Page 54 of Pucking Obsessed

Her words seem genuine, but before I can figure out what to say, the crowd explodes into cheers, pulling my attention back to the ice.

I look up just in time to see Hayden, his stick slapping against the puck, sending it flying past the goalie and into the net.

The horn blares, the team rushes toward him, but he doesn’t celebrate with them. Not really. His helmet tilts upward, and his gaze scans the crowd until it lands on me. It’s a claim, like he wants me to know that me coming to his games means a lot to him.

I fucking love when he does that.

I blow him a kiss, and his response is instant. He lifts his gloved hand, slow and deliberate, pretending to catch it. But just as his fingers curl, Callum slides in front of him, snatching the invisible kiss like a thief.

Hayden doesn’t even hesitate. His skate hooks Callum’s, and Callum hits the ice hard, sprawling out like a cartoon character.

Hayden ignores him, his glare cutting straight to me as he waves his hand impatiently.

Do it again.

I bite my lip to stifle my grin, but I blow him another kiss, and I’m more exaggerated this time. Hayden’s gloved hand closes around it, and the moment should feel silly, lighthearted, but Scott Jacobs skates past Hayden, leaning in just close enough to say something to him. I know it’s about me because Scott’s eyes flash over to me, smirking at me like he’s done something clever. Whatever he said, makes Hayden snap.

His gloves and helmet hit the ice before I can blink. Hayden grabs his teammate by the neck, hitting him hard enough to make blood spurt onto the ice. Scott crumples, clutching his face in pain.

The referees’ whistles are loud, but not compared to the crowd cheering like this fight is the highlight of their night.

I watch as Hayden searches the crowd for me. He flashes a grin when our eyes lock, holding up his bloody knuckles. I know then, without a doubt, that he’ll always fight for me.

The whistles blare again, players shouting and pushing at each other, and Coach Jacobs looks like he’s about to walk out of the arena entirely.

Before the refs can garner control of the players, the lights flicker in a familiar fashion.

My stomach drops.

The Jumbotron glitches to life, static buzzing as the screen flashes. For a second, it’s nothing but interference. And then Bethany’s face appears. It looks like a photo taken out of a Castlebrook yearbook.

It’s only seconds before the screen cuts to static again, and then the image shifts to video.

My breath hitches as the camera pans slowly, jagged rocks framing the crashing waves below. It’s familiar, and looks to be around the same location where Hayden’s mother and my father were murdered.

A small black car comes into view, parked near the edge. I hear Kirsten’s sharp gasp beside me.

“That’s Bethany’s car,” she whispers, her voice high-pitched and trembling.

The camera moves closer, shaky, like it’s handheld, and my intuition tells me what’s coming before I see it. Nothing could prepare me for the sight of Bethany’s body slumped inside, her face pale, her eyes wide and empty, blood streaked down her neck.

My stepsister sways, her body going limp before she collapses. Winter and I grab her, barely catching her before she hits the floor.

The arena erupts into chaos. People push and shove, trying to get out of the building as if whoever hurt Bethany is going to go on a rampage tonight. I’m frozen, my arms locked around Kirsten as the video cuts to static.

MADISON

I’m waiting at the bottom of the main staircase for Hayden to get off the phone with Ramsey. All the guys are frustrated over the fact that there’s no sign of Bethany. Word around campus is that the police scoured the area where the video was shot, but not one bit of evidence was found. They can’t consider it a homicide until they find her or at the very least, her blood soaked car. I glance over when I hear a low, rumbling voice. The door to the study is cracked open, and I catch a glimpse of Winter and Tristan reclining on the couch. Tristan’s stretched out, his legs taking up the whole damn thing, and Winter is reclined against him like she’s meant to fit there. She’s holding a book, but he’s the one reading the words to her in Russian.

Tristan’s hoodie is up, covering his head like always. Winter is swallowed up in another one of his sweatshirts, and her pink ballet leg warmers rest just below the hem.

They don’t look like foster siblings. They look like a couple.

“She’s the only person he’s sweet to,” I tell Hayden as he walks up beside me. He tilts his head to look down at me, and I add, “Kinda like you are with me.”

The corner of my mouth lifts, as Hayden pulls me in close, his hand sliding lower to my hips. “Did Ramsey find anything?” I ask, and I don’t specify about what, because there’s so many loose ends that we need to figure out.

“Nope. He did figure out how they’re hacking the systems in the arenas. They’re doing it during games, so even if he hacks the cameras to see who is doing it, there’s too many people in the building to isolate who is behind it,” Hayden says, suddenly pulling away and grabbing my hand, and steering me toward the stairs. I stop him, my fingers tightening just enough to make him turn back to look at me.

---