Page 77 of Misconducts & Temptation

I stacked towels in neat piles, wiped down benches, and made sure everything was in its proper place. My hands worked automatically, muscle memory taking over as my mind wandered. Despite everything, there was a strange comfort in these routines.

Just as I closed the last locker, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Pulling it out, I saw a text from Keaton:

Here.

A small smile tugged at my lips. It wasn’t the most eloquent message, but it was enough. He didn’t have to pick me up every day; he could have easily left me to fend for myself. Yet he chose to be there for me, even if it was just in these small ways.

I made my way to my bag, tucked away in the corner of the locker room. The familiar weight of it was a small comfort. As I bent down to pick it up, a voice cut through the silence.

"You're Elodie, right?"

I jumped, spinning around to face the source of the voice. Standing there was Ashton Lansing, one of the JV hockey players. He was tall, with broad shoulders that hinted at his time spent on the ice. His hair was a sandy blond, perpetually tousled in that effortlessly cool way, and his blue eyes held a mischievous glint. I had seen him around school and at games but had never spoken to him.

"Keaton's wife?" he continued, his voice carrying a hint of disbelief.

"Uh, yes?" I replied, unsure why he was speaking to me. My heart raced as I tried to read his expression.

A grin spread across his face. "Good," he said. "I wanted to be sure."

I stood there, my bag dangling from my hand, waiting for him to elaborate. But he just stood there, grinning like he knew something I didn’t. The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken words and questions I wasn’t sure I wanted answered.

"He said you'd be here," he continued, stepping closer. His height and broad shoulders loomed over me, casting a long shadow.

I took a small step back, feeling the cool metal of the lockers press against my spine. Something in his tone set off alarm bells in my head. "Did you… did you need something?" I asked, inching towards the door.

He tilted his head, his grin unwavering. "He didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" I didn’t like the way he was looking at me, like I was some kind of prize.

"Oh," he said, as if realizing something for the first time. "Well, we tend to share things."

"Oh…kay," I replied cautiously. "Well, he's out in the parking lot if you wanted to?—"

Before I could finish, Ashton’s hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. The grip was firm, almost bruising. "I don't think you're understanding what I mean," he said, his voice low and menacing. "I mean, we share things."

My eyes widened as realization dawned on me. "No," I whispered.

"Yes," he insisted, pulling me closer. "He gave me permission. He said you'd do whatever he told you."

My face burned with humiliation and anger. I remembered that conversation with Keaton; it had been vague but suggestive enough to plant doubts in my mind. But Keaton was possessive, fiercely so. This didn’t make sense.

But then again, did Keaton really care about me? Or was this just another way for him to get back at his father and escape his own unwanted marriage? My mind raced as Ashton’s grip tightened.

"No," I repeated more firmly this time, trying to yank my wrist free from his grasp.

His smile faltered for a moment before it returned with a cruel edge. "Don’t make this difficult," he warned.

I took a deep breath, gathering all the courage I had left. "Let go of me," I demanded, trying to keep my voice steady despite the fear gnawing at my insides.

Ashton’s eyes narrowed as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. "You don’t have a choice," he hissed.

My heart pounded in my chest as panic threatened to take over. But somewhere beneath the fear, a spark of defiance ignited within me. I wasn’t going to let him or anyone else dictate what happened to me anymore.

With every ounce of strength I had left, I twisted my wrist sharply and stomped down on Ashton’s foot as hard as I could. He let out a pained grunt and loosened his grip just enough for me to break free.

Without looking back, I bolted for the door, my heart racing faster than ever before.

I burst out of the ice rink, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The cold air bit at my skin, but I hardly felt it. My vision blurred with tears as I spotted Keaton leaning against his car, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He looked up as I approached, but before he could say anything, I slapped him hard across the face. The cigarette flew from his mouth, landing on the gravel with a sizzle. That was more satisfying than I realized it would be.

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