I grit my teeth, forcing my legs to move faster. The memory of Jack’s hands on Rhea flashes through my mind again, and my hands tighten around the handle of my stick. If he wasn’t dead, I would have killed him already.

Maybe I should give Rhea a little reward for that.

Ezra isn’t wrapped in the same shit that I am if it’s not obvious. He doesn’t know what I’ve done to be a part of the Reapers, and what I’m willing to do from here on out. He doesn’t have the same devil on his shoulder like I do, but truthfully, that’s why I keep the fucker around. Without him, I might be completely lost in the darkness. It’s always good to have a rational, levelheaded idiot on your side. He’s the angel on my other shoulder.

And I care about what’s gone down, but not in the way Ezra thinks. He has no idea the shit that Jack got himself into in the last few weeks. If it wasn’t Rhea, it would’ve been the Reapers. Hell, maybe even myself put on the job to take him out.

I say to Ezra, “You think I don’t know what’s at stake? I’ve got this handled, alright?”

“Handled?” he scoffs. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You’re skating around here like it’s nothing, while the cops are crawling all over us, and you say you’ve got this handled?”

I slow down, glancing at him. “Trust me on this, Ezra. I know you’re fucking shaken up, but whatever you’re worried about, keep it at bay, brother. We won’t go down for this,” I say, my voice lower. “Because we didn’t do it. We’re good. We’re fucking good.”

Ezra’s eyes widen a bit, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s scared, and I get it. But I’m not. The only thing that scares me right now is losing my chance with her.

Ezra exhales sharply, still looking at me like he can’t believe I’m this calm. He glances at the rest of the team. The Reapers on this team aren’t fucking shaken, just like me. I nod at Zane and Brody as they skate by.

“You’re crazy, man,” Ezra mutters, shaking his head. “Well, I hope they fucking do their jobs and catch the fuck who did this.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with tension. A flicker of fear crosses his face, but he doesn’t push it any further. I can tell he’s scared—scared of what happened to Jack, scared of the cops, maybe even scared of me. But if he thinks they’re going to catch who the fuck did this, he’s wrong. My little dove is safe as long as I’m here.

“You have to admit this looks bad, Thatcher. Real bad. And if they don’t find the guy, they’ll keep digging.” He pauses and flashes me a nervous look. “They could find out about other things.”

His words hang sharp and loaded in the air, escalating the tension further, but I shrug it off. Nothing will happen if I don’t want it to.

Around us, Coach calls for a huddle and I start moving. I skate away from him, calling over my shoulder. “Let them dig. They won’t find anything.”

But deep down, I know that’s not entirely true. If they look hard enough, if they start asking the right questions, they might find things I don’t want them to. Things that shouldn’t see the light of day.

The only thing that truly scares me isn’t the cops or getting caught—it’s losing Rhea. And I’m not about to let that happen.

Practice ended later than I wanted. After making us run suicides for the better part of the session, we played a short scrimmage, and I ended up taking out my anger and tension out on the puck, sending it barreling into the back of the net more times than anyone else.

Now I sit in my car, parked just far enough to blend in but close enough to watch. Rhea’s apartment is on the second floor, and through the dim light of her window, I can see her moving around inside.

The burning urge I felt during the day to see her now sated as I watch her pace around, her phone in her hand, every now and then glancing out the window, but she doesn’t see me. I’ve made sure of that for the past months.

My fingers tighten around the steering wheel as I lean back in my seat, my eyes never leaving her. I can see her mouth moving then and again but I’m not tempted to listen in on the bugs I have planted in her room, nor the cameras.

I prefer this—watching her, knowing she has no idea I’m here, no idea I’ve been here all along. The urge to be close to her, to control every aspect of her life, is like a fire that never goes out.I’ve kept it in check for so long, convincing myself that patience was the key, that she would come to me eventually.

But the sight of her with Jack shattered that illusion. My jaw clenches as I watch her now, so unaware, so fragile.

Her pacing slows, and she sits on the edge of her bed, running a hand through her hair, her shoulders slumping like she’s carrying the weight of the world. I blink, looking down at my phone vibrating in my lap.

Someone just viewed your profile. Tap to see who it is!

I read the notification, tapping on it absently. The app opens and I can’t fight the smile on my face when I see her name pop up.

It seems like she’s taken the bait. I knew leaving that comment on her roommate’s post would grab her attention.

It’s only a matter of time now.

I tap on her profile picture, browsing through her posts, a regular occurrence now for me. I practically have all her pictures memorized by now. I scroll through images of sunsets and clouds, books, coffee orders to the one picture I just can’t seem to forget.

It’s a candid shot of her laughing heartily, probably at whoever was taking the picture. The pure joy on her face captured perfectly against the backdrop of a serene lake. A spring break trip she took with her roommate during freshman year.

She’s so bright and beautiful, so full of light, and I can’t help but be drawn to her. I can’t help but be selfish and want her for myself.