I watch the detective walk away, his boots crunching over the littered lawn. I tuck the card into my back pocket without another glance. Ezra exhales beside me, as if he’s been holding his breath this whole time.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans.
I don’t respond. A plan already forming at the back of my mind.
I just need to figure out my next move, something to keep everything under control. Jack’s death complicates things, but if I play it right, I can stay ahead of this. Stay ahead of Rhea.
Ezra starts rambling about the cops, about how they’re questioning everyone. But his words fade into the background. I’m thinking about how to keep Rhea from saying anything, from slipping up. I have plans for her. Long term plans, own her forever kind of plans. That will get fucked up if she gets arrested for that fucker’s death.
But this gives me an opportunity…agoldenopportunity to get what I want. To tie her to me…to make her mine.
“Just keep your head down, Ezra,” I say finally. “We don’t have anything to worry about.”
At least, not yet.
Coach is fuming.
I don’t blame him.
I would be angry if my second-string center was late for the fourth time this week. But I don’t feel one ounce of regret.
Coach decided to punish the entire team by making us do a bag skate because of me. My teammates give me dirty looks as we skate back and forth, the drills making our muscles burn.
But I can’t find a fuck to give.
How could I when what I desperately want is finally within my reach?
I can’t even contain the fucking grin on my face as I barrel across the ice, my breath fogging in the cold air.
Ezra pants beside me as we break into a sprint for the goal line. The rink fills with the sound of heavy breathing. Coach yells for us to go faster with his intermittent whistles.
“Why the fuck are you so happy, huh?” Ezra hisses as we cross the line and barrel back, sweat dripping from our brows underneath our helmets. I don’t respond and just skate ahead of him, my grin growing with each glide.
Rhea… Rhea…
The only regret I have is letting her walk away that night, for not chasing her down and claiming her right there and then, for letting her have her freedom…
Something had stopped me from possessing her, from taking it further. Some sense of bullshit morality or etiquette that had never seemed to affect me before. But it stopped me from taking what was mine.
For months, I waited, watching her from a distance, convincing myself it was the right thing to do, resisting the pull I felt. It felt like torture seeing her with someone else–although the burn I felt when I pounded them into a pulp was exhilarating–every guy who so much as touched her felt my wrath eventually, though I always kept it subtle, nothing that would point back to me. Just enough to remind them that they had no right to touch what’s fucking mine. It didn’t matter that he or she doesn’t know it. I know it, and I couldn’t stand the thought of filthy hands on my dove.
That night with Jack… I almost lost control. The way he had his hands all over her. It sent me into a rage I couldn’t contain. I shouldn’t have let her slip away. I should’ve claimed her in that kitchen, right in front of him, so he would know, so that they would all know.
No more waiting… or morality.
The restraint I had forced on myself for the past months? It was over. I had given her enough freedom, enough time. There was no keeping the monster in me at bay anymore. Nothing is going to stop it. Nothing is going to fucking stop me now.
Not Jack. Not the cops. Not anyone. Not even her, the murderer herself.
Ezra skates up beside me, his harsh breathing filling the air. “You’re really going to ignore me now?”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m not ignoring you, dude. I’m just tired of listening to you repeat the same thing over and over again.”
“Fuck,” he snaps, his frustration palpable. “You’re really not taking this seriously, are you? Where the fuck is your head at, huh? Do you have any idea––”
I skate faster, wanting to get away from this conversation. “I’m taking it seriously, Ezra,” I mutter, my breath ragged. “Jack’s dead, I get it.”
Ezra pulls up beside me, his face flushed from anger and exertion. “You get it?Then why are you acting like you don’t give a shit? He was our hockey brother, dude. He was on this fucking team, and…”