Page 45 of The Worst Kind of Promise
The only solution is for her to ride it out. I’d stick my fingers down her throat if I didn’t think she’d fight me the entire way.
I realize I have no right to say it. I don’t think about it, though, before the pet name leaps from my tongue. “Princess, do you remember who gave it to you?”
I’mbeggingher to remember. If I tell the guys that she’s high as a kite right now, there’s no telling what will happen. It’ll just add more stress. I need to figure this out on my own.
She shakes her head. “Didn’t tell me his name.”
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath, beginning to pace around the small vacuum of space we have, trying to rack my brain to think of anyone I know that carries illegal substances on them like a pack of gum.
Faye flops onto the toilet seat and nervously watches me, twiddling with her birthstone necklace.
My thoughts do a roller-coaster loop as I kneel down in front of her, my arms sandwiching her sides. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to stay in here while I figure this out. You’renotgoing to leave the bathroom. Do you understand?”
Something chips away at her joyous demeanor and bitters those soft features of hers. “You’re leaving. Again. Just like you were planning all along.”
“Faye…” I murmur, my hand sailing down my face and itching at my scruff.
Her wet-eyed gaze stays nailed to the porcelain tiles, and she doesn’t do anything to banish the tears. “Just go.”
She’s killing me. She really is. I hate that I let this happen. Yes, I know it’s not the end of the world, but itfeelslike it. Would she have taken the drugs if we hadn’t got into that fight?
I work double time to dispel the tension, tracking my finger along the outside of her leg—letting her know that I’m here. “I’m going to bring you some water. You need to stay hydrated.”
All that I can focus on isher. Not getting revenge, not the aftermath, not our fight. Her body seems to be handling the drug well. This whole situation could’ve gone a lot differently had it been cut with something stronger, and I’m thankful that she’s conscious and alert.
As I go to exit, she flings her hand out and wraps it around my wrist.
“You’re coming back, right?”
I know she probably won’t remember any of this, and maybe that’s why I say what I say. My heart means it, my head means it, every cell in my body means it. Even with this self-inflicted distance, I’ll always mean it.
“I’ll always come back to you.”
16
FIRST RULE OF FIGHT CLUB
KIT
Ipray to God that Faye for once listens to me and stays in that bathroom. Fisting a bottle of water, I carve my way through a throng of people before stopping dead center in front of some of my teammates. I usually prefer to keep my social circle small, only talking to the rest of the guys when we’re at practice or during games.
Zaven, one of our fastest skaters, waves me over to the small group he’s formed. He’s flanked on either side by KJ, a forward, and Sailor, a huge-ass defenseman. I’m surprised to see Sailor in a social setting considering he’s one of the most closed off people I’ve ever met. As for KJ, that guy practically breathes parties, so it makes sense that he’s taking advantage of the endless flow of drinks.
I don’t want to look like an ass, but I really don’t have time to talk. I give them all a stern nod before turning my back toward them, but that’s when realization barrels up my spine. Whenever I see KJ, he’s always equipped with liquid courage or…drugs.
Fuck. I should’ve known. There’s no one else on our team that indulges in drugs at parties during the off-season as much as KJ. He’s smart enough to stay away from them during the actual season, which is why he hasn’t gotten his ass suspended from the NHL.
I promised Faye I’d come back. I’m just making a quick detour, okay? This little confrontation will be drama-free and over in less than a minute.
I don’t think I realize how truly furious I am when I drop the drink, roughly turn KJ in his stupid hat toward me, and clock him directly in the face. My knuckles ache to hit him again, gouts of blood already clinging to reddened skin—whether it’s mine or his, I have no idea. And I don’t care. His head snaps backwards, and even Zaven’s inhumanly fast reflexes can’t stop me from breaking cartilage in another unrestrained hit. There’s a nauseating squelch of bone and muscle, followed by panicked shouts whaling on me from all directions.
Adrenaline blots every sound out. The only noises I can focus on are the blood echoing in my ears and the beat of my heart resonating deep in my chest. The rage localizing in my belly kicks into high gear, prompting me to flick my hand out and re-curl it, but before I can give KJ a matching shiner to go with his newly broken nose, somebody jerks my arm back.
“Enough!”
I expect Hayes to be the one on the other end of that arm, but it’s Bristol.
Stock-still, fist suspended in the air, my eyes peruse the massacre on KJ’s face—the rivulets of blood shooting down his nose, splattering the ground in vermillion raindrops, and the purpling bruise stippling his cheekbone. The whole party has come to a complete stop, scandalized whispers shared amongst gaping mouths. The skin on the back of my hand smarts as ichor races down my forearm, slathering my mapwork of tattoos.
