Page 22 of Into Ruin

Unknown

It was really good seeing you, Harper. I look forward to our next run-in.

10

CAMDEN

I’m playing a drinking game.

Every time Royal mentions the high school stalker, I take a shot.

So far, I’m winning. Or losing, maybe. There’s a small group of us—mainly hockey players and the girls they kept from leaving with their friends—in the living room. The bottle of whiskey is propped on my leg, and I’ve got a shot glass in the other.

I think I’ve taken three? No, four.

Four shots in the last twenty minutes.

Harper is upstairs. Royal took her straight up when we all got back—minus Harper’s friend, who said she’d see her tomorrow—and I stayed down here. Of course I stayed instead of following her. Him.

Her.

She’s an addiction I am struggling to fight, and the fact she’s upstairs again is boring a hole in my head.

“He’s just an overstepping, waste-of-space human being,” Royal spits. “I should’ve killed him when I had the chance.”

Royal saying he’d kill someone is comical. He’d never.

Maybe notnever. But… he probably wouldn’t go out and plan it. It would have to be impulsive. An act of anger, maybe? Which, clearly, this Max guy has gotten under his skin.

I shake my head and pour another shot. I spill a little on my pants, grimace, then swallow down the liquid anyway. It barely burns. In fact, it’s starting to taste more like water than alcohol.

I’m not a lightweight, but we have a game tomorrow. I should quit while I’m ahead and go to bed. It’s approaching midnight, which means we’re approaching the start of my pre-game routine.

Step one: Go to my room by midnight, if not earlier.

Step two: Strip to boxers, get in bed, listen to fifteen minutes of classical piano.

I don’t usually make it past the first piece in my playlist. I’ve always been blessed with falling asleep quickly.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll get up, go for a light jog, eat a protein-and-carb breakfast, shower, and report to the arena for our bus departure at ten-something. Since there’s no morning practice scheduled at our arena, we’ll get straight on the road. Naps are acceptable. We’ll practice at the rink in Crown Point, check in to our hotels, and basically be free until we need to be back for the game.

Easy.

Well—it’s easy because it’s mapped out.

I did the same thing yesterday, minus the shots. Went to bed, listened to my music. Got up for morning skate, had a good breakfast. Went to class, napped, then played.

Now I’m consideringnotdoing that.

Now… I’m considering going upstairs, bypassing my room, and finding my way into Harper’s. It’s a bad idea. Terrible, even. But I cannot explain the feeling that went through me when Royal got a call from Harper’s friend, and his face went white.

They’ve been dealing with a stalker.

I glower at the whiskey bottle. No one should be stalking her, but I do understand the impulse. The craving to follow her around, to learn every inch of her patterns…

I set the bottle and shot glass aside and rise abruptly.

“Sorry, guys. I’m headed up.” I wave and leave the room fast. My only pit stop is for a chilled bottle of water, and then I’m safe in my room.

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