Page 114 of Twisted Obsession

One of the guys, Liam, I think, looks over. “Who?”

“Jacob Rhodes.”

He whistles under his breath. “Tell us more. You okay? Did you just find out he was stalking you?”

“I… it’s complicated.”

I shift. I don’t know them. I don’t want to admit all my secrets. And maybe that’s apparent on my face, because Theo elbows his friend.

“Were you at the game?” Margo asks. “The one playing now?”

“I was there until I got a call from my ex-husband. He sent me to an art gallery, and I found out that he was selling my artwork through them and not giving me a cut. And that Jacob’s been buying everything. I’ve been in his condo, looking at this beautiful art, and had no ideaIpainted them.”

Silence.

“Yeah,” I say on a laugh. “Stupid. I probably need to file some sort of legal something. I don’t know if my ex has more of my art to sell. Oh, and I think I was with him before my incident, even though I have a restraining order against him.”

More silence.

I clear my throat. “So, um… thanks for letting me hang out.”

41

JACOB

I’m skating for my life. It’s like all the pressure has formed into a spear being driven through my chest. Every breath hurts. I’m sweating, bleeding, definitely bruised. And the score climbed to 2-2 in the second period, and it’s sat there ever since.

Our goalie, Joel Haverhill, is on fire. He’s blocked shot after shot. The Guardians wingers are slipping past us easily and putting more pressure on Haverhill, but he’s risen to the challenge. It’s infuriating toknowyou’re playing like shit and be unable to stop it.

Something’s up with Knox. He’s not playing like himself. He’s not really playing like he even gives a shit. The whistle blows, and I almost collide with him. I grab his arm and shake him a little.

“What the fuck is going on?”

He focuses on me and frowns. “What?”

“Get your head in the game,” I snap at him. “This is not the time to screw around.”

Knox glowers at me. “I’m fine.”

Yeah, right. I step through the doorway and take a seat beside Church. He glances at me and pops his mouthguard out.

“What was that?”

I shrug. “He’s my friend.”

“You shouldn’t give pep talks to the enemy.” He’s got a scrape under his eye from an earlier tussle. “You want to win, don’t you?”

I laugh. “Yeah, of course. I just don’t want him to come back and say he was distracted or some shit.”

He eyes me, then leans forward and looks down toward the home bench, where Knox sits. “No excuses.”

“Exactly.”

The game resumes. Dawes, our center, lines up against Knox. His mouth is moving, which really isn’t surprising. He loves to yap. But something he says to Knox has my friend adjusting his grip.

The puck drops, and the Guardians get possession. But my attention stays glued on Knox, who bursts forward and slams his stick into Dawes’ chest. The whistle blows as Dawes reacts to the hit, grabbing Knox’s stick and tossing it.

Their gloves come off, and then they’re fighting.

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