Page 12 of Into Ruin

I’m not a fan of snakes, but… better than some made-up creature?

“Okay,” she says when we have our cups and find a booth in the back of the shop. “Spill.”

I tell her everything. From interrupting Cynthia, to Royal’s party invite, and his warning to his friends… then walking in on Camden Church fucking some girl. Then her leaving when Istayed.

Olivia smacks her palm to her forehead. “You didn’t immediately run away?”

“Nope.” My face can’t get any hotter. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. And then…” I quickly relay the rest of it, ending with Camden’s visit to my room, his threat, and Cynthia and her boyfriend walking in.

Hate to saythat’show I learned his name, but… He should’ve mentioned it.

His reaction to me not knowing, it was kind of funny—and confusing. Like, how big is his ego? To think the whole school knows him automatically?

He’s got the equipment to back up the ego…

Nope. Don’t think that.

“…and that’s when Cynthia assumed I meant his stamina when I said unfortunate timing.”

She bursts into laughter. Heads turn in our direction, but she practically howls with it. Tears form in her eyes, and she swipes them away carefully once she regains control.

“Damn, dude.” She leans in. “But, like, that kind of sounds a little gray area at the party, right? You didn’t…”

I shrug. “I didn’t say no. I could’ve bit his dick off if I didn’t want it in my mouth.”

Her cheeks pinken. “Right.”

“I can’t mention this to my brother,” I add. “I think he’d actually kill Camden.”

Olivia holds up her hand. “You know what we need to do?”

“No…”

“Google.” She switches sides in the booth, coming to mine, and pulls up the internet on her phone. I watch her type in Camden’s full name, not expecting much.

Instead, dozens of articles, stats, and photos pop up.

My jaw drops.

“He was drafted to the NHL already,” she says, pointing at one of the headlines. “This past June.”

“Shit.”

Guess the ego matches… what, his talent?

My stomach twists.

She clicks around, finally coming up with a highlight reel from the World Juniors championship last year. We have to watch it once through to figure out which one he is, then replay it. I track his number—ninety-six—as he moves across the ice.

He practically floats. It’s like dancing, the way the other players seem to be standing still while he twists and dodges around them. And the goalie may as well be caught in molasses, the way he barely reacts to the quick flick of Camden’s wrist.

It’s beautiful. I knownothingabout hockey, beyond being dragged to a few of Royal’s high school games when they made the playoffs, and here I am, admiring this shit.

Olivia whistles. “That was…”

“I…”

“Yeah.” She sets her phone down. “Okay, so. Maybe the rumor won’t take. Who would believe that about him anyway?”

---