Into Ruin (Hockey Titans)

1. Harper

1

HARPER

M usic thrums through the hockey house. It’s so loud it vibrates in my chest. I grip the strap of my bag tighter and make my way deeper inside, searching for one familiar face.

The only familiar face.

There are a million people packed inside, and I squeeze through narrow gaps. No one really looks at me. I’m the perennial wallflower everywhere I go. It hasn’t really mattered before, though. I don’t want people looking at me.

Finally, I catch a glimpse of Royal. He’s standing with a group of guys, plus one bottle-blond, model-thin girl. Her hair is curled, and her jean shorts are cropped so much her ass cheeks are hanging out. Paired with glittery cowboy boots and a flannel shirt she has knotted above her navel…

I’m not surprised most of Royal’s friends stare at her instead of focusing on him.

He, however, seems bored. His gaze coasts around, only pausing when it lands on me. His eyes light up, and he waves me over.

I swallow sharply, but as soon as I’m within arm’s reach, he reels me in. His arm drops around my shoulders, locking me to his side.

“Guys, Marcy, this is my baby sister, Harper.” He jostles me a little. “She’s a freshman.”

I incline my chin.

“New meat,” one of the guys says, holding out his fist to be bumped by one of the others. “Nice.”

Royal glares at him. “Abso-fucking-lutely not.”

I shift my weight. Accepting Royal’s invite… not my first choice.

“Thought you had changed your mind,” he says in a low voice. “You seem…?”

“I walked in on my roommate and her boyfriend screwing on her desk.” I shudder. “I need alcohol to get this out of my brain.”

Royal nods sagely. “You’ve come to the right place. I just have one rule.”

I raise my eyebrow. He said nothing about rules . He’s a sophomore. He pretends to know better than me, but he’s barely more than a year older. Definitely not wiser.

“No fucking my teammates.” He nudges me and points toward the kitchen. “Drinks in there. My room is first on the left upstairs, you can stash your bag there.”

Right.

I leave the safety of his side and venture into the kitchen. A full bar has been set up on the counters, red cups stacked next to the alcohol. On the porch outside is a big, metal keg. I wrinkle my nose and go toward one of the bottles of clear liquor. I’m not picky… I have no experience.

I pull one out at random and scan the label.

Vodka.

I splash it into a cup and add orange juice, give it a little finger-stir, and exit the kitchen with my index finger in my mouth just as a new wave of people enter. I sip the drink and wince at the burn. But that’s the point, right? Alcohol isn’t supposed to be fun to drink.

Someone bumps into me, sending my bag flying off my shoulder. It’s zipped shut, but I dive for it anyway. My face flames. I clutch my bag under my arm, my drink firmly clenched in my other fist, and head toward the staircase.

No one calls out to me. I’m certainly not dressed for a party—my hoodie and jeans aren’t really the aesthetic of most of the girls here—and I’m not going to pretend either. I slip through under the radar and finally get some breathing room on the stairs. I dodge around couples making out and pause at the rope across the top of the stairs.

DO NOT ENTER , the sign hanging from it says.

I step over it.

First door on the right is his, he said? I go to it and push the door open, expecting an empty room. After all, there was a sign. A rope .

But nope.

There’s a girl on the desk, her legs open wide, and a guy between them. It takes a minute to realize it’s not my brother— thank fucking God —but then… I don’t know. I keep watching. Maybe I’m curious? Horrified?

Both at the same time?

This is the second fucking couple I’ve walked in on. I’m cursed. I must be. I mean—can’t a girl catch a break?

Deciding to follow Royal was one thing.

This…

This is just not cool.

The guy is fucking the girl like he hates her. I only saw a glimpse of my roommate and her boyfriend, but they weren’t going at it like this. The whole desk moves with every thrust. His bare ass is pointed right at me, muscles tensing and straining. His head is bowed, his gaze locked on her bare chest.

“We’ve got an audience,” the girl moans.

The guy slows and glances over his shoulder.

Definitely not my brother. His gaze rakes up and down my body, and I automatically tighten the grip on the strap of my bag. And my cup.

Do I play it cool?

Do I run away?

“Just a little voyeur,” the guy finally says. “I don’t mind, do you?”

I swallow hard.

The girl seems to crash back down to earth at that. Her glare spears me. “Get out, bitch.”

That just… rubs me the wrong way. I take a long sip of the drink and stay where I am. It’s a choice now, instead of being locked into place by fear or surprise. I backed down with my roommate—I fled like I was the one in trouble.

She didn’t even warn me. No sock on the doorknob, no text. No TEXT! We’re in the twenty-first century and I got nothing .

Whatever.

I’m not bitter. She wasn’t doing it on my bed, at any rate.

Royal’s desk, however…

I wrinkle my nose.

“Stop her, baby.”

Also gross.

The guy sighs. He steps away and roughly drags his jeans back into place, and the girl freezes. Legs spread. It’s dark, so I’m spared the details, but she seems to be glitching in place.

“What are you doing?”

He shakes his head and motions for the door. “Your whining is making my cock soft. You should go.”

“But—”

“Out.” Jeans secure, he crosses his arms over his chest. He’s still wearing a shirt, and he kept his pants on, which means he stripped her—or she stripped herself—and he didn’t reciprocate.

She slides off the desk and hunts for her clothes. Panties, dress. No bra, not that she retrieves anyway. She fluffs her hair, her scowl aimed first at him and then me. She snatches her phone off the edge of the desk.

When she passes me, she knocks her shoulder into mine.

I barely manage to keep from spilling the drink all over me.

And now…

“Little voyeur,” the guy says. “Was it jealousy that made you stay? Or is that truly your kink?”

“It’s definitely not.” I shake my head. “I was looking for Royal’s room. You’re?—”

“His is across the hall.” He saunters forward.

I tense, but I’m not going to be run off. There’s a challenge in his gaze. His eyes are deep blue, his hair dark and unruly. He steps up close to me and flicks the switch by my elbow. A lamp in the corner comes on behind him.

“Royal won’t fuck you,” he continues. “He’s got a pretty hot girlfriend who would cut his balls off if he did.”

My jaw drops.

“Not saying you’re not hot,” he adds. “You’ve got that girl-next-door vibe. The sweatshirt and jeans, your messy bun hair…”

He grabs my bag’s strap and tugs it off my shoulder. I reach for it, but he moves away too fast.

And I make the mistake of entering his room fully.