has stopped bleeding, and the blood is smeared across his face like he haphazardly swiped at it. Other than that, he looks like he might have a bruise on his cheek that’ll match mine when it darkens.

My gaze drops, and I suck in a shocked breath.

He’s hard. His erection tents his jeans, pointing at me.

I inch past him, but he doesn’t make a grab for me, or… anything. I just know that this turned him on as much as it did me, and we both got caught in it. I snatch my laptop, which I set on the floor by the door, and hurry up the stairs.

And all the way home.