Page 68 of Wicked Ends
The door at the top of the room opened, and my heart clenched hard. Was it him? A big guy came through, but it wasn’t Marcus.Disappointment that I tried to deny hit me. The class filled up, so I took my notes out and got ready to teach, my mind desperate for a diversion. For the one man I’d come to depend on to see me, the real me, even when I was doing everything I could to hide it. By the time the lesson was due to start, the whole class was seated, except one.
“Has anyone seen Marcus?” I asked as I took roll call.
Heads shook. He was a no-show. Concern and disappointment tasted bitter in my throat as I started the lesson.
I’m not disappointed because I want to see him,I told myself sternly while I taught.No, not at all. I’ve been trying to put a stop to his obsession with messing with me, and if he’s finally accepted that, I should be happy.
Right, of course. I was worried about whatever had happened last night to shake him so much. It was normal concern that a teacher would have for her student. That was all.
God, I was such a fucking liar.
Once classes were done for the day, the afternoon was bright and warm. I took the opportunity to explore the sprawling campus a little more. It really was picture-perfect. I thought I was wandering aimlessly, until a large, sleek building came into sight.
The ice rink, home of the Hellions hockey team.
I was walking up the stairs and pushing through the glass doors before I could stop myself. Ignoring the voices in my head thatpointed out how dumb I was being, not to mention hypocritical, I entered the stands of the rink itself. A whistle blew as soon as I stepped onto the rubber-lined stairs.
“Run it again!”
I followed the aisle along a row of seats, a good ways up and out of the eyeline of the players, or so I hoped. The team was warming up before practice.
I scanned over them until my attention stuck on a tall, imposing figure near the goals. Marcus was stretching, rotating his shoulders, and working his hip flexors. He hadn’t seen me. He was focused on practice, and his mask, worn for the goalie’s safety any time they were on the ice, limited his view of the seats, unless he were to specifically look my way.
He moved into drills, moving in a W-like formation, sliding across the ice with perfect control. His body was a well-oiled machine. He stopped exactly where he was supposed to, halting his tremendous bursts of speed in an instant. He was impressive to watch and would have been even if I didn’t know anything about hockey or how technically demanding the drills were.
He and one of his friends, the biggest one, Beckett Anderson, segued into puck-handling drills, where Marcus would leave the crease, stopping the puck behind the net and then passing it slickly to Anderson. Coach Williams skated between the different drills going on, stopping by Marcus and Beckett, demonstrating a certain way of holding the stick to help the motion of stopping the puck and twisting it in a different direction.
Marcus’ head bobbed up and down in a nod. His mask hid his face from my prying, curious eyes.
I wish I could see his face.Everything today would feel better if I could see his face.
What the fuck? I caught myself halfway through the thought. A terrible, sliding feeling of inevitability filled me. Marcus’ words from the other night hit me like a slap across the face—honest and uncomfortably true.
“You’re hiding behind the rules and moral outrage because then you don’t have to admit that you love this, just like I do.”
He was right. I was hiding. Marcus was the first person I’d let my guard down with, even an inch, in years, and that was terrifying.
Him being a student? Yeah, a complication, but not an insurmountable one. Him being younger than me? We were both adults. Him having the power to hurt me, use me up, and discard me when he got bored? Now that was truly something to fear. That wasn’t something I imagined I’d get over quickly.
Coach Williams blew the whistle and beckoned the players to the middle of the ice. Marcus skated over. The tension in his shoulders told me he wasn’t tired. No, he seemed wired.
He stood at the edge of the group and glanced around the rink, his mask stopping as it came level with me.
I felt his gaze hit me. I knew he’d seen me by the extra tension that had him straightening up.
He watched me watch him as Coach Williams held court and instructed the team on their strategy for the next game. It was a big one. It would be an exciting match. I wondered what kind of pressure Marcus dealt with every day, being the goalie on a team like the Hellions. The only solo position on the ice. Forwards were often called stars and fawned over, but there were usuallythree of them in any given game. The goalie, on the other hand, stood alone. The last remaining man between the net and puck, and victory or loss. It was the highest-pressure position on a team, and the goalie had no one to share the stress with.
The coach blew his whistle again, and the players split apart. Marcus’ Ice God friends congregated around him. He had that energy on the ice as well as off. A natural ringleader, the one who brought and held everyone together. As a group, they turned and headed for the changing rooms.
I stood, cold now in the rink air, and torn on whether to stay or go. If I waited to speak to Marcus, what would I even say? “Are you okay?” Did he even want me to worry about him like that? I had no idea.
I twisted my hands, trying to force some warmth back into them. I left the rink, undecided, and hit the bathrooms before leaving. I washed my hands in hot water, though tepid might be a better description, and stared at myself in the mirror.
Taking the bag had been impulsive, and honestly, I was starting to regret it. I didn’t want to make trouble for Marcus, not the kind that knocked his natural, easy smile off his face. If he had other problems, it looked like he wasn’t sharing them with me. Why would he? I was just a game to him.
Like you share your problems?
Right. I wasn’t letting Marcus in any further than he was letting me. It was hypocritical to be upset about it.
