Page 126 of Stick It
Even though Kyle isn’t here, it hasn’t stopped Griffin from creeping in my window every night. It’s become such an ingrained habit that I don’t know what I’d do if he stopped. Am I even capable of falling asleep on my own anymore? I’m not so sure.
His chest rises and falls beneath me, the steady rhythm grounding me as we lie tangled together in the dim light of my bedroom. His bare skin is warm under my cheek, the soft drag of his fingertips tracing idle circles over my spine and sending lazy shivers down my back. Perhaps it should feel suffocating, the weight of his protection, the intensity of his presence, but it doesn’t. It steadies me in a way I hadn’t expected. There’s a comfort to it, a reassurance.
It’s late, and we’ve been lying like this for a while, neither of us speaking, lost in the quiet before tomorrow’s storm.
The game. My return to the ice.
He shifts slightly, angling his head so his lips ghost over my hair. The motion is so simple, so intimate, so casual, like he’s always done it, like he alwayswilldo it. These quiet moments alone with him in my bed at night, it’s the only time Griffin is completely relaxed, entirely himself. There’s no showfor the team. No keeping up appearances on campus or posturing in front of the guys.
His expression is always that hard, granite mask, but I’ve come to realize that’s the real him. Not the version of himself who smirks at jokes and plays the fool in front of the team. Although, why he feels the need to put on the act is beyond me. It feels wrong to ask. Hopefully, one day, he’ll feel comfortable telling me.
Breaking the silence, his deep voice rumbles through the night. “What happened with Tremble?”
My breath catches.
I don’t lift my head. Don’t look at him. Just focus on the feel of his skin under my fingertips, the slow, even rise and fall of his chest.
For a moment, I don’t answer. The memories press in, sharp and jagged, but I force my body to stay loose against his. If he senses how uncomfortable this topic makes me, he’s unlikely to wait until tomorrow to go after Lucas.
Finally, I exhale softly, swallowing around my suddenly dry throat as I struggle to find the words to answer his question. I want to shrug it off and not answer at all, but perhaps there’s a catharsis in sharing it with someone, and I can only hope that if I open up to Griffin that he will feel as though he can open up to me in return.
“He hated me from the moment I joined the team,” I tell him, lips trembling even though my voice doesn’t shake.
Still, Griffin stills, sensing my unease. His fingers halt against my back. I press on before he can speak.
“He couldn’t stand the idea of a girl on the team. Of a girl being good enough toqualifyfor the team.” I let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “And he made sure I knew it, too.” I swallow roughly. “The whole team made it clear I didn’t belong.”
Griffin’s hand tightens around my waist. His silence is dangerous, his stillness lethal.
I push on, my voice cracking over my next words. “Then my dad died.”
His exhale is sharp, like the words physically wound him. His hand starts moving again, this time over my ribs, like he’s trying to soothe away something he can’t touch.
“He did a complete one-eighty,” I tell him, staring pointedly at the rhythmic movements of his chest. I use that to center me, to focus me while I bare one of the worst hurts of my soul to him. “He started being nice to me after that. He’d shut down the guys when they got too bad. Defend me when they said I should quit. He listened. He let me talk about my dad when I couldn’t talk to anyone else. He was…kind.” I hate to use that word to describe him, but it’s true. “I—” The words catch in my throat. “I thought he cared.” I shake my head, my cheek rubbing against Griffin’s warm skin. “I needed someone, and he was there.”
His chest rumbles beneath me. “He used you.”
I nod, my throat tight. He’s right. “It was all an act,” I admit, my voice hardening as anger curls beneath my ribs. “He never gave a shit about me. He saw my grief, my weakness, and he played it against me. I was a joke.” I pause. “Even worse, the whole team knew, and they let me believe it was real.”
Griffin’s breathing turns shallow, his entire body going rigid beneath me. He’s quiet for so long that I finally lift my head, meeting his gaze. His eyes are black. Not with rage. Not with fury. With something deeper. Something…lethal.
“I’ll kill him.” The words are quiet. Steady. A promise, one I have no doubt he will follow through on.
I shake my head again, leaning up onto my elbow as I push my hand against his chest. “No, you won’t.”
His jaw tics.
“I’m not letting you get suspended—or worse—over me.” Iforce my voice to stay calm. “I don’t need you to fight my battles, Griff.”
His fingers tighten at my waist, not in anger, but like he’s holding himself back. “You think this is about fighting your battles?” He shifts, rolling us until I’m on my back and he’s above me, arms braced on either side of my head. My hands wrap around his biceps, fingers digging into the skin as though I can anchor him to me and keep him from going after Lucas—not that the asshole wouldn’t deserve Griffin’s wrath.
“This isn’t about him hurting you,” Griffin says, voice low and deadly. “It’s about themallhurting you.” He leans closer, his breath hot against my lips. “You’remine, Dylan.” His voice drops lower, his eyes taking on a carnal burn. “And no one hurts what’s mine.”
Heat coils in my stomach. It should be terrifying how absolute he is. How obsessed. But it’s not. It never is with Griffin.
I reach up, trailing my fingers along his jaw. “Then let me handle it.”
His eyes flick between mine, searching. War raging behind them. He vibrates with barely restrained fury, every muscle locked, his breathing ragged.
