Page 65 of Dirty As Puck
The room goes silent, thick with tension. Jake’s jaw flexes like he wants to fire back, but he doesn’t. Maybe he sees the barely leashed fury in my eyes. Maybe he realizes I’m hanging by a thread.
I shove past him, the smell of sweat and ice clinging to me, and stalk down the hall. My boots echo against concrete, each step heavier than the last.
The equipment room door slams behind me, rattling on its hinges. Finally, silence. Just me, the smell of old pads, and my own ragged breathing.
I drop onto the bench, bury my face in my hands.
I’m unraveling. And if I don’t pull it together soon, I’m going to lose everything, Rochelle, and my career.
The door to the facility creaks open, and I know that sound before I even look up. Rochelle’s voice carries softly through the building as she thanks the receptionist, her heels clicking against the tile. My chest tightens. For one stolen second, relief washes over me that she’s here, and she’s safe.
Then my phone beeps in my pocket.
I pull it out, thumb unlocking the screen on autopilot. One new message. No words, just a picture. My stomach drops.
It’s her. Rochelle. She’s walking across the parking lot in the same outfit she has on now. The photo was taken just minutes ago. Derek’s camera caught her mid-step, notebook clutched to her chest, her hair catching in the wind. The timestamp burns into me––less than two minutes old.
My vision becomes blurry and my heart slams like I’ve just skated an entire hour without a break. He’s here. Not just somewhere out there in the city, but here, close enough to watch her walk inside.
Rochelle steps into view, a warm smile lifting her face when she spots me. She raises a hand, about to call my name.
Panic hijacks me. I shove my phone back into my pocket, almost fumbling it. My legs move before my brain catches up, cutting across the lobby with too much speed, and way too much desperation.
She tilts her head, brows furrowing. “Kai?”
“Let’s get out of here,” I blurt, grabbing her elbow gently but firmly. My voice is rough, stripped down to raw instinct.
Her eyes widen. “What? I just got here, and I have interviews scheduled with…”
“Reschedule it,” I cut in, tone sharper than I mean to. My gaze flicks to the glass doors, scanning the parking lot beyond. Every figure, every car could be him. My skin crawls.
Rochelle plants her feet, resisting just enough to make me stop and face her. “Kai. What’s going on?”
I force my expression to be neutral, swallowing down the wildfire panic that’s erupting in my chest. “Nothing. I just…” The lie sticks in my throat. I can’t tell her, not yet. Derek’s shadow stretches too close. “I don’t feel great. Just…humor me, okay?”
She studies me with that reporter’s gaze that’s sharp enough to slice right through my bullshit. But she also sees the crack I can’t cover, the fear leaking through no matter how I mask it.
Her shoulders soften, though confusion lingers in her eyes. “Okay. But you’re acting really strange.”
“I know.” The words scrape out. My hand hovers at her back, guiding her toward the exit. “Just trust me.”
Every step we take feels like I’m walking her across a sniper’s view. My eyes never stop scanning the windows, the shadows, the corners of the parking lot. I half-expect to see Derek leaning against a car, phone raised with smirk painted across his face.
But he’s not there, which is just proof that he’s watching, yet invisible and unrelenting.
Rochelle slips into step beside me, silent now, notebook clutched tight. I open the passenger door of my car for her, forcing a steady hand though my pulse won’t calm.
As she slides inside, I glance once more over my shoulder, my jaw tight.
Derek’s watching. I can feel it. The thought gnaws at me as I slide into the driver’s seat. My hands grip the wheel hard enough that my knuckles whiten, but I force my tone to sound even when I glance at Rochelle.
“Seatbelt,” I murmur. She clicks it without comment, though her gaze lingers on me, eyes filled with questions.
The engine rumbles to life. I pull out of parking lot, my eyes darting to the mirrors, left, right, rearview as I check if I’m being tailed. Every sedan parked on the curb, every man on the sidewalk feels like a threat.
“Kai…” Rochelle’s voice is careful, gentle but probing. “You’re driving like we’re in a chase scene. What’s going on with you?”
My jaw locks. Words stick in my throat, a storm I can’t let out. Telling her means dragging her deeper into Derek’s game. I can’t risk that.
