Page 19 of Heart of Thorns

“Called her a s-stalker.” I breathe out. This water seems worse than usual. “And a jersey chaser. I think.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot. Her name is Briar.”

“Last name?”

“The big nose would’ve probably sufficed,” he muses. “If that’s all you did. She was on the hockey team, so I’m familiar with her. She hasn’t had the easiest year, Thorne. I’m telling you that as someone who cares about you, too. If you mess with her…”

“I just want to apologize.”

That’s the truth. I want to apologize for my overreaction—clearly she wasn’t vandalizing the locker room. If she had, it wouldn’t have lasted that long. Someone would’ve painted over it, or… well, there was more than just me.

Right?

I saw that, although I didn’t register it. There were other players, and a scene of the football stadium from the fifty-yard line, the sky dark and the lights shining down on the field.

What’s worse is that she’s actually a good painter.

Devil horns and all.

“Briar Hart,” he finally says.

I nod carefully, then refocus on my breathing. Control, relaxation. It’s the same here as on the field, and it’s the same on those stupid dates my parents plan.

It’s when I lose control that bad things happen.

“Hockey player,” I muse. “Someone else said that, too. But you said ‘was’—?”

“I did.” He clicks the stopwatch. “That’s all for today. I’ll wrap your leg for the game tomorrow. Same as usual.”

“Same as usual,” I echo.

Briar Hart.

What I didn’t tell Jeremy—and what I don’t plan on tellinganyone, thank you very much—is that my fascination with her goes beyond the devil horns. I mean, yes, clearly I got something wrong there. The stalking bit, I’d guess.

But there’s more.

Like the fact her bare skin doesn’t make mine crawl, and my heart skipped a beat or two, and I just want to talk to her. I want her to use her claws on me.

Briar… like Sleeping Beauty.

I used to like that fairy tale. The cursed spindle, sleeping for a really fucking long time. The prince who wakes her up—with a kiss, of course.

Somehow, though, I think Briar is more the prickly brambles keeping the prince out of the castle than the sleeping princess within.

Either way—I’ll make it right.

And figure out why she’s different from every other girl shoved in front of me.

CHAPTER 7

BRIAR

I sighafter reading Professor Garcia’s text, but a little smile plays on my lips when I think back to what I’d done to Thorne’s portrait.

Me

I’ll fix it.

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