Page 41 of Chips & Checks
I leave them to it and stride off in search of a restroom. When I can’t immediately find one, I head back into the hallway. I know I saw one on the way here.
I only make it a few steps when I hear Violet’s voice. She’s huddled in a corner, speaking on her phone in a low voice. “...haven’t said anything to Bowen,” she mumbles. “Yes, I emailed Renee. Yes, I’msurehe intentionally got me to touch his dick.” A pause. “Because hegrabbed my wrist and put my hand on his dick and it was hard.”
I know a lot of athletes who default to anger when their emotions go haywire, but I’ve never been that guy. Maybe it’s because when I was growing up, my parents preferred honest discussions over physical punishment. Maybe I’ve been big enough and popular enough that I’ve never had to resort to violence to get along. Maybe I’m just naturally chill.
At Violet’s words, though, I see red. My body goes cold and hot all at once. I’ve taken hits on the ice that hurt less than hearing her say those words out loud. Not to me. Not to anyone. She shouldn’t have to say them at all.
If Chad were in front of me right now, I wouldn’t hesitate before planting my fist in his nose. How dare he? How fuckingdarehe? She has to work with him. As his PT, she takes care of him. Instead of seeing her as a person who he’s hurting with hisbullshit, he only sees her as a body. As someone he can control because he’s bigger than she is.
I hurry away and duck into the restroom before Violet can see me lurking. She didn’t mean to share this with me, and right now I have nothing helpful or constructive to say. I hide out by the sinks until my blood pressure drops back to a normal range and do a few of the breathing exercises I learned from that yoga class I took in college. I want to storm out there and promise herit’ll never happen again. That I’ll fix it. That she doesn’t have to fight this battle alone. By the time I’ve got my shit together and am ready to risk human interaction, Violet is no longer in the hallway.
That’s probably for the best. I’m not sure what to say to her yet. I’m stuck in that horrible in-between area. I’m not her boyfriend. I’m not her friend. I’m a guy she slept with once, and maybe regrets, so where does that leave me? I’m not used to feeling useless. On the ice, I always know where I stand. Off the ice, I’m just… noise.
I’m strolling up to Camden and Tristan when Knight tackles me from behind. He wraps his arms around me and does a decent impression of my dad’s signature huggle.
“How’s that?” he asks, with his face pressed against my back.
“Not bad,” I tell him. “With a little practice, you could be the huggle-heir. Lord knows I’m not gunning for the title.” Even as we joke around, my eyes drift toward the window where Violet is standing, deep in conversation with Coach Metcalfe, her hands moving as she talks. Is she talking about Chad? Me? Us?
I wish she’d acknowledge me. I want to signal to her that we should initiate our fake-dating sequence, but she doesn’t look my way once, even when the calls for boarding begin.
In the eyes of Violet Sawyer, I might as well not exist.
I was ready to fake-date her. To lean into the bit, grin, and bear it, keep it light. But the way she avoids my gaze now? It guts me. Like I’m the villain in her story, and she’s already written the ending. I didn’t expect this to matter. I didn’t expect her to matter. And now I’m standing here, boarding pass in hand, feeling like a ghost she already walked through.
* * *
My mood sours during the flight and doesn’t improve when we reach the hotel. Camden invites me to the restaurant, but Idecline to join him and the rest of the guys for a late dinner and drinks at the hotel bar—if Chad shows up, I might literally go ballistic—and opt to stay in with the snacks I brought along for the trip.
I change into my pajama pants and flop into the bed shirtless, where I cue up some old house-flipping show on TV. I can’t stop thinking about what Violet said at the airport. Even though she has yet to respond to a single text, I reach out to tell her my room number. A few seconds after I hit send, a check mark pops up.
Looks like she’s leaving me on read.Again.
I’m not usually big on real-time text conversations, but I wish she’d saysomething.I wish she’d tell me the truth, or send a dumb gif, or pick six random emojis just to fuck with my head. I want to hear from her. I want her to tell me she’s okay. I want her to trust me enough to tell the truth if she’s not.
But I guess I don’t have that right.
I’ve lost track of the inane narrative about kitchen upgrades, lost in a series of snowballing anxieties. If Chad wanted to hurt her, I could never get there in time to interfere. Maybe I should just go to her room…
My phone buzzes with a reply from Vi. I pounce on it so fast that I send my dinner of organic turkey jerky, tamari almonds, and dried mango strips flying. Nuts scatter around the room. That’s a problem for Future Bowen; right now, all I care about is Violet’s message.
When I see it, my blood runs cold.
Violet:Chad is trying to get me to come to his room and rub his dick.
I don’t bother grabbing a shirt. I don’t sweep up the nuts I spilled all over the floor. I take my phone and my room key andIrun.On the way, I pull up the PDF with the room assignments we receive in case of an emergency.
It doesn’t occur to me that my thin PJ pants might not be appropriate for hallway wear until I’m standing outside Violet’s room, thumping on the door. A couple walking hand in hand passes me on their way to their room. The woman stops to stare at me. The guy looks sympathetic.
“Did she kick you out?” he asks me.
“What? No.” I angle my front toward the door. I know how thin these pants are and how little they hide. “Nothing to see here. Just checking on a friend.”
The guy coughs. “Friend. Right.”
“Friend with benefits,” the woman adds. They walk away, giggling to themselves. My one consolation is that they don’t seem to have recognized me.
“Violet? It’s me, Bowen. Could you please open the door?”
