Page 64 of Dirty As Puck
I press my fists into my temples. What do I do right now? Do I call her? Warn her? No, what would I even say? Hey, the psycho blackmailer I’ve been hiding from is stalking you now, but don’t freak out? If I tell her, she’ll want answers. And the second she knows, she’s in deeper than she already is.
But keeping it from her, Christ, that’s killing me too.
My breath goes in and out, chest tight, and throat burning. I can almost see Derek smirking, somewhere in his filthy little hideout, knowing exactly how to twist the knife to hurt me. He wants me frantic. He wants me cornered. He wants me to crack.
And damn it, I’m so close to cracking.
I grip the edge of the counter, my knuckles white. I could go to the police, but he warned me about that. He always seems to know when I’m considering it. He’s got eyes everywhere somehow.
I picture Rochelle at her desk, sipping her coffee, typing furiously like she does when she’s chasing a story. She has no clue a predator is circling around. My chest aches with a mix of fury and fear so sharp it feels like broken glass in my lungs.
Furious, I slam a fist against the counter. The sound echoes, but it doesn’t give me any relief.
This isn’t about me anymore. This is about her.
And if Derek thinks I’ll just sit back and watch him threaten the one person who actually matters in this wreck of a life… he’s dead wrong.
But until I know how to fight him, all I can do is keep her safe the only way I know how––by taking it all on myself. By carrying this weight alone.
So, I force my breathing to steady, even as my phone buzzes again in my hand. Another photo. Another reminder of the clock ticking down.
I don’t smash it. I don’t scream.
I just pace around the room, fury burning hot under my skin, and promise myself that he’s not touching her.
The rink is freezing, but I’m burning up inside. Derek’s text hasn’t left my head since I read it this morning. Every whistle blast, every slap of the puck against the boards just fades behind the image of Rochelle standing outside the office, caught through some creep’s camera lens.
I line up for the drill, stick in hand, but my grip is wrong. The puck slides across the ice, begging for precision. My skate edges bite too hard as I slide across the ice. A pass comes my way, and it should be easy, perfect, yet I fumble it. Stick clatters. The rookie player scoops it instead, looking surprised.
“Morrison!” Coach Williams’ bark cuts through the rink like a whip. “Wake the hell up.”
I mutter a curse under my breath, reset, try to focus. Next rep, I do the same damn thing. My timing’s late, my head’s elsewhere. The puck bounces off my blade like I’ve never played the sport in my life.
Frustration boils inside me. I slam the boards with my stick, and the crack echoes across the ice. My teammates glance at me, a mix of confusion and annoyance on their faces.
“Bench,” Coach growls, voice low and dangerous. “You’re no use to me like this.”
The shame lands heavy, like a weight strapped to my chest. I skate to the bench, rip off my helmet, jaw clenched so tight it aches. Sweat runs down my temple though I’ve barely been working.
Jake slides in next to me, water bottle in hand, eyes narrowed. “What’s going on Kai? You’re totally off it right now.”
I don’t answer, because I can’t. My throat’s burning up.
Practice winds down, drills continue moving without me. I’m benched like a rookie who’s playing for the first time. When we finally hit the locker room, I make a beeline for my stall, hoping to disappear into silence.
But Jake’s not having it. He corners me, arms crossed. Behind him, a couple of guys hover. Hurley and Alex, watching like vultures.
“You’re not yourself,” Jake presses, voice low but firm. “You’ve been weird for a while now, but today? You were a damn ghost out there. What’s going on?”
My pulse spikes. If only they knew. If only I could say,my addict brother is blackmailing me with photos of the woman I…
But I can’t. I won’t. The second I spill Rochelle’s in more danger.
So instead, I snap. “Back off, Jake.”
His brows shoot up. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” I slam my gear into the stall, the sound making everyone flinch. “I don’t need babysitters. I don’t need a damn intervention. I just need to be left alone.”
