Page 62 of Brutal Game

Tovah blushed. “Um, as it so happens…”

She opened her closet.

I blinked.

There were easily eight hockey jerseys hanging inside, surrounded by dresses and sweaters. I knew Tovah was a hockey fan, but this was a little…extra.

I moved forward and started going through them.

“Wait, I think—” Tovah started.

Jones, 37

Jones, 37

Jones, 37

Jones…

“Why do you have four of Isaac’s jersey?” I eyed her speculatively, pulling one of the jerseys off the hanger and waving it in front of her.

“They were on sale. Probably because he sucks,” she said, her cheeks turning pinker.

Hmm.

“Anything you want to tell me?”

“Nope.” She popped the P. “And since you’re leaving a lot of shit out about Jack and you, I’d say we’re even.” She nodded toward the closet. “There are other players’ jerseys in there.”

The next jersey saidLawson 10.I ran my fingers over the 1 and 0, a tingle going through me. The number was apt: 10 was the year my life had fallen apart.

The number belonged to Dave Lawson. The goalie, who’d spotted my scar on the night I refused to think about, had once been Asher’s backup before taking over his position.

Dave had also been a friend of my brother’s at one point. Until Asher was kicked off the team and Dave ghosted him.

A lightbulb went off in my head.

Wearing Dave’s jersey would serve dual purposes–and I was nothing if not resourceful.

First, since he’d replaced my brother he might know more about what had happened, might even feel a little guilty about taking Asher’s spot. It was also possible that he’d be more tight-lipped because he’d benefited from Asher being kicked off the team, but I refused to leave that stone unturned. He may not notice me from the ice, but Jack fucking would, and I hoped Jack noticing would mean Dave would notice, too.

Which brought me to my second purpose. Because what could be a greater “fuck you” than not only wearing another player’s jersey, but also wearing the jersey of the player who’d cemented my humiliation by pointing out my scar? Wearing Dave’s jersey would prove how little I cared aboutwhat Jack and his teammates thought of me. How unaffected I was. It was like saying “you don’t and never mattered to me.”

It also was like waving a red flag in front of a bull—apt, given that Reina’s colors were red and white. But if this exploded in my face, I’d make sure that Jack got hit by all the shrapnel, and didn’t escape unscathed.

Holding the jersey alone made me feel like I’d gotten my power back.

Power I’d lost ever since he’d caught me in the Kings’ locker room, backed me up against his locker, and wrapped his hand around my throat.

That night felt like so long ago. I’d aged years, become someone else I didn’t fully recognize, but I was going to get the old Aviva back.

I pulled the jersey over my head.

“I look okay?” I asked Tovah.

“You look like you’re about to be sacrificed on the funeral pyre of Jack Feldman’s crazy, but you’ll look hot as you burn,” she said.

“Well, as long as I look hot,” I joked.

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