Page 3 of Her Name in Red
She rises slowly from Coach's body, her movements fluid and graceful despite the blood dripping from her hands. Her chest heaves with each breath, the bloodied Jaguars outfit clinging to her curves. I can't tear my eyes away as she turns to face me, her gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my heart stutter.
Fuck, she's beautiful. Even like this—no, especially like this. Her hair is wild. The blood splattered across her face makes her look like some kind of avenging angel. Or maybe a demon. I can't decide which, and I don't really care.
For a moment, we just stare at each other.
She tilts her head, studying me. A drop of blood slides down her cheek, toward her mouth. I want to lick it off.
Maren breaks the silence, her voice low and husky. “Riggs Rhodes,” she says, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of those blood-stained lips. “What the hell are you doing here?”
I can't stop staring at her. The way the blood glistens on her skin, how her chest rises and falls with each breath. She's likesome kind of fucked-up work of art, all crimson and ivory in the dim light.
“I didn't know,” I manage to croak out. “About you, I mean. I thought...”
Something flickers in Maren's eyes—pain, maybe? Or understanding? It's gone before I can be sure. She steps closer, her bare feet leaving bloody footprints on the hardwood. I should be disgusted, but all I feel is a twisted kind of awe.
“Poor Riggs,” she purrs, reaching out to trail a blood-stained finger down my cheek. “Did the big bad coach try to touch you, too?”
I nod, unable to form words.
Maren leans in close, her lips brushing against my ear. “You were never here,” she whispers, her breath hot against my skin.
I shiver, my hands itching to grab her, to pull her against me. But I hold back, forcing myself to focus. “I was never here,” I repeat, the words feeling like a pact.
Nothing. I’m going to do nothing. I’m going to mind my own fucking business, and ding dong, the fucking rapist is dead.
I'll get my spot back, my scholarship back, and all of this will be a fucked up thing we don’t talk about.
Chapter 1
Riggs
The ice hums beneath my skates as I glide out onto the rink, the familiar chill seeping through my gear. It's been a year since that fucked-up night, but the memory still hits me like a body check to the boards. I shake it off, focusing on the satisfying scrape of metal on ice as I pick up speed.
Coach Calloway stands at center ice, his whistle dangling from his neck like a noose. He's nothing like Harrington. Still, I can't help the twist in my gut every time he calls me into his office. Old habits die hard, I guess.
I carve lazy figure eights as I warm up, my muscles remembering the rhythm. A year ago, I never thought I'd be back here. I was a dead man walking, rage and despair eating me alive. Now? I'm team captain, and top of my class. Funny how things work out.
I skate past the glass, catching glimpses of the cheerleaders huddled on the bleachers.
Brittany with her perpetual smirk, Tasha's bright red hair damn near blinding. But the face I'm really looking for isn't there.
Maren.
I shouldn't be surprised. She's barely shown her face on campus, but somehow she's still on the squad. No one dares to question it, not with her uncle Matteo Marino looming in the background like some mafia boogeyman. The guy's got half the town in his pocket, and the other half too scared to breathe wrong.
Not that I’ll say shit because me keeping my fucking mouth shut got me right back here.
The cheerleaders giggle and wave as I skate by, their enthusiasm almost comical. A year ago, I would've basked in their attention, maybe even winked at a few of the hotter ones. Now, they might as well be cardboard cutouts. There's only one girl who occupies my thoughts, and she's about as present as a fucking ghost.
I push harder, picking up speed as I round the corner. The cold air whips against my face, a welcome sting that grounds me in the present. But even as I focus on the burn in my muscles, the satisfying glide of my skates, my mind drifts back to her.
The girl who saved me and damned me in the same breath.
Executing a sharp turn, I spray ice as I change direction. Coach Calloway barks out instructions, but I barely hear him.
Nobody talks about what happened to Harrington and I’m thankful for it because the less I think about him, the better.
I snap back to reality as Coach Calloway's whistle pierces the air, echoing off the rink's high ceiling. “Rhodes! Get your head out of your ass and run the drill!”
