Page 85 of Redeeming the Villain

“Really?” My ears perk up.

She nods. “Yeah, the only person I’ve ever heard him mention is someone named Darius, and that was only in passing when I overheard Griffin and him talking.”

My mind starts to shift back in time, wondering what I might have missed all those years ago. But I was usually so busy hating him that I left no room for empathy.

I want him to open up to me more, tell me all the secrets he keeps locked in his mind. But we just started crossing the line from enemies to lovers, and the last thing I want to do is chase him off and reverse the progress we’ve made.

We pull into the arena and find a decent parking spot. Blair said she wanted to get there before warm-ups so the choices were pretty open.

Grabbing my purse, I pull out my lip gloss and take one quick look in the pull-down mirror.

God, I’m nervous. I wish Sunny could be here just for moral support, but I know she’d be far more comfortable in our room with June than in a loud, cold rink.

My blonde hair cascades down my shoulders in loose, wavy curls. Brushing my light-pink-tinted gloss across my lips, I take a deep breath and check my monitor on my wrist, the one I only usually wear when I’m not with Sunny. Heart rate is under control.

“Ready?” Blair asks me, killing the engine and grabbing her own purse.

“As I’ll ever be.” I close the mirror and step outside of the car, the cold breeze skirting through the jersey material.

When I walk into the arena with Blair, my heart is in my throat, and my stomach is rotating like a rotisserie chicken.

Blair holds her phone up for the ticket guy to scan. He scans the two tickets and lets us through. We must be some of the first people to arrive as the concession area is barren.

I’ve never been on this side of the arena. The only time I was here was when I came to confront Malik, and he pulled me into some equipment room on the opposite entrance.

“Our seats are this way. I always sit in the same one,” she tells me, leading the way.

Turning left, I follow her into a short tunnel until we’re at the top of some stairs.

“Wait.” I stop. “How far down are we?”

She turns around and pinches her brows. “Row eight. Is everything okay?”

When I glance down the seemingly never-ending stairs, my palms start to sweat. I didn’t even take this into account, and I totally should’ve.

“I should probably go to the restroom first. Going up and down a lot of stairs can really wear me out fast. Would you be able to point me in the right direction?”

“Of course. I’m sorry. I could have gotten seats higher up. I should have asked.” She sighs angrily at herself. “Next time, we’ll get seats closer to the top!”

Feeling like a sudden burden, I shoo her offer away with my hand. “Oh, no. It’s okay. As long as I go to the bathroom first, I should only have to get up, like, one time. I should be okay?—”

She cuts me off, “No, no. There’s no reason you should subject yourself to that when I can see perfectly fine from a different seat.”

Walking past me, she turns and points down the hallway that wraps around the rink. “They are just down there to your right.”

I smile at her. “Thank you.”

She nods. “I’m going to get a drink. Do you want anything?”

“A water, please,” I say politely as I start to walk away, following her instructions.

“You got it.”

Walking down the hallway, I stop when my eyes land on a poster hanging on the wall. It’s a giant photo, stretched out ten feet wide with nearly life-size photos of some of the players. The main boys—Griffin, Asher, Dean, Elias, Finn, and Malik. But I’m only staring at one.

He’s somehow more intimidating in this photo. If that’s even possible. His face is rigid and threatening as he poses with his stick. With his helmet in his hand, his messy black hair is in full view, as are his stunning eyes, and I take a second just to study unabashedly.

After a few moments, I tear my gaze from his intense stare and continue down the hallway to the restroom.

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