Page 74 of Dirty As Puck
I stop pacing, lean forward, my palms braced on my knees. My chest feels like it’s closing in. I can’t fight back without burning everything we’ve built. I can’t walk away without letting him bleed me dry.
The phone buzzes again and I fight the urge to smash the device as I read another message from him.
I’ll be waiting for your move, little brother.
My vision blurs with rage, but underneath it there’s a feeling of dread.
He’s winning. Every choice he gives me is a trap, and every road leads to losing something I can’t bear to lose.
I want to throw the phone, smash it into the wall until there’s nothing left. Instead, I sink onto the couch and press my hands to my face.
I’m trapped and powerless. Even worse than powerless because every second I stay silent, Rochelle stays in the crosshairs without even knowing it.
And that thought terrifies me more than anything Derek could threaten.
Rochelle is watching me like she’s trying to read a playbook I won’t hand over. Every time I avoid a question, her brows knit, and her lips press thin. She’s too smart not to notice.
Tonight, she’s curled on the couch in my apartment, legs tucked underneath, with her laptop balanced on her knees.
“You’ve been distracted for days,” she says, voice casual but edged. “Don’t tell me it’s just the game again.”
I force a shrug, busying myself at the counter with a glass of water I don’t need. “Well, what can I say? It is the game,” I echo. The lie tastes sour.
She doesn’t buy it. I hear it in her sigh, feel it in the silence that stretches between us.
The problem is, every lie stacks on the last, and the questions don’t stop. She wants to know where I’ve been. Why do I keep checking my phone, why I don’t want her walking alone anymore.
Each excuse I give is like a thin wall, and I can feel them wobbling under her scrutiny.
“Then tell me,” she says quietly. “If you’re struggling with something in particular, I want to know what it is…about the game.”
I grip the counter hard enough that my knuckles pop. The truth claws at the back of my throat, and I feel the desperate urge to let it out, but I swallow it down.
If she knew what Derek was holding over me…over us, she’d never look at me the same.
Instead, I turn to face her, offering a hollow smile. “It’s hockey. I’ll be fine.”
Her laptop closes with a snap. She studies me, suspicion flashing clear in her eyes. For a heartbeat, I’m terrified she’s going to press harder, demanding answers I can’t give. But she just shakes her head. “You keep saying that, Kai. But you’re pulling further away every day.”
I want to cross the room, to take her face in my hands and beg her to trust me for just a little longer. But I stay rooted where I am, because closeness would only make the lies sharper.
She turns back to her laptop, shoulders stiff, and the walls rising. The space between us feels like a huge gap, and I know I’m the one putting it there.
For her protection. That’s what I tell myself. Even as it starts to feel more like destruction.
29
Love isn’t supposed to feel this way. Like I’m being held and shut out at the same time.
Yet here I am, watching Kai drift further away, and the ache in my chest tells me the truth I’ve been avoiding.
I love him.
It’s ridiculous, maybe. Too fast, probably too messy. But when he’s near, every part of me sharpens. When he’s distant, I feel hollow.
Love is the only word big enough to explain the way his silence cuts me, the way his rare openness stitches me back together.
And because I love him, I can’t just sit here anymore, pretending not to notice the shadows dragging him down.
