Page 86 of Stick It
My stomach growls. Loudly.
With a sigh, I push myself up, wincing as my body protests the movement. The room is dim, shadows stretching long across the walls. Dusk has fallen while I was asleep, and a glance at the clock tells me it’s early evening.
I force my legs over the edge of the bed, standing slowly as the movement pulls on my bruised skin and battered muscles. The floor is cool beneath my bare feet as I pull on a pair of leggings and fluffy socks, before dragging a baggy hoodie over my head.
Easing open the bedroom door, I listen for any noises in the hall before creeping out and across to the bathroom. The brightness stings my eyes as I turn on the light, before I adjust.
My gaze immediately lands on the mirror hanging above the sink as I shuffle forward. It’s not the first time I’ve seen my reflection today, but I swear every time I do, I look worse.
And I hate what I see.
Splotches of purple and red bleed across my cheek, and the cut along my temple is an angry slash. A shadow of a bruise colors my jawline, another peeking from the collar of my hoodie. The harsh light makes everything look particularly gruesome, but it’s not even my red, swollen skin that gets to me.
It’s the fear that has taken up residence in my eyes.
Bruises aren’t new to me—I’ve taken my fair share of hits on the ice. I’m used to dealing with guys who have no problem knocking me around, but that is nothing like last night. Theyneverjumpedme. Never had me so afraid for my life that I wasn’t sure if I was going to walk away.
The reflection in the mirror blurs. Memories from the night before creep in, unbidden. The harsh grip on my arms. The slam of my body against the pavement. The suffocating terror that stole the air from my lungs as I realized—reallyrealized—I was trapped. That there was no escape. No way out but through the pain.
My breathing grows erratic, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
Breathe. In. Out.
I willnotlet them keep me there.
I force my fingers to unclench from the sink. Force my shoulders to loosen as I tear my gaze from the mirror. I do my best to shake off the sticky residue of the memory, ignoring the lingering tremor in my hands as I use the toilet before heading downstairs.
Halfway down, voices drift up from the living room. I slow my steps, stopping just out of sight at the sound of Ethan’s voice.
“…one of us with her at all times when she’s on campus. She shouldn’t have to walk anywhere alone right now.”
“Agreed,” Jax says. “We can split it up. Take shifts to ensure someone is always with her.”
“I’m not worried about when she’s on campus.” My eyebrows climb my forehead at hearing Griffin’s voice. What is he doing here? “What about when she’shere? There’s no fucking way she’s sleeping beneath the same roof as that fucker.”
“And what do you propose?” Ethan drawls. “That she moves in with you?”
“Exactly.” Unlike the scoff that accompanied Ethan’s words, Griffin is dead serious.
“Wait, what?” Jax chimes in. “Dylan isn’t moving in with you. You don’t even have a spare room.”
I’m a little bit offended at the fact that they are fighting over me like dogs over a bone.
“Yeah, but Liam or Noah could move in here, and Dylan can take their room.”
Okay, well now I’m even more offended that they are talking about me like I’m a baseball card to trade.
“That seems extreme,” Finn states. “I still don’t believe it was Kyle behind the attack.”
My stomach drops.
Of course, he doesn’t.
I’ve seen how close he and Kyle are. Heard the stories about them attending summer camps together. They’ve known each other since they were little kids.
But just because he’s in denial doesn’t mean it’s not true.
I clutch the railing, listening as the conversation shifts.
