Brutal Obsession: Chapter 43

Today’s the day I get to tell my father to fuck off.

Never thought that would happen.

It’s also game day.

There’s a certain magic that happens to the school on Friday nights when the hockey team is playing at our home stadium. There’s a buzz in the air that’s infectious. It keeps me light all day, instead of worried. Instead of plotting the ways this could all go wrong.

Because it could go wrong in a shit ton of ways.

I don’t think my father can take away the trust fund. Not since it’s currently in my possession. I even checked with a lawyer yesterday who told me what I needed to hear. If I wanted, I could move the money into a separate account without his name on it.

That’s exactly what I did.

Whether or not Dad’s accountant will catch it in time to ask me about it today is another matter. This could come up on Monday, or a month from now…

Anyway. I lace up my skates and join Jacob and Erik on the ice. They’re warming up, stretching their legs by doing a few laps around the outside perimeter. I come up behind them and fall in line.

We’ve got this morning’s practice, then we’re required to show up at five o’clock for a pregame warm up and check-in. We’ll go over the plays, make sure all our equipment is set.

We’re joined by the rest of the team, then break into different warmups. Using cones, pucks. Miles has his full pads and mask on, and he takes up his spot in the net after skating through some of the drills.

Coach Roake is standing at the half-wall with a clipboard in his hand.

“Devereux,” he barks out.

I skate to him and stop just before running into the boards.

“Tell me why I’m getting a phone call from your father’s office telling me to pull you from the team?” He glowers at me. “And this better be good.”

“He what?” I stare at him. Does this have to do with the phone call Coach made to him ? My muscles clench, and I struggle to contain my emotions. In all the excitement with Violet, I had forgotten the conversation with Dad the other night.

Fuck .

Now I look at my coach with a new lens… of distrust. And the last thing I want to do is lose faith in him. But maybe he’s been talking to my father behind my back, reporting on me. It would certainly explain why Dad took such a dislike to Violet.

I clear my throat. “Trust me, Coach, I’d never ask him to do that. He and I haven’t discussed this.”

“This is the biggest fucking game of the season, so he’s nuts if he thinks I’m pulling one of my best skaters.” Under his breath, he adds, “Fucking senators.”

“Um… did he say anything else?”

Roake pauses. “Nothing that concerns skating. Get back out there.”

So he did figure out I moved my trust fund out of the joint account. I wonder if he knows why, or if he thinks I’m trying to finally separate myself from him. It would be an accurate assumption—but he couldn’t possibly understand my motivation.

I shove that thought away and get back to business.

I skate to the back of the line, gripping my stick tightly in both hands. We’re doing a simple puck-control drill, navigating through a pattern of cones before shooting at the goal. There’s another line on the other end of the ice doing something similar, with the replacement goalie in the net.

As soon as our short practice is over, I grab my phone from my locker and call my father.

This is ridiculous.

He answers on the fourth ring, right before I would’ve probably been dumped into his voicemail. “Greyson,” he greets me.

“Hey, Dad. Why are you telling Coach to pull me?” May as well just get it right out there.

There’s silence. Then, “What?”

“He got a phone call from you.” I growl my frustration. “Said you wanted me off the team. After our conversation the other night, it seemed to have come out of the blue.”

“That’s bullshit.” He sounds pissed. “I know what this means to you—in fact, this is exactly why I didn’t want you to have any distractions. We just talked about this.”

“I’ll be there tonight,” he adds. “I think it’ll be good for the scouts to see a united family unit.”

Right. Better to tell him to fuck off to his face. That was my plan all along.

“Coach wants us there early,” I tell him. “So, we’ll chat after?”

“Yes. I’ve got to go. I have an appointment.” There’s a click, and he’s gone.

I scowl at my phone for a second, then stash it. Luckily, Coach already said he isn’t going to listen to my father—so whether he was just trying to mess with me or he really didn’t interfere…

Was it Violet’s stalker?

I don’t know how familiar Roake is with my father’s voice. How much of a stretch would it be to call and say you’re Senator Devereux? That type of power forces people to accept what you say, no questions asked.

I throw my helmet into my locker and swear.

Knox pokes his head around the corner. “You good?”

“Fucking peachy,” I growl. “Where are the girls?”

He shrugs. “Class, probably.”

I pull my phone out. Violet doesn’t have class on Fridays. Her little dot on the map shows her at the large Crown Point Ballet building. It’s a few blocks from the dance studio she’s been using to practice.

Why would she go there?

Is she trying to find her stalker? Lure him out?

I stow my phone and clench my teeth. I’m so fucking pissed, I can’t even see straight. What I should be doing is keeping calm, focusing on the game tonight. We’re getting closer and closer to the finals. We can’t afford to lose a single game.

Spring break starts today, technically, as well.

We’ll have a week with no class.

My phone buzzes.

I sigh. “Erik?”

He comes around the corner, grinning like an asshole. “Yeah?”

“How many people did you invite over?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I told Maddie and Paris to handle it.”

Great. So, a fuck ton. I make a mental note to lock my door—and give Violet a key. People at parties can be weirdly invasive. They think it’s okay to go into any room, touch people’s stuff, fuck on their beds… no thanks.

“You’ve never minded,” he says.

I lift one shoulder. I didn’t, back when a party was a guaranteed way to get laid. Now, I don’t need it to get Violet naked. It’s a good excuse for it, though. And it might salvage my mood once I actually confront my father about her.

“You good?” he asks.

I nod sharply. “Never better.”

“You know, no one asked me if your girlfriend could move in.” He sticks his hands in his pockets. “And her roommate, too. I would’ve appreciated a heads-up.”

Girlfriend, huh? I like the sound of that… although I’d like to call her something more permanent. I’ll have to think on that.

Part of me wants to flip him off and be done with it—but he’s right. It’s his house, too. And we’ve gotten along amicably for most of the year. It really would be a shame to piss it away in the final semester.

“Yeah,” I finally say. “Sorry. It’s not forever.”

He nods. “Yeah, man, I know.”

I watch him retreat, then finish getting changed. I’ve got one class, then a paper that I need to work on. But I’m also itching to blow it off and make sure Violet’s safe.

I frown.

Her typing bubble pops up, then disappears. I clench my phone tightly, watching it come up again. My heart is going crazy—this stalker has my blood pressure rising.

It’s stupid how much I want Violet all to myself. And maybe that’s something akin to caring about her. I want her so badly, it hurts when I’m not near her. But is that possessiveness or something else? Do I want her because of everything we’ve been through, and everything she means, or because of her ?

I’ve never loved anyone.

I don’t know what it feels like or if I’m feeling it right . All I know is what my father has taught me. And my mother… she tried, but she taught me that sometimes even love isn’t enough. She left us, and then she died.

It takes dedication on top of the love. It takes a willingness to fight to stay together.

And that’s exactly what I want. I want to get so close to Violet, I inhabit her skin. I want to wear her scent on my clothes. I want to lock her away so no man ever fucking looks at her again.

Look at her, learning all these fancy hockey terms. Have I personally scored a hat trick? Well, it was definitely easier when I was younger, up against less experienced teams. Nowadays, it’s few and far between. And in the tournament? Up against a well-known team?

My cock stirs.

Fuck.

I laugh. Loudly. I’m pretty sure I’m the last one lingering in the locker room, because no one bothers me. I shake my head at my phone.

Saucy thing.

I say it because I know she likes the thrill of being watched. Well, I don’t know , but it’s a good fucking hunch. Sure enough, she types and erases twice more. Poor Violet is flustered, and now I can’t get the thought of her spread open for me out of my head.

She’s curious, though. I don’t respond—I’d rather just prove to her what I would or wouldn’t do. After I score a hat trick—three goals—against one of the best teams in the national fucking tournament.

But for her, I’m not sure there’s anything I wouldn’t do.