Page 67 of Brutal Game

“I didn’t take you for a hockey fan,” Professor Johnathan commented, smiling down at me.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not.”

I was. I used to be.

“Then why are you here?”

“Why are you? I didn’t take you for a hockey fan either, professor.”

“I told you, call me Dylan.”

“Okay, Dylan,” I said. “But only because we aren’t in class.”

“Please,” he looked around. “You’re destroying my cover.”

“So are you? A hockey fan?”

He shrugged. “I’m not usually a fan of the sport. Too much aggression, too much power. Too easy for it to be…misused.”

He looked at me meaningfully, and my heart pounded. Did he know something about Coach Jensen? Could he help?

Was it worth the risk of telling him what happened, when Asher had begged me not to tell anyone?

High risk, higher reward.

“Professor—” I started.

“It’s important to me to support my students,” he said quietly. “In whatever ways I…can.”

Was he saying he wanted to help me? Or was it something else? The hairs on the back of my neck rose, a physical warning that something was wrong.

It only got worse when Dylan put his hand on my lower back and guided me away from the line. Even through the jersey, his touch burned, like recrimination or punishment. Like I’d done something wrong. Like letting anyone otherthan Jack near me was a mistake. It was bullshit. I didn’t belong to Jack. I didn’t belong to anyone.

“Where are you sitting?” he asked.

I hesitated. I wanted to say an even biggerfuckyou to Jack, but something about the professor felt…off somehow.

Men in positions of authority, my mind whispered.

But what if he could help?

“We’re right behind the penalty box. Want to join me?” I offered.

He bestowed a bashful smile on me. “Thought you’d never ask.”

When we got back to our seats, Reina was up another goal, and Jack had the puck.

Tovah glanced over at me, then did a double take, eyes widening.

“Um…” she said.

“Tovah, this is Professor Johnathan. Dylan,” I corrected, glancing over at him. He smiled, but his eyes were on Jack as Jack stole the puck back from one of Tabb’s defensemen before passing it to Isaac. “He teaches my Deviant Psych seminar. Is it okay if he sits with us?”

“Dylan Johnathan?” she said, like the name meant something to her. “Not often that we get to hang out with the cousin of dead or imprisoned billionaires.”

I stared at her in shock. “Tovah!”

Dylan chuckled. “I wasn’t close to my family, don’t worry. And Tovah Kaufman, right? I’m a fan of your articles.”

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