Page 5 of Ricochet

I’ve felt them since I first entered the school. So many eyes. Their sweeping gazes and lingering stares prickling my skin.

But there are new ones now. These eyes burn through the back of my skull.

I try to ignore it.

Until I can’t.

Peering over my shoulder, I’m not the least bit surprised to see who’s responsible for the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

Stone Wakefield stands over by his locker, surrounded by a group of his friends. They’re similar to my own—obnoxious jocks who really couldn’t give a shit about the people in their little circle. He’s ignoring them as they talk and laugh with each other, his focus instead on me.

His unwanted attention causes my shoulder to throb.

Stone is a senior and the first-line center on the varsity hockey team. He’s two years older than me. And bigger. About two weeks ago, we were playing a scrimmage match at practice, and he checked me into the boards. Harder than was fucking necessary.

Before that, I was pretty ambivalent toward him. We’re two years apart, so it’s not like we spent much time together outside of hockey.

But since that day, I’ve fucking hated him.

And here’s the thing. If it was only the violence, I could’ve easily gotten over it. Even if my shoulder still aches weeks later.

However, that’s not the only thing that happened.

I rarely showered in the locker room, but after that painful practice that day, I was dying for some hot water to beat over my sore muscles. I decided to linger, using the excuse of sharpening my blades and re-taping my stick so I could wait and have the showers to myself.

I thought I was alone.

When I came out with only a towel wrapped around my waist, I realized I wasn’t.

I’ve never let anyone see the marks my stepdad had left on me.

But Stone saw them.

He saw a piece of me that I’ve done really fucking well at hiding for a long time.

It was like I was being flayed alive. That is, until I didn’t feel alive at all. I was a frog, dead, lifeless limbs pinned down as his eyes sliced me open with the cold blade of a scalpel, peeling back every layer of skin so he could dissect me. Study my ruined insides.

I hated it, and I hated him for it.

But what I might’ve hated more was the look of utter disgust and contempt that grew in his eyes the longer they raked over my shivering, bruised body. All I could do was stand there, frozen. I could feel each cool bead of water that dripped from my hair, chilling me to the bone as they rolled down every one of my exposed nightmares.

He didn’t even try to look away. He took his fill.

Every bruise.

Every scar.

It’s as though he was witnessing every time I was weak. Living every memory of mine where any semblance of strength failed me.

He was seeingmewhen I hated to be seen.

Then he turned around and left without a word.

And now, standing several yards away from me down the hallway, it’s like he’s doing it all over again. He clearly doesn’t give a damn about being caught staring at me.Again. Likehehas absolutely nothing to hide. His gray-green eyes never falter. Despite being fully clothed, I may as well be even more naked than I was that day.

I may as well lay all my secrets bare at his fucking feet.

Well…fuck that and fuck him.

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