Brutal Obsession: Chapter 45

Here’s the thing about hockey: it’s fucking brutal.

Fights are legal, for the most part. As in, unless it’s extreme, you’re not going to get kicked out of the game. Brawls are an integral part of it.

So when we take our seats in the stadium, the energy is… intense. More so than the regular season games. It thrums through my system like a cranked-up stereo is pressed to my skin. Grey gave the four of us—Willow, Jess, Amanda, and me—better seats. We’re at center ice, right up at the glass. Directly to our left is the penalty box and the Hawks’ bench. If I stand and lean back, I can see the broad-shouldered players.

We’re in the third period, just the start of it, with eighteen minutes left on the clock. The score is two to three, with the other team in the lead. Greyson has scored once, and my heart is in my throat. Two more, and I’ll be at his mercy. Until midnight anyway.

But I think I’ll be at his mercy anyway.

My phone vibrates, and I glance at the screen.

I scowl.

Higher above us, Senator Devereux is in attendance with an entourage. They’ve taken over one of the suites. I’ve avoided looking up there—avoided turning around in general, for fear that he’ll see me and the ruse—the one where I stay away from his son—will burst.

My phone goes off again.

She’s… what?

I nudge Willow and show her the two messages.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She scoffs. “No. Just pretend you didn’t see them.”

“Oh my god!” Amanda screeches, grabbing my arm.

Greyson has the puck, and he charges across the ice. He’s a force to be reckoned with. He passes it to Knox and darts around one of the defenders. Knox passes it to Erik, who gives it right back to Grey.

He shoots and scores, and the Hawks come barreling toward him in celebration. We all jump to our feet, cheering and screaming as his teammates skate around him and clap his back.

Three to four.

He skates past and points at me. He grins, holding eye contact, and then raises his index finger up. One more to go .

I blush and grin back. It’s hard to beat back the team spirit. The dance team embedded that in me, if nothing else. I want our school to win—to go all the way to the finals, even. And I definitely want to know what Grey is going to do to me after he makes another goal…

My phone buzzes, more insistent.

Mom’s calling me now.

“I’ve got to take this,” I say to Willow.

She grimaces. “Do you want me to go with you?”

I pause and meet her eyes. “Really?”

“Of course.” She’s decked out in blue and silver, just like me. We sprayed some blue glitter in our hair, and some of it has flaked off on our skin.

I’m about to tell her not to bother, that I’ll be okay, when she rises.

“Not going to give you a choice,” she says. “Let’s go.”

We slip out of the row and hurry up the steps. I make the mistake of glancing up as we’re about to go through the tunnel out into the hallway. Senator Devereux stands at the glass, his gaze on me.

Fuck .

Greyson was planning on talking to him tonight.

Willow pulls me away, and I take a deep breath as soon as we’re out of sight. He freaks me out more than Greyson ever did.

We exit the stadium and step onto the sidewalk. I check both ways, trying to find my mother. I finally spot her across the street, pacing in front of a sleek black car.

“Violet!” she calls. She waves her hands.

Willow and I cross the street together, but I make the last few steps alone.

Even though time has passed, she appears… the same. People always said we looked similar. Like you could see us and tell we were related. Sisters, people often said, because Mom’s skin is smooth. Her hair is perfectly coifed, golden blonde. The features we share are those she can’t alter with Botox. The shape of our eyes, our noses, lips. The heart-shaped face.

Where I try to keep myself lean for ballet, she has curves. Hips and an ass that used to catch all the guys’ attention, her breasts—well, those are fake, at any rate. Not that anyone cares.

I don’t know what I expected. New wrinkles at the corners of her eyes maybe, or streaks of gray in her hair.

Whatever I think I might see… I don’t.

“What’s up?” I internally cringe at the question.

She twists her hands together, then sticks them in her pockets. “What’s been going on with you, Violet?”

I let out a choked laugh. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not this girl.” She steps closer, and her eyes dart over my shoulder. “You know the agreement we made.”

“I signed the NDA. What more is there?” My skin prickles. I sense there is more. The senator’s secretary let something slip that had me wondering—but this confirms it. “What did you do, Mom?”

She straightens. Her expression turns stony. “Come with me.”

She grabs my arm and tows me back toward the stadium. I stumble along with her, glancing over my shoulder. Willow trails us, her brows drawn down in confusion.

We get inside, and she drags me up the stairs. My stomach is in knots. We go around the corner, heading for the row of suites. I have a feeling I know exactly where we’re going. And yet, I can’t seem to slam on the brakes.

I need to know what kind of deal with the devil she made.

This moment is inevitable. It has been inevitable since my mother pushed me to file a lawsuit. Brought in the shiny, expensive attorney who sat next to my hospital bed and took notes, took pictures. It was invasive. The whole thing made me sick to my stomach… but I did it because I trusted her.

Somewhere along the line, my trust in her broke.

Maybe it was when she dropped me off at CPU and didn’t look back. Maybe it was earlier than that, when the light in her eyes dimmed when she watched me. Like I was the failure because my dance career shattered worse than my leg.

Either way, this distrust gnaws at me.

All the way to the senator’s suite.

She pushes the door open and goes inside. No hesitation. I keep my focus on her quick, short stride. Her body is tense. She raises her hand to fiddle with her hair, then drops it before touching a strand. Her mouth is pulled into a wide, fake smile.

My muscles tremble.

Willow is stopped at the door. I don’t realize it until a suited man moves in my peripheral, shutting the door with a quiet click right in her face.

I’m on my own.

Ahead of us and to the left are rows of chairs for viewing the game. A long table with white tablecloths is set against the right wall with a buffet-style assortment of finger foods. Behind us, against the wall, is a mini bar. So the rich don’t have to travel far for their liquor.

The senator is holding a mini conference toward the front, right by the glass. He and his friends don’t notice us enter. Their conversation continues, loud and boisterous. Below, the game continues. The clock ticks down. The Hawks are in the lead by one.

Something must’ve happened, because there’s a Knight in the penalty box.

Mom pinches the inside of my arm, and I snap back to attention.

“Senator,” she calls, guiding me with her.

Her arm is wrapped around mine now, and her nails are lodged in my skin. She gives me another pinch when I put up the slightest resistance. The pain is localized, but it still hurts .

Grey’s dad turns our way. His expression shuts down.

Not good .

I can’t tell if it’s me or my mother who causes it, and I swallow past a thick lump in my throat. I don’t like him. For six months—seven, now, actually—he’s been the boogieman in my mind. The one who has the power to ruin me. Financially, socially. I have no doubt that he could make it so no ballet company gave me a contract.

He’s got the reach and the incentive.

“Ms. Reece,” the senator replies.

His gaze lands on me, and shame bleeds through me. I wonder if he’s silently calling me out on my relationship with his son.

The son who loves you , I remind myself. I’m not sure why that’s a comfort, but it is. It soothes some of the turmoil inside me.

Mom thinks he’s talking to her, and she steps forward with renewed vigor. Like this warm welcome, if we can call it that, is exactly the sign she was looking for that things would work out in her favor.

Whichever way that is.

“James,” she greets him.

I bristle.

Why the hell is she on a first-name basis with him?

His gaze goes from her to me, then to the hand wrapped around my wrist. His lips quirk, and he turns to his friends. “Could you excuse us for a moment?”

They nod and eye us curiously, but they stride away. I watch them regroup at the bar.

“Leigh.” His eyebrow raises. “I thought you and I had an understanding.”

“I thought so, too,” she hisses.

“Ah.” He smiles. “Well, it seems your daughter didn’t get the memo.”

“What…” I glance between them, then settle on him. “What did she do?”

He grins. His forehead doesn’t wrinkle, his brows don’t furrow, but his eyes gleam. Another chess piece conquered, he must think. Another family divided.

Secrets will do that.

“Honey—”

“Your mother,” the senator interrupts, “has been getting paid to keep her mouth shut.”

I jerk out of her grip and stagger away.

But Mom is fast. She reacts like a snake, striking out and latching onto my shoulder. She hauls me into her. “Now is not the time to cause a scene, dear.”

“What did you do?” I whisper at her.

She shakes me slightly, then glances over her shoulder at the senator’s friends. She forces another smile. Like all is okay.

It’s not.

It’s far from okay.

“Except the payments stopped, did they not?” Senator Devereux tilts his head. “It was a decent sum altogether. It’s a pity that our agreement has come to an end.”

Her mouth drops open. “Excuse me?”

“These articles you keep writing.” He sighs and glances out toward the ice. Just a cursory glance, as if to keep up appearances. Faking his way through interest in his son’s life. “It’s getting tiresome, Leigh. Your desperate attempts to extort more money from my coffers.”

“I have done no such thing,” she snaps. “And—”

“And your daughter seems to be unable to keep away from Greyson.” He inclines his chin again, looking down his nose at us. Grey must’ve got his height from him. There are some other similarities, too. But even when he was at his cruelest, he didn’t have this sneer. “My son was part of the agreement, do you remember?”

She turns to me. “Tell me that isn’t true.”

It’s my turn to snort. “Tell me how I’m supposed to keep an agreement I wasn’t part of?”

“You agreed to keep away from my son,” the senator snaps. His composure is on the verge of breaking.

“Someone should’ve told him that,” I mumble.

What happened to my mother? She had a job, she had a house and a social life. Friends . A husband. Me. Then her husband died, and I didn’t realize how much that must’ve shattered her. She just couldn’t keep it together anymore.

I grab her hand, pulling her back a few steps. “Come on, Mom. You don’t need his money.”

She laughs. Loudly. It draws the attention of the guys at the bar, and the senator shakes his head.

“She’s high.” He doesn’t bother to lower his voice either. “She took my money and used it to buy more of those pills they gave you in the hospital. Or, perhaps you didn’t realize the bottles always ran out faster than they should’ve?”

I flinch.

“I never took those,” I whisper. I stare at her, trying to figure out if he’s telling the truth. I had a bad reaction to the opioids. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t walk. The room was constantly spinning.

But now I’m remembering how Mom told me we could just wean me off them. That I didn’t have to concern my doctor with it.

Did she keep filling a prescription for me?

Did she take them?

The shame in her eyes is confirmation. I stumble away from her, pushing off her attempts to keep me next to her. Her hands grasp at me.

“Stop her,” the senator says on a sigh.

Someone steps in front of the door. The man who opened it for us. A bodyguard of some sort? Either way, he doesn’t move for me.

Dread flushes through me, and I whirl back around. “What are you doing?”

Senator Devereux comes closer. He puts his hand on my back, steering me to the glass. His gaze lifts to the friends, pointedly ignoring us now, then back to me. “You and your mother are going to sit. Watch the last few minutes of the game. Celebrate when the Hawks claim their victory. And then we’ll chat.”

He shoves me down into one of the chairs. Mom comes over and practically falls into the chair beside me. She immediately slings her arm over the back of mine. She sends a glare his way, but he’s already heading back toward his friends. No doubt to placate them.

I focus on the ice. On the game .

They’re tied. It was three-two in favor of the other team when Willow and I left. Was it Greyson who scored again? Completing his hat trick? I lean forward, trying to see my friends at the glass. I see Amanda and Jess, but no Willow.

And then I try to find Greyson, but I can’t seem to focus. The players skate harder. The Hawk that has the puck—Erik?—gets slammed into the wall, and the Knight takes off with it. My heart is in my throat, both at where I am and the game.

I glance behind me. The group of men have drifted back toward the windows, drinks in hand. The bodyguard at the door gives me a cold look when my attention turns his way. I whip back around.

Someone skates by, head turned out toward the crowd.

Devereux .

My throat closes. He seems to be searching for me.

A Knight catches him off guard and crashes into him. They both hit the glass hard, and Greyson shoves at the other player. Instead of a fight, they part and go in separate directions.

The buzzer sounds.

Overtime .

I swallow. The skaters leave the ice, and the announcer gives a rundown of what’s about to happen. A three-on-three sudden death. The first team to score in the next five minutes wins.

Mom leans toward me. “You have to believe that I did this in our best interests.”

Our best interests? I scoff. “I don’t have to believe anything.”

She bites her lower lip, and she can’t meet my eyes. My phone buzzes in my pocket.

I type a reply, but a large hand snatches my phone before I can hit send. I twist around, shocked. The bodyguard tucks my phone in his pocket, then looks pointedly down at my mother. With a quiet sigh, she pulls hers from her purse and hands it over.

This is so fucked up.

“You have to fix this,” I say under my breath. “Mom. Please.”

“Quiet,” the guy snaps.

I face forward again.

‘That’s my boy,” Senator Devereux says to his colleagues. “Coach Roake made a smart move sending him out to clinch the deal.”

There’s a general consensus. Agreements about his son’s talent, the coach, the team. I twist my fingers together. My palms are sweating. Even up here, in our glass box, I can sense the crowd’s energy. Their excitement. But it doesn’t touch us.

My nerves are rioting, and it takes everything in me to sit still.

Knox and Steele join Grey. Miles takes his place in front of the goal. They begin, and I hold my breath when Grey gets the puck. He’s checked by a Knight and goes sprawling.

The senator grumbles. Just as quick, though, Grey is back up and charging after the puck. He wins a battle for it and takes it all the way into the Knights’ territory. He flicks the puck toward the upper-left corner of the goal.

The goalie is quick to snatch it out of the air. He tosses it back to one of his teammates. And they’re off again. Miles blocks one, two, three shots from their opponents.

My heart remains in my throat until there’s only precious seconds left. In the end, it’s Knox who scores the final goal. He fakes a shot, which the Knights goalie falls for, and then sails it easily between his open legs.

The stadium erupts. The ice is immediately swarmed with Hawks players, closing in fast on Knox and Miles. They’re jumping up and down, celebrating their much-needed win. I lean forward and see the senator accepting congratulations like he won. He mentions something about scouts and his son getting recruited, then waves his hand toward the door.

They all leave, and his bodyguard follows. The door swings shut, and there’s a heavy snick of a deadbolt sliding home. They’ve locked my mother and me in.