Chapter 20
20
Aviva
“ I can’t believe he thinks he can boss you around like this,” Tovah said. She was sitting on my bed, eyeing me as I got dressed for the hockey game. “What, he ignores you for a week—thank god—and then sends you a box with his jersey in it, tells you to wear it to the first game of the season, and expects you’ll…do it? Does he know you at all?”
“He does,” I said.
That was the problem. He knew I didn’t like being bossed around, especially by him. He also knew that when it came to sex, I craved it from him—because he’d fucked up my brain when it came to sex.
And maybe when it came to everything else.
Earlier that day, I’d been surprised by a box at our door. Inside was Jack’s jersey with instructions to come to his game “or else.” Apparently he wasn’t done fucking with my head, after all.
At first, I’d considered ignoring it entirely. I’d tossed the jersey in the trash and was about to text “fuck you,” to him, but that didn’t feel like a big enough statement. No, I wanted my fuck you to be impossible to ignore or misunderstand. He’d humiliated me publicly, now it was my turn.
“Well,” Tovah said. “Should we make a sign that says “JACKASS FELDMAN” and cheer every time Tabb scores? Lucy and Leslie said they’d sneak over to our side of the arena for part of the game, so at least we can cheer with them.”
I couldn’t wait to see them. Not only because they were fun and I liked them, but because Lucy had promised to grill Coach Samson about Joshua Jensen. I hadn’t told her why, but Lucy, who was loyal in ways I understood and appreciated, had said, I get it, girl code .
I eyed her. “The sign sounds cute, but it’s not enough.” An idea came to me. “Any chance you have another player’s jersey?”
Tovah blushed. “Um, as it so happens…”
She opened her closet.
I blinked.
There were easily eight hockey jerseys hanging inside, surrounded by dresses and sweaters. I knew Tovah was a hockey fan, but this was a little…extra.
I moved forward and started going through them.
“Wait, I think—” Tovah started.
Jones, 37
Jones, 37
Jones, 37
Jones…
“Why do you have four of Isaac’s jersey?” I eyed her speculatively, pulling one of the jerseys off the hanger and waving it in front of her .
“They were on sale. Probably because he sucks,” she said, her cheeks turning pinker.
Hmm.
“Anything you want to tell me?”
“Nope.” She popped the P. “And since you’re leaving a lot of shit out about Jack and you, I’d say we’re even.” She nodded toward the closet. “There are other players’ jerseys in there.”
The next jersey said Lawson 10. I ran my fingers over the 1 and 0, a tingle going through me. The number was apt: 10 was the year my life had fallen apart.
The number belonged to Dave Lawson. The goalie, who’d spotted my scar on the night I refused to think about, had once been Asher’s backup before taking over his position.
Dave had also been a friend of my brother’s at one point. Until Asher was kicked off the team and Dave ghosted him.
A lightbulb went off in my head.
Wearing Dave’s jersey would serve dual purposes–and I was nothing if not resourceful.
First, since he’d replaced my brother he might know more about what had happened, might even feel a little guilty about taking Asher’s spot. It was also possible that he’d be more tight-lipped because he’d benefited from Asher being kicked off the team, but I refused to leave that stone unturned. He may not notice me from the ice, but Jack fucking would, and I hoped Jack noticing would mean Dave would notice, too.
Which brought me to my second purpose. Because what could be a greater “fuck you” than not only wearing another player’s jersey, but also wearing the jersey of the player who’d cemented my humiliation by pointing out my scar? Wearing Dave’s jersey would prove how little I cared about what Jack and his teammates thought of me. How unaffected I was. It was like saying “you don’t and never mattered to me.”
It also was like waving a red flag in front of a bull—apt, given that Reina’s colors were red and white. But if this exploded in my face, I’d make sure that Jack got hit by all the shrapnel, and didn’t escape unscathed.
Holding the jersey alone made me feel like I’d gotten my power back.
Power I’d lost ever since he’d caught me in the Kings’ locker room, backed me up against his locker, and wrapped his hand around my throat.
That night felt like so long ago. I’d aged years, become someone else I didn’t fully recognize, but I was going to get the old Aviva back.
I pulled the jersey over my head.
“I look okay?” I asked Tovah.
“You look like you’re about to be sacrificed on the funeral pyre of Jack Feldman’s crazy, but you’ll look hot as you burn,” she said.
“Well, as long as I look hot,” I joked.
She shook her head. “I like this Aviva, and how kickass, take-no-names, fuck-all-the-haters she is. But I’ve gotta admit—she’s scary.”
“Perfect,” I said. “I like being scary.”
Looking in the mirror, I tossed my curly-wavy brown hair over my shoulders, squaring them as I prepared for battle.
A battle I was going to fucking win.
The arena was packed. Tovah had asked the sports editor at The Daily Queen for a favor, and they’d gotten us great seats—center ice.
I tried not to stare at Jack as he warmed up, but it was impossible, especially based on the way his ass moved as he practically humped the ice. At least he couldn’t see me staring.
But I was distracted from Jack stretching when an older man with blond hair walked out on the ice. He was busy staring at the tablet in his hands as he talked to a player. If you didn’t look closely, he looked kind, dignified. Normal .
But I knew better. I knew Joshua Jensen, the true one, even if I’d never spoken to him. The bespoke suit and commanding nature couldn’t hide the narcissist underneath. Often, the worst of humanity hid their horrors behind a friendly smile, because they’d learned how to imitate friendliness and manipulate people in order to set them at ease. Powerful men especially used their charisma and seeming respectability to hide whatever evil inclinations lay beneath.
But peel the suit back, and people would see the weak, pathetic, power-hungry abuser. I’d make sure of it.
“You okay?” Tovah asked beside me. “You’ve got that ‘take no prisoners’ look in your eyes.”
“I’m fine,” I growled.
She glanced over to where I was staring.
“You can’t kill him,” she said immediately. “I know it would be fun, but I don’t want to visit you in prison.”
My teeth ground together. “You’d get used to it.”
The buzzer sounded the beginning of the first period. Isaac faced off against Tabb U’s center, and the second the puck dropped, he stole it and sent it wide to Jack, who hit it up the weak side. Tabb’s defensemen slammed him into the boards, but he pushed the puck between the boards and his stick so that he kept control. Once the other winger had shoved the defensemen off of him, Jack continued toward the goal.
And that’s when he spotted me.
My heart pounded as he stared up at me from the ice. He didn’t lose track of the puck for a second, and reluctantly, I marveled at him. Even with his focus on me, he still managed to fake out the defenseman and pass the puck back to Isaac. A moment later, the horn sounded, signaling a goal. The scorebox changed: 1 Reina, 0 Tabb. I barely paid attention, unable to look away from Jack as he skated toward the bench, his eyes never leaving mine.
I could read his lips from where I sat.
What the fuck are you wearing?
I winked at him.
Take it off. Now.
I shook my head.
He shook his, then drew a line across his neck, before pointing at Dave. Dave hadn’t noticed either of us.
“Here we go,” I murmured.
The buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the first period.
Jack skated over to Dave and said something. This time, Dave’s head turned toward me. I sat up straighter, hoping the number on the jersey I’d borrowed was visible. Even though I couldn’t see his face through his goaltender mask, I could imagine the conversation going down.
Why the fuck is Aviva wearing your jersey?
I have no clue, Feldman.
You better have some clue. If I find out you touched her ? —
Why the hell do you even care if I touched her? You treat her like ? —
Like a whore?
Exactly.
Do. Not. Touch. Her.
I swear, Jack, I have no idea why she’s wearing my jersey. Maybe you should ask her.
Jack raised his stick midway, and for a moment I thought he might try to hit Dave in the junk with it. Even with layers of clothes between Dave and Jack’s stick, it could still be painful.
I waved.
“ Super scary,” Tovah said.
Energy fizzled beneath my skin. I hadn’t felt powerful in so long. I also had never felt this reckless, but hey, high risk, high reward, right?
Joshua Jensen yelled something at Jack and Dave that I couldn’t hear. Jack ignored him, advancing toward Dave. Isaac skated over, touching Jack on the shoulder, who shoved him off. And then, shocking even me , Jack broke the cardinal rule of “protect your goalie” and smacked Dave on top of his mask, hard .
Shouts broke out, Jack’s teammates skating toward them to break things up before it turned into an actual fight.
“Jack!” Joshua Jensen barked. “What the hell are you thinking?!”
Well, that I could hear.
“Holy shit,” Tovah whispered.
“Holy shit,” I agreed.
As Jack skated toward the coach, he stopped, turning to look at me one more time.
I swallowed, my mouth and throat suddenly dry. The cold disappeared, the rink and fans disappeared, until it might as well have just been him, and me, alone in space, no gravity, no nothing, the only thing keeping me from floating away the heat of his gaze on mine.
He broke my trance.
Run and hide , he mouthed through his helmet.
And even though a part of me wanted to, I lifted my head and stared at him, staying where I fucking was. I refused to back down, to cower in front of him like a punished puppy. To let him win.
He shook his head, saying something to Joshua before disappearing down the tunnel.
I exhaled, feeling dizzy.
“Well, that looked intense,” a chirpy voice said.
I glanced over to see Lucy and Leslie standing there, both in purple and gold Tabb jerseys, staring at me in amusement and shock, respectively.
“Omg, hey!” I said, momentarily forgetting Jack Feldman—or at least trying to.
We all hugged. Tovah and I scooted over, making room for Lucy and Leslie.
“I can’t believe he hit his goalie. You don’t hit your goalie. Your goalie is sacred,” Lucy said, awed. “What the hell happened?”
“Yeah,” Tovah asked. “What do you think happened, Aviva?”
“Wait,” Leslie said. “Aren’t you with Jack? Why are you wearing Dave Lawson’s jersey.”
“I’m not with Jack.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“Not what I heard, either,” Lucy added.
“We’re not together. He’s been bullying the shit out of me,” I clarified.
“Because he’s an unhinged asshole,” Tovah added.
Leslie coughed. “I know something about unhinged assholes, and I hate to be this person, but sometimes he does bully you because he likes you.”
Lucy’s laughter pealed out. “You would know, wouldn’t you, butterfly. ”
Leslie blushed, but smiled dreamily. “I’m not saying that what they do isn’t terrible, but?—”
“—Pretty fucking terrible,” Tovah interjected.
“—but it all ends up working out. At least in my case. You have to show them you’ll give as good as you get.”
“And she should know, she gets it pretty good from Mason,” Lucy teased.
Interest piqued, I asked, “Mason bullied you?” This I hadn’t heard.
Leslie nodded. “At first, for sure. He was a real asshole, but I refused to like, be a doormat and put up with his crap. When he followed me to Tabb, it turned into more.” She flashed the diamond on her finger in front of us. “And well, here we are.”
“Even though he’s her stepbrother,” Lucy pointed out.
Leslie swatted at her. “Whatever.”
“Oh right, right. I forgot. You don’t ‘stepbrotherfucking care.’”
Leslie laughed but rolled her eyes. “It’s like you want me to get you in trouble with Coach Matthews.”
“Don’t you dare!” Lucy sounded worried.
“Well, I do stepbrotherfucking care that Jack is targeting Aviva,” Tovah broke in.
Lucy eyed me. “You look like you’re handling it okay, but then I’m not surprised. You’ve always seemed like the type who doesn’t melt under heat.”
Tovah smiled proudly. “She doesn’t.” Then she sobered. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t worry she won’t get burned.”
Leslie played with her ring. “Sometimes these douchebags have a way of surprising you,” she told Tovah. “At least, mine did.”
As Tovah and Leslie chatted, Lucy leaned in closer to me. “So I talked to Blake.”
My heart raced. Was this it? Was I finally going to get justice for my brother? And why did the possibility of fulfilling my mission for him make me feel a little…sad? Why did Jack’s face pop into my head?
I shook my head, trying to dislodge the feeling. “And?”
She shook her head, frowning. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t get anything out of him. The second I said ‘Jensen’ he clammed up. Told me I needed to stop sticking my nose in places it didn’t belong, and to ‘stay away from that jackass.’ I kept trying, in every way I could think of—and then some—but he refused to say another word about him.”
Lead filled my chest.
Blake Samson knew something. I refused to give up on this lead so easily. It hurt, knowing in some ways I was so close to my goal, and in others, I was no closer.
What was I going to do if I couldn’t get the evidence on Joshua Jensen that I needed? How could I even face Asher, knowing that I’d failed? What would I do if I had to watch him live his life without hockey, when he used to live and breathe it?
“Can you try harder?” I asked Lucy.
She tilted her head at me. “You know, I don’t know anyone as persistent as you. It’s definitely admirable, but I’d love to know why.”
“Not my story to tell,” I said. “Please, keep trying with him.”
Lucy lifted a shoulder. “I would, but Blake hasn’t returned a single one of my texts or calls. I’ll have to do something…drastic to even get him to talk to me.” She lo oked thoughtful. “Like, get myself kicked out of Tabb drastic, which I’m not entirely against, but?—”
“No,” I interrupted. I couldn’t be the reason Lucy got expelled. She’d told me she’d always dreamed of being a veterinarian, and she deserved to accomplish her dream.
And what about your dreams? A little voice asked. Justice is one thing, but what about what you want? Beyond your psychology degree?
Once again, Jack’s face appeared in my head.
Once again, I forced it away.
“You sure?” she asked.
“I’ll find another way,” I told her.
“Well, like I said, girl code. I’m happy to help in any way I can,” Lucy said.
“Butterfly!” A man yelled. Leslie looked up. The players were back on the ice. Mason Calloway was watching us, Jack next to him. Jack did seem calmer, although no less intense.
“Did you get lost?” Mason asked Leslie pointedly.
“Ah crap,” Leslie said. “Lucy, we need to get back to our seats.” She waved at her fiance and with a quick goodbye hug, headed to the other side of the stands, tugging Lucy after her.
Text me , Lucy mouthed at me.
I nodded.
Jack still stared, eyes burning into my body and mind. I felt shaky, buzzed, excited, disappointed. Powerful but helpless, focused but out of control.
So close to getting what I wanted, but so unsure of how to destroy the walls in my way.
Watch out, princess , Jack mouthed.
Princess.
I was so fucking sick of that nickname, the way it made me feel, both bad—and good. So sick of Jack Feldman, and the way he made me feel, both bad—and good.
I desperately needed air.
The horn for the second period started, and Jack was once again focused on the puck. Feeling like I’d been released from prison, I turned to Tovah.
“I need a drink, and a snack.” And maybe a lobotomy. “You want anything?”
She shook her head, focused on the game.
In the main corridor, I exhaled, leaning against the wall. Even separated by glass, Jack’s energy was overwhelming. And watching him play… there was nothing like it. Asher was amazing on the ice. Jack was a god. He owned the ice, the puck, the entire game. And we, the spectators, were only lucky enough to get to experience him in his prime.
Hockey was everything to him. That was clear. And if I succeeded, I was going to take that away from him.
I got in line, ignoring looks from other students and fans. Jack’s interest in me had gotten around by now, and by wearing Dave’s jersey…
“Look, it’s Hat Trick’s slut,” some guy said.
“You mean cumdumpster,” one of his friends supplied, and the whole group of them laughed.
Fuck this. Between Jack’s pissed off attempts to piss a circle around me, other students’ mockery of me, and my fear that I wasn’t going to be able to help my brother, I’d reached a breaking point. I felt angry, reckless, like a newly lit, unsupervised fire in a forest that hadn’t seen rain in too long.
I wanted to burn.
At that moment, someone put their hand on my shoulder. I practically jumped out of my skin .
“I didn’t take you for a hockey fan,” Professor Johnathan commented, smiling down at me.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not.”
I was. I used to be.
“Then why are you here?”
“Why are you? I didn’t take you for a hockey fan either, professor.”
“I told you, call me Dylan.”
“Okay, Dylan,” I said. “But only because we aren’t in class.”
“Please,” he looked around. “You’re destroying my cover.”
“So are you? A hockey fan?”
He shrugged. “I’m not usually a fan of the sport. Too much aggression, too much power. Too easy for it to be…misused.”
He looked at me meaningfully, and my heart pounded. Did he know something about Coach Jensen? Could he help?
Was it worth the risk of telling him what happened, when Asher had begged me not to tell anyone?
High risk, higher reward.
“Professor—” I started.
“It’s important to me to support my students,” he said quietly. “In whatever ways I…can.”
Was he saying he wanted to help me? Or was it something else? The hairs on the back of my neck rose, a physical warning that something was wrong.
It only got worse when Dylan put his hand on my lower back and guided me away from the line. Even through the jersey, his touch burned, like recrimination or punishment. Like I’d done something wrong. Like letting anyone other than Jack near me was a mistake. It was bullshit. I didn’t belong to Jack. I didn’t belong to anyone.
“Where are you sitting?” he asked.
I hesitated. I wanted to say an even bigger fuck you to Jack, but something about the professor felt…off somehow.
Men in positions of authority , my mind whispered.
But what if he could help?
“We’re right behind the penalty box. Want to join me?” I offered.
He bestowed a bashful smile on me. “Thought you’d never ask.”
When we got back to our seats, Reina was up another goal, and Jack had the puck.
Tovah glanced over at me, then did a double take, eyes widening.
“Um…” she said.
“Tovah, this is Professor Johnathan. Dylan,” I corrected, glancing over at him. He smiled, but his eyes were on Jack as Jack stole the puck back from one of Tabb’s defensemen before passing it to Isaac. “He teaches my Deviant Psych seminar. Is it okay if he sits with us?”
“Dylan Johnathan?” she said, like the name meant something to her. “Not often that we get to hang out with the cousin of dead or imprisoned billionaires.”
I stared at her in shock. “Tovah!”
Dylan chuckled. “I wasn’t close to my family, don’t worry. And Tovah Kaufman, right? I’m a fan of your articles.”
Tovah, who was susceptible to flattery when it came to her writing, smiled. “Sure, he can sit with us.”
As we sat, I was aware of the professor’s arm against mine. But unlike when Jack touched me, Dylan’s nearness didn’t send tingles running up and down my spine. Instead, a low-grade revulsion filled me .
“Aviva,” Dylan said, drawing my attention away from the game. “I’ve been worried about you. Something’s been going on. Is it Jack Feldman?”
I cleared my throat. “I’d rather not talk about Jack.”
Jack, who was currently flying across the ice.
“Oh?” Dylan asked. “So then what is going on?”
I cleared my throat, forcing out the next words. “Professor?—”
“Dylan,” he corrected, placing a hand on my elbow.
“Dylan,” I said, putting my hand on his to remove it from my body. “If you found out that an…authority figure on campus had sexually abused one of his students…”
Dylan’s hand tightened on my elbow, squeezed.
“Who have you been talking to?”
“What?” I stared at him, momentarily forgetting about the game. “Do you know about Coach?—”
“Aviva, you should know better than to spread rumors. Really, I expected better from you,” he tsked, not releasing me.
“Why are you touching her?” Tovah was pissed .
Dylan released me immediately. “Forgive me, I was concerned.”
Even though he wasn’t touching me anymore, I could feel the ghost of his hand on my elbow. I felt sick. I didn’t want his patronizing ass near me. I should’ve listened to my gut. I’d made a mistake, and now?—
There was a loud thump as someone slammed into the glass. I looked down, expecting to see a fight. Instead, Jack glared up at us.
He slammed the glass again.
“Move, professor ,” he yelled.
Everyone in our vicinity turned to look at us. Some began whispering. I felt my face heat .
“Jack!” Coach Jensen yelled in frustration.
Dylan shook his head.
Slam.
“I. Said. Move.”
It was like the entire arena had gone silent.
“Shouldn’t you be playing a game, Mr. Feldman?” Dylan taunted, a small smile playing at his lips.
He’d done this on purpose. Was taunting Jack on purpose. Whatever Jack had on him, it had pissed the professor off, and now he was using me to get back at him.
Powerless men always need to feel powerful, my inner voice mused.
“You don’t want to play games with me, professor. And you certainly don’t want to use Aviva in your games, unless you want everyone to know why you had to leave Yale.”
Dylan—Professor Johnathan—blanched.
“Now, move. ”
And then the professor was standing, dusting himself off, and trudging up the stairs, and it felt like I could breathe again in his absence.
I glared at Jack.
“You okay?”
Confusion filled me. Was this possession, or protection?
It didn’t matter. Either way I hated it.
I hate you, I mouthed.
He slammed the glass one more time.
“ Mine. ”
It felt like the word echoed through the arena.
It certainly echoed through me.
“Well,” Tovah said. “Shit.”
I sat back down, aware of dozens, maybe hundreds, of eyes on me.
“You can say that again,” I muttered.
“Well. Shit.”