“Nope,” she says smoothly, releasing me and stepping away. “I don’t suppose you have a bedroom for me to stay in, Whiteshaw? Or are you taking the couch while I take your room…?”
She strides toward the stairs.
He gapes for a moment, then gives chase.
Greyson grabs my hips and pulls me close. “Promise me something,” he says in my ear.
“What?”
“That you won’t do anything stupid.”
I sigh. “I don’t think anything I do is stupid. But, sure, if you need that promise from me…”
“I do.”
I face him and loop mine around his neck. “I won’t do anything stupid.”
He grins. “We have a game tomorrow. Will you meet me in the locker room afterward?”
I mirror his expression. I feel…happy. Even with a stalker, who has yet to be found. Like everything is finally going right between Greyson and me. I tap his hand, which has slipped under the hem of my shirt to press against my bare back. His knuckles healed just fine after the last fight. No breaks, just a sprain that healed rather fast.
So I don’t feel particularly bad for saying, “Only if you get your knuckles bloody.”
43
GREYSON
Today’s the day I get to tell my father to fuck off.
Never thoughtthatwould happen.
It’s also game day.
There’s a certain magic that happens to the school on Friday nights when the hockey team is playing at our home stadium. There’s a buzz in the air that’s infectious. It keeps me light all day, instead of worried. Instead of plotting the ways this could all go wrong.
Because it could go wrong in a shit ton of ways.
I don’t think my father can takeawaythe trust fund. Not since it’s currently in my possession. I even checked with a lawyer yesterday who told me what I needed to hear. If I wanted, I could move the money into a separate account without his name on it.
That’s exactly what I did.
Whether or not Dad’s accountant will catch it in time to ask me about it today is another matter. This could come up on Monday, or a month from now…
Anyway. I lace up my skates and join Jacob and Erik on the ice. They’re warming up, stretching their legs by doing a few laps around the outside perimeter. I come up behind them and fall in line.
We’ve got this morning’s practice, then we’re required to show up at five o’clock for a pregame warm up and check-in. We’ll go over the plays, make sure all our equipment is set.
We’re joined by the rest of the team, then break into different warmups. Using cones, pucks. Miles has his full pads and mask on, and he takes up his spot in the net after skating through some of the drills.
Coach Roake is standing at the half-wall with a clipboard in his hand.
“Devereux,” he barks out.
I skate to him and stop just before running into the boards.
“Tell me why I’m getting a phone call from your father’s office telling me to pull you from the team?” He glowers at me. “And this better be good.”
“He what?” I stare at him. Does this have to do with the phone call Coach made tohim? My muscles clench, and I struggle to contain my emotions. In all the excitement with Violet, I had forgotten the conversation with Dad the other night.