Page 4 of A Little Jaded

It’s funny. How easy it is to judge a person from the outside without seeing the intricate details weaving together to make them who they are. Make their situation the way it is. I know how ridiculous it seems for me to stay with Drake after he hit me. The reminder makes my stomach churn, but I shove it aside and quicken my steps.

In the beginning, he was charming. Charismatic. We met at a coffee shop, and he asked for my number. There were no red flags. No warning bells. Only a passionate hockey player with something to prove. And for a while? I was his main goal. Winning me over. Making me fall for him. With roses and kisses and back massages and takeout. It was perfect.Hewas perfect.

It wasn’t until months later, after we moved in together, that I started catching glimpses of who he really was beneath his carefully constructed facade.

At first, it was nothing more than a few asshole comments here and there. Then, an empty threat or a rough shove. Still screwed up, don’t get me wrong, but easy to overlook. Easy to justify when I was so used to the flowers and the presents and the easy compliments. Eventually, a girl from my work started noticing the bruises along my wrist, and after my first black eye—ever—she told me about a guy from her school.

Reeves. No first name. I didn’t even believe it was a real name until the announcer’s voice boomed it from the speakers as the hockey players took the ice earlier today. Regardless, he got Lilah out of a bind not so long ago, and she figured I could use the help, too.

Part of me didn’t want to bother. The other part? Well, can you blame me for being curious?

Yeah. I really am an idiot.

As soon as Everett walked out of the locker room, I realized this stupid plan was a mistake. A big, fat mistake I’ll probably pay dearly for since I wasn’t waiting outside the visitors’ locker room like Drake ordered me to. Okay, ordered is probably the wrong word. Begged is more like it. He’s been walking on eggshells since he hit me. Like he’s afraid I’ll try to bolt. Like he knows he screwed up but isn’tsure exactly how much or if I have the ovaries to finally leave him.

If I wasn’t so terrified he’d track me down—or worse—I would.

Wouldn’t I?

Maybe I am a coward.

Tucking my chin to my chest, I pick up my pace. My body feels like it’s been injected with carbonation. Like I’m fizzing and shaken and could burst at any second as I round the corner to the next hall, and my heels dig into the cement floor.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Drake growls.

“I was looking for you.”

“Don’t give me that shit,” he spits. “I told you to wait by the men’s locker room.”

“I thought I was.” I peek behind me, then look back at Drake. “I’ve never been to this rink. I got turned around a?—”

His biting grasp on my bicep cuts my words off as I choke on my whimper.

“Fuck.” He lets me go as if I’ve burned him. “Baby, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” It isn’t, but I don’t know what else to say. I rub away the residual ache from his angry grasp, unsure what to do or where to go.

“It’s just…” Slowly, he lifts his hand and cups my cheek, letting his thumb slip beneath my sunglasses as he carefully caresses the bruise he knows is hidden there. “After the other day, I was worried you left.”

The other day.

As in, when he knocked me on my ass with a solid right hook.

Refusing to flinch from his touch, I murmur, “I promised I wouldn’t go anywhere, remember?”

He nods. “That’s my girl.”

His girl.

My stomach twists.

“Hey, you okay?” someone demands from behind me.

Shit.

“Raine, you okay?” Everett prods.

Whatever compliance I managed to siphon from Drake dissipates as he drops his hand. “You know him?” His voice is deathly cold, leaving a chill on my skin.

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