Misconducts & Temptation (The Crestwood Elite Hockey Academy #10)

23. Elodie

Chapter 23

Elodie

K eaton drove us back to the mansion, the silence between us heavy and thick. I was still breathless, my mind reeling from what had just happened. Intimacy had always seemed like a distant concept to me, something I read about in books or overheard in whispered conversations. But now, it was real, tangible, and it left me both confused and exhilarated.

"What?" Keaton asked gruffly, his eyes flicking toward me briefly before focusing back on the road.

I hesitated, unsure how to put my thoughts into words. "Does it always feel that way?" My voice sounded small, almost timid.

Keaton grabbed a cigarette from the console and dangled it from his lips. He didn't light it; it hung there like an unspoken question. He stared out the window for a long moment before answering.

"No," he murmured, almost too quietly to hear.

The rest of the ride back to the manor was steeped in silence. I stared out my own window, watching the dark landscape blur past, trying to make sense of the feelings swirling inside me. The night air felt cold against my skin, so different from the warmth that lingered from our closeness.

As we pulled up to the grand gates of the mansion, Keaton finally broke the silence. "We're here," he said flatly, killing the engine. He didn't look at me as he spoke, his expression masked by shadows.

I nodded, fumbling with my seatbelt. The reality of where I was and what lay ahead began to sink in again. The brief escape we'd shared now seemed like a fragile dream ready to shatter under the weight of my everyday life.

We stepped out of the car and walked up to the imposing front door. Keaton's footsteps were steady and sure, while mine felt hesitant and uncertain. He pushed open the door without ceremony, leading us back into the world where our roles were clearly defined: him as the powerful heir, me as just another girl caught in his orbit.

Keaton finally lit the cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his face before it settled into a dull glow. He took a deep drag; the smoke curling around him like a protective shield. I watched him for a moment, feeling the distance grow between us with each exhale.

Without another word, I turned and headed to our room. The hallway seemed longer than usual, every step echoing in the silence. My mind was a chaotic swirl of thoughts and emotions, but I pushed them aside as best as I could. Homework. That was something tangible, something I could control.

I closed the door behind me and flicked on the lamp by my desk. The soft light filled the room, casting gentle shadows on the walls. I pulled out my textbooks and notebooks, spreading them out in front of me like a barrier against the confusion in my head.

I focused on the equations in my math book, letting their logic and structure calm me. Numbers had always made sense to me in a way that people never did. They were predictable, reliable. As I worked through problem after problem, I felt some of the tension in my shoulders ease.

But even as I tried to concentrate on my homework, memories of the evening kept intruding. Keaton’s touch, his breath against my skin—it all felt so immediate, so real. I shook my head, forcing myself to refocus on the page in front of me.

I scribbled down an answer and moved on to the next problem. The rhythm of writing and solving helped steady my thoughts. For a while, it was just me and the numbers, a small island of clarity amidst the chaos.

After finishing a particularly difficult equation, I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes. The weight of everything pressed down on me again—my stepfamily's cruelty, Keaton's complicated world, and my uncertain place in all of it.

I sighed and glanced at the clock. Time had slipped away from me as I worked through my homework. It was late now, and exhaustion tugged at me. But at least for a little while, I had managed to push everything else aside and find some measure of peace in the pages of my textbooks.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, I allowed myself this small reprieve.

The rest of the week dragged on, each day heavier than the last. The whispers followed me everywhere, like shadows I couldn’t shake off. By now, everyone at Crestwood knew I was Keaton's wife. It wasn’t a secret anymore; it was the talk of the school. Heck, it was probably the talk of the town.

I walked through the hallways with my head down, trying to ignore the murmurs that seemed to swell around me. "Gold digger," they called me, their voices dripping with disdain. I hated it, but what they said about Keaton was so much worse.

"Did you hear? Keaton's such an idiot."

"Why is he still hanging out here? Everyone knows he can't make the NHL."

"I bet she's just using him for his money."

"He probably doesn’t even care about her."

The words cut deeper than I'd expected. Even my professors treated me differently now. Where they once saw potential and promise, they now saw a scandal. Their eyes lingered on me a bit too long during lectures, their questions laced with a new edge of skepticism.

In my chemistry class, Professor Langston called on me more often than usual, as if testing whether my marriage had somehow diminished my intelligence. "Elodie," he said one day, "can you explain the molecular structure of benzene?"

I took a deep breath, feeling every eye in the room on me. "Benzene is composed of six carbon atoms forming a hexagonal ring, with alternating double bonds," I answered clearly, refusing to let them see how much their scrutiny bothered me.

But even as I spoke, I could feel the whispers ripple through the classroom like an undercurrent.

The locker room wasn’t any better. My job there had always been solitary work, but now it felt like a prison sentence. The other attendants avoided me, and the athletes looked at me with a mix of curiosity and pity.

One afternoon, while scrubbing down the benches after practice, I overheard a conversation between two JV hockey players. They didn’t notice me as they talked by the lockers.

"Did you hear? Keaton’s been avoiding Lola since the wedding."

"Can't blame him. That girl's got claws."

"Yeah, but marrying Elodie? What was he thinking?"

I clenched my jaw and focused on my work, scrubbing harder as if I could erase their words along with the dirt and sweat.

Keaton remained a mystery to most of them, and their theories about his motives were far from kind. Some said he was rebelling against his father; others thought he was just trying to stir up trouble.

By Friday afternoon, I felt like I was suffocating under the weight of their judgments. The school that had once been my sanctuary now felt like an arena where every glance was a challenge and every whisper a weapon aimed at my heart.

The whispers and stares from my classmates were a constant hum in the background of my life now. It was like I had become some kind of exhibit for everyone to analyze and dissect. But I never said anything about it to Keaton. He had enough on his plate, and the last thing I wanted was to add to his burden.

As I finished up my job on Friday, I told the other attendant, Jamie, that I'd lock up. Jamie gave me a sympathetic smile before leaving, but I could see the relief in her eyes. No one wanted to be around the scandalous girl any longer than necessary.

I moved through the locker room with methodical precision, putting away equipment and cleaning supplies. Each task grounded me, gave me a sense of control amidst the chaos my life had become. The smell of disinfectant mingled with the lingering scent of sweat and damp fabric.

I stacked towels in neat piles, wiped down benches, and made sure everything was in its proper place. My hands worked automatically, muscle memory taking over as my mind wandered. Despite everything, there was a strange comfort in these routines.

Just as I closed the last locker, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Pulling it out, I saw a text from Keaton:

Here.

A small smile tugged at my lips. It wasn’t the most eloquent message, but it was enough. He didn’t have to pick me up every day; he could have easily left me to fend for myself. Yet he chose to be there for me, even if it was just in these small ways.

I made my way to my bag, tucked away in the corner of the locker room. The familiar weight of it was a small comfort. As I bent down to pick it up, a voice cut through the silence.

"You're Elodie, right?"

I jumped, spinning around to face the source of the voice. Standing there was Ashton Lansing, one of the JV hockey players. He was tall, with broad shoulders that hinted at his time spent on the ice. His hair was a sandy blond, perpetually tousled in that effortlessly cool way, and his blue eyes held a mischievous glint. I had seen him around school and at games but had never spoken to him.

"Keaton's wife?" he continued, his voice carrying a hint of disbelief.

"Uh, yes?" I replied, unsure why he was speaking to me. My heart raced as I tried to read his expression.

A grin spread across his face. "Good," he said. "I wanted to be sure."

I stood there, my bag dangling from my hand, waiting for him to elaborate. But he just stood there, grinning like he knew something I didn’t. The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken words and questions I wasn’t sure I wanted answered.

"He said you'd be here," he continued, stepping closer. His height and broad shoulders loomed over me, casting a long shadow.

I took a small step back, feeling the cool metal of the lockers press against my spine. Something in his tone set off alarm bells in my head. "Did you… did you need something?" I asked, inching towards the door.

He tilted his head, his grin unwavering. "He didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" I didn’t like the way he was looking at me, like I was some kind of prize.

"Oh," he said, as if realizing something for the first time. "Well, we tend to share things."

"Oh…kay," I replied cautiously. "Well, he's out in the parking lot if you wanted to?—"

Before I could finish, Ashton’s hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. The grip was firm, almost bruising. "I don't think you're understanding what I mean," he said, his voice low and menacing. "I mean, we share things."

My eyes widened as realization dawned on me. "No," I whispered.

"Yes," he insisted, pulling me closer. "He gave me permission. He said you'd do whatever he told you."

My face burned with humiliation and anger. I remembered that conversation with Keaton; it had been vague but suggestive enough to plant doubts in my mind. But Keaton was possessive, fiercely so. This didn’t make sense.

But then again, did Keaton really care about me? Or was this just another way for him to get back at his father and escape his own unwanted marriage? My mind raced as Ashton’s grip tightened.

"No," I repeated more firmly this time, trying to yank my wrist free from his grasp.

His smile faltered for a moment before it returned with a cruel edge. "Don’t make this difficult," he warned.

I took a deep breath, gathering all the courage I had left. "Let go of me," I demanded, trying to keep my voice steady despite the fear gnawing at my insides.

Ashton’s eyes narrowed as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. "You don’t have a choice," he hissed.

My heart pounded in my chest as panic threatened to take over. But somewhere beneath the fear, a spark of defiance ignited within me. I wasn’t going to let him or anyone else dictate what happened to me anymore.

With every ounce of strength I had left, I twisted my wrist sharply and stomped down on Ashton’s foot as hard as I could. He let out a pained grunt and loosened his grip just enough for me to break free.

Without looking back, I bolted for the door, my heart racing faster than ever before.

I burst out of the ice rink, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The cold air bit at my skin, but I hardly felt it. My vision blurred with tears as I spotted Keaton leaning against his car, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He looked up as I approached, but before he could say anything, I slapped him hard across the face. The cigarette flew from his mouth, landing on the gravel with a sizzle. That was more satisfying than I realized it would be.

"What the fuck was that?" he growled, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Just because I'll do things with you doesn't mean you get to pass me around to your friends," I shouted, my voice cracking. Tears blurred my vision, but I refused to let them fall. I was so angry. I didn't think I had ever been this angry before.

I didn't think I ever allowed myself to be this angry before.

"What?" His tone was cold, and it sent a shiver down my spine.

"You heard me," I said, trying to steady my voice. "I do things for you because you're my husband. But you are the only person I would do them for. We never talked about sharing."

"Shar—what?" His voice dropped even lower, a dark edge to it.

I took a shaky breath, realizing only then that I was trembling. My whole body shook with a mix of fear and anger.

"Tell me everything," he demanded, each word like a hammer striking metal. "Right. The fuck. Now."

"Ashton," I started, my voice barely above a whisper. "Ashton Lansing. He said... he said you gave him permission."

Keaton's eyes blazed with fury. "Permission for what?"

"He said you told him I'd do whatever you told me to," I choked out, my tears finally spilling over. "He tried to?—"

"That fucking bastard," Keaton interrupted, his fists clenching at his sides.

I flinched at the raw anger in his voice, but part of me felt relieved that he wasn’t dismissing my words or accusing me of lying.

"I didn't give him any fucking permission," he spat, his face twisted in rage. "If he so much as looks at you again?—"

I cut him off, my own anger bubbling up again. "How was I supposed to know that? You talk about women like they're just things to be used and tossed aside."

His expression shifted slightly, a flicker of something softer beneath the anger. But it was gone as quickly as it came.

"I'll deal with Ashton," he said through gritted teeth. "But don't ever think I'd let anyone touch what's mine."

I wanted to scream at him for referring to me as a possession but held back, knowing now wasn’t the time for that fight.

"Get in the car," he ordered without even looking at me.

"What?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Where are you?—"

"Fucking be a good wife and shut the fuck up," he snarled, already turning on his heel and heading back towards campus. "I'll be back in a bit."

I wanted to call him back, to demand answers, but he was already gone. His long strides carried him away, leaving me standing there, feeling more alone than ever. My heart pounded in my chest as I stared after him, the weight of his words pressing down on me like a suffocating blanket.

I climbed into the car, my hands shaking as I fumbled with the door handle. The leather seats felt cold against my skin, and the silence inside was deafening. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The reality of what had just happened began to sink in, and a fresh wave of anger and fear washed over me.

As I sat there, waiting for Keaton to return, my mind raced with thoughts of what he might do to Ashton. I had never seen Keaton so angry before, and it scared me. But beneath that fear was a flicker of something else—want. There was something about him when he acted this way, when he was this possessive, that I was drawn to.

What did that say about me?

I didn't know.

For now, all I could do was wait.