Page 82 of Break the Ice
“I should probably get going.”
“Mari, it won’t be like last time. No one will ruin you.”
“I’ll call you when I get home.” I’ve stood up and started packing up my things. My laptop gets slid into my tote bag and I scan the area for the scarf and jacket I set down.
“We’re leaving already?” Jhene asks upon returning.
“We have a long trip back.”
Mom mouths something that suspiciously resembles, “Keep her spirits up.”
The second I shoot her a reproachful look, she pretends she’s much more interested in her glass of iced sweet tea.
Though, if I’m completely honest with myself, I’ve been riddled with anxiety for days.
I haven’t been sleeping well. I’ve barely been eating.
Ever since Rafe vowed we’d solve what’s going on, my anxiety levels have shot up. A heavy, ominous feeling sits at the pit of my stomach. Dread that we’re likely going to fail.
This ordeal will blow up in our faces.
It’ll backfire on me.
The nights I am able to sleep have been even worse. I wake feverish and dripping sweat in the middle of a nightmare. The content of the nightmares vary. Replays of the night Mr. Hawk brought me to his penthouse suite for a nightcap. Disastrous what-if scenarios where the police hunt me down for murder or I’m exposed on the city news as being the culprit. Even a nightmare where Mr. Hawk morphs into David and reminds me he’s going to destroy my life.
The worst one of all is the nightmare where I’m stuck on the sofa in Mr. Hawk’s penthouse suite, immobilized as Rafe bludgeons him to death and then frames me.
It feels too real… to the point when I search my fuzzy memory I begin to question if I really did witness Rafe striking Mr. Hawk over the head and I’ve blocked it out…
The level of betrayal on his part terrifies me.
Mom and Jhene have no clue what’s on my mind as we bid goodbye to my mother and head for the car parked in the driveway.
Later that night as I dim the lights and blow out the candles arranged around my bedroom, I’m no less anxious. I crawl into bed urging myself to relax. But no amount of ocean waves from my white noise machine or spritzes of my calming lavender spray work.
My mind’s polluted with thoughts about Mr. Hawk and how wrong things can go. I clench my eyes shut and force fresh air into my lungs.
“It’s okay,” I mutter. “You’re overthinking, Mari. You have your back up plans. You’re straight.”
The universe might be listening in on me.
At that exact moment, my phone pings with a new text message. I shoot up to grab my phone so fast, I almost knock down my glass of water on the nightstand.
The string of texts is from the same unknown number I told Rafe about.
It’s time we discuss what we’re going to do about you
Tomorrow’s game
Meet me in the team sky box.
The night of the Wolves’ first season game arrives. It’s a home game against the Vegas Aces. The arena’s a full house. The crowd’s made up of the colors from the opposing teams. Red and black for the Aces. Blue and silver for the Wolves.
I’m in a jersey too—Rafe’s jersey, though no one knows it’s directly out of his closet. They believe it’s a generic one bought in a team giftshop. I’ve knotted the smooth material at my naval and paired it with jeans. My hair’s slicked down into two long braids that dangles down my back, and I’ve stuck a Wolves beanie on my head as something of a disguise. At a time where I’m anxious and paranoid, it helps make me feel like I’m under the radar.
I wasn’t even stopped by any of the sports media on my way up to the sky boxes.
I sit in the same sky box as many of the executives. Mr. Beringer is noticeably absent but the others, like Mr. Monotone Piazza, are present. They sit around and puff on cigars, lazily watching the game and talking business.
