Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
RAINE
T here are bad ideas, and then there is this bad idea. Reaching out to a guy I’ve never met and asking him for what? Protection? I’d laugh if it wasn’t so pathetic.
What was I thinking?
So. Damn. Stupid.
I pull my arms a little closer around me, rushing toward the familiar gait, hoping to keep Drake’s frustration in check, though I doubt it’ll work. Not after today’s loss. It looks like the honeymoon phase after he decked me a couple of nights ago is about to end. It’s a pity. If the Grizzlies had won, I’d probably have a solid few days until Drake’s asshole side decided to make another appearance.
Why am I not surprised?
It’s funny. How easy it is to judge a person from the outside without seeing the intricate details weaving together to make them who they are. Make their situation the way it is. I know how ridiculous it seems for me to stay with Drake after he hit me. The reminder makes my stomach churn, but I shove it aside and quicken my steps .
In the beginning, he was charming. Charismatic. We met at a coffee shop, and he asked for my number. There were no red flags. No warning bells. Only a passionate hockey player with something to prove. And for a while? I was his main goal. Winning me over. Making me fall for him. With roses and kisses and back massages and takeout. It was perfect. He was perfect.
It wasn’t until months later, after we moved in together, that I started catching glimpses of who he really was beneath his carefully constructed facade.
At first, it was nothing more than a few asshole comments here and there. Then, an empty threat or a rough shove. Still screwed up, don’t get me wrong, but easy to overlook. Easy to justify when I was so used to the flowers and the presents and the easy compliments. Eventually, a girl from my work started noticing the bruises along my wrist, and after my first black eye—ever—she told me about a guy from her school.
Reeves. No first name. I didn’t even believe it was a real name until the announcer’s voice boomed it from the speakers as the hockey players took the ice earlier today. Regardless, he got Lilah out of a bind not so long ago, and she figured I could use the help, too.
Part of me didn’t want to bother. The other part? Well, can you blame me for being curious?
Yeah. I really am an idiot.
As soon as Everett walked out of the locker room, I realized this stupid plan was a mistake. A big, fat mistake I’ll probably pay dearly for since I wasn’t waiting outside the visitors’ locker room like Drake ordered me to. Okay, ordered is probably the wrong word. Begged is more like it. He’s been walking on eggshells since he hit me. Like he’s afraid I’ll try to bolt. Like he knows he screwed up but isn’t sure exactly how much or if I have the ovaries to finally leave him.
If I wasn’t so terrified he’d track me down—or worse—I would.
Wouldn’t I?
Maybe I am a coward.
Tucking my chin to my chest, I pick up my pace. My body feels like it’s been injected with carbonation. Like I’m fizzing and shaken and could burst at any second as I round the corner to the next hall, and my heels dig into the cement floor.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Drake growls.
“I was looking for you.”
“Don’t give me that shit,” he spits. “I told you to wait by the men’s locker room.”
“I thought I was.” I peek behind me, then look back at Drake. “I’ve never been to this rink. I got turned around a?—”
His biting grasp on my bicep cuts my words off as I choke on my whimper.
“Fuck.” He lets me go as if I’ve burned him. “Baby, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” It isn’t, but I don’t know what else to say. I rub away the residual ache from his angry grasp, unsure what to do or where to go.
“It’s just…” Slowly, he lifts his hand and cups my cheek, letting his thumb slip beneath my sunglasses as he carefully caresses the bruise he knows is hidden there. “After the other day, I was worried you left.”
The other day.
As in, when he knocked me on my ass with a solid right hook.
Refusing to flinch from his touch, I murmur, “I promised I wouldn’t go anywhere, remember?”
He nods. “That’s my girl. ”
His girl.
My stomach twists.
“Hey, you okay?” someone demands from behind me.
Shit.
“Raine, you okay?” Everett prods.
Whatever compliance I managed to siphon from Drake dissipates as he drops his hand. “You know him?” His voice is deathly cold, leaving a chill on my skin.
Ignoring Everett, my eyes plead with Drake, though I doubt he notices, thanks to my sunglasses. “Drake?—”
“Raine,” Everett interrupts. “Are. You. Okay?”
Bringing us nose to nose, Drake ignores Everett and grits out, “He knows you .” The darkness in his eyes burns a hole in the pit of my stomach until he stands up straight, as if only now remembering his white knight act we both know is a lie.
But the lie isn’t for me.
It’s for Everett.
And it makes me hate Drake even more.
I don’t know Everett. Not personally, anyway. I’ve seen him once or twice when Drake’s team played LAU, but otherwise, I don’t know anything about him. To say I was freaking flabbergasted when Reeves disappeared into the locker room only to drag his replacement out? His shirtless replacement? Well, let’s just say my libido’s been on the fritz for a while now, yet all it took was ten seconds in Everett’s vicinity to know the girl’s still alive and well, no thanks to my boyfriend.
Hooking his arm over my shoulder, Drake asks, “So, how long have you known my girlfriend?”
“He doesn’t,” I start.
“About three months,” Everett lies.
“Three months?” Drake repeats thoughtfully. He bends down, moving into my line of sight again. “You hear that, Raine? Three months. ”
“He’s lying,” I argue. “We met a few minutes ago. I was looking for the men’s locker room, ran into him, and asked for directions.”
“Just met, huh?” Lifting his head again, he turns to Everett. “You lyin’, man?”
Everett shakes his head. “What’s there to lie about?”
Drake’s full lips flatten as he studies Everett. I wonder if he notices how attractive the guy is. If he can practically taste Everett’s pheromones the way I can. The way every girl in the vicinity could if they were in my position. If they were a few feet away from a hockey god like Everett. Yeah. I might not have met Everett until today, but I’ve heard plenty, thanks to Drake’s late-night ramblings. Drake is competitive with everyone. People with actual talent? Drake’s a goner. I have no doubt if I did wind up dating someone like Everett and Drake found out, he’d be… I don’t even want to know.
It’s strange, though. Seeing them side by side. Where Drake is all brawn, Everett’s more toned. Leaner, maybe. His legs are longer, too, even though they’re matched for height, making Drake look almost imbalanced with how long his torso is. Regardless, it only makes their staredown more tangible. More intimidating. Where Drake’s hair is cropped short in a buzz, Everett’s is longer on the sides. More black, less brown. Straighter, too. Everett’s jaw is sharper, his nose less crooked. I’ve never minded Drake’s nose. It’s been broken so many times I used to find it charming. The thought is laughable now. Or it would be if I wasn’t so worried a fight’s about to break out.
The question is, does Drake believe me or Everett? Does he really think I’d sneak around behind his back? Especially for three months? Before he hit me, I’d say no. Not a chance. Since then? Well, things have been precarious at best.
As if Drake can read my mind, his focus snaps to me, then back to Everett. “Look, here’s the truth. I’m in a bad mood after today’s game, you know? After those bullshit calls, and?—”
Everett’s scoff cuts him off.
Drake moves closer to Everett, and my adrenaline spikes.
Way to piss off the bull, Everett.
I know this side of Drake. The hotheaded side. The let’s-go-out-back-and-sort-this-shit-out-like-men side. The macho-man, pound-your-fists-against-your-chest side. The short fuse side. Granted, Drake’s always had a short fuse, but after a loss like tonight? Let’s just say I know he’s already close to the edge. All he needs is a little push, and I really don’t want Everett to be the one to tip him over.
“Drake, let’s go home,” I offer.
He lifts his hand behind his back, showing me his palm and warning me to stay out of this, but doesn’t bother facing me. Instead, his entire focus is on Everett and only Everett. “You think you won fair and square?”
“I think the refs did their job to make it a fair game, yeah.”
“And I think you should stay the fuck away from my girl.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to be your girl anymore,” Everett argues.
Shit.
Read the room, you idiot!
A knot forms in my stomach, and my breathing grows shallow because Everett has no idea what he just said or how badly I might pay the consequences for it. If he honestly thinks he’s helping me right now, he’s even more dense than I thought. It confirms my decision to leave him out of this. If only he’d take the hint.
Nostrils flaring, Drake steps even closer, crowding Everett in the nearly empty hallway. “And maybe you have no fuckin’ clue what you’re talking about.”
“And maybe you should back the hell up and remember where you are,” Everett snaps, refusing to back down or cower under Drake’s scrutiny. It’s impressive. Or it would be if I wasn’t so scared right now.
The testosterone floating in the air burns my throat as I breathe it in, my eyes darting from Drake to Everett and back again. They’re nose to nose. Chest to chest. Everett has a little less weight than Drake, but it’s close. Really close. If I didn’t personally know the power behind Drake’s punch, I’d think there was a chance for Everett to walk away the victor, but I’m not stupid. Drake isn’t afraid to fight dirty. He isn’t afraid of anything. Anything except me abandoning him.
I should get someone. One of Everett’s teammates, maybe? I don’t really know, but standing here with my hands at my sides makes me feel helpless. Useless.
A door opens at the end of the hall. The hinges creak, and the heavy metal slams against cinderblock, followed by loud laughter. It’s Everett’s teammates. They’re coming this way.
Drake tilts his head, registering the footsteps growing closer as he continues glaring at Everett.
What are you going to do, Drake? I want to ask but keep my mouth shut. This is LAU’s stomping ground. Not Drake’s. Not mine. And if things go south, I have no doubt Everett’s teammates will happily jump in to defend their center. Drake has to know this.
Doesn’t he?
“See you around, dipshit,” Drake finally growls. He steps back and pins me with his stare. “Raine. I’ll see you at home. Right?”
I nod, too stunned to speak.
Satisfied, he leaves, taking the last of the oxygen with him as I rest my back against the wall and watch him go.
When the exit door slams closed, letting us know we’re finally alone, I breathe in deep, only for it to catch in my throat as a lineup of LAU players round the corner .
“Hey, man,” one of them greets Everett. “You comin’ to SeaBird?”
“I’ll meet you there,” Everett offers.
His friends spot me, and one of them grins. “Oh. Hey.”
“Hi,” I mumble.
The guy turns to Everett but tilts his head toward me. “Who’s this?”
“I’m no one,” I interject.
With a slight smirk, he turns back to me. “Hello, No One . I’m Griffin.” He offers me his hand. “Griffin Thorne. Nice to meet you.”
Griffin Thorne. I’d recognize the name anywhere. The guy’s practically hockey royalty, thanks to his dad, Colt Thorne. The infamous player holds multiple records during his time in the NHL, and if ESPN is correct, Griffin’s right on track to follow in his dad’s footsteps.
Drake hates the guy. Well, technically, he hates most of LAU’s lineup, including Everett and Reeves, but Griffin didn’t go unscathed during Drake’s constant rants, either. Something about his dad playing with Griffin’s dad in college and screwing up his career in the NHL, but what do I know? Yet, here’s Griffin. Being nothing but a gentleman.
Everett frowns as I take his friend’s hand and shake it once. “Nice to meet you, too.”
“Wanna come to SeaBird with us?” Griffin prods.
I’d laugh if the offer wasn’t so ludicrous. Drake would kill me if I was seen hanging out with the enemy. Well, enemies . And since I’m already on thin ice, I think I’ll pass.
“Can’t,” I give him a one-shouldered shrug. “Sorry.”
“No worries. Maybe next time.” He lifts his chin at Everett once more. “See you there.” He tucks his hands into his front pockets and moseys out the door while the rest of his entourage follow behind.
Once we’re alone again, I fold my arms and keep my chin tucked as I head toward the exit, anxious to get the hell out of here.
“Wait,” Everett calls.
My feet stop moving as if they have a mind of their own, and I hate it. With a deep breath, I face Everett again. “What do you want?”
“Are you okay?”
A pathetic laugh escapes me as I stare up at the ceiling. “Why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Why did you lie to him?”
Him.
I can’t even say my boyfriend’s name without feeling nauseated. What does that say about me?
With a sigh, Everett says, “If we’re gonna be fake dating?—”
My choked laugh interrupts him. “We’re not faking anything.”
“You’re the one who approached me, remember?”
“No, I approached Reeves out of stupid curiosity. I turned you down,” I clarify. “Why did you tell him we’ve known each other for three months? Do you have any idea how pissed he is now?”
“I was trying to help!”
“How?” I snap. “By making it look like I was sneaking around behind his back?” My laugh is maniacal at best as I shove my hair away from my face and start toward the exit.
He blocks my path. “I was trying to build a foundation for our fake relationship.”
“There is no fake relationship!”
I swear I can taste his exasperation as he scrubs his hand over his face. “Take the sunglasses off, Raine.”
“Once was enough, thanks.”
“You need me,” he pushes .
“I don’t need anyone.”
“Your black eye says otherwise.”
I shake my head and step toward the exit again before he grabs my arm, stopping my retreat. But it isn’t rough. It’s surprisingly gentle. I haven’t been touched gently in a long time. It’s weird and strange and kind of makes me want to cry as I stare at his long fingers engulfing my wrist.
“Do you really live with him?” he murmurs.
“What?”
“He said, ‘I’ll see you at home,’” Everett reminds me. “Do you really live with him?”
My eyelids close, and I give him a single nod.
“Fuck, Raine,” he rasps. It’s quiet. Defeated, almost. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“You aren’t supposed to do anything.”
“Guess I can’t help myself.” He lets me go and runs his hand over his dark, straight hair. “Tell me what I can do.”
Isn’t that the million-dollar question? I wish I had the answer. One to erase my relationship with Drake altogether so I wouldn’t have to deal with the inevitable fallout. And trust me, I tried. To end the relationship without a fallout. And look where it got me. A black eye. A tracking app. And a threat the size of Texas if I ever try to leave Drake again.
Wetting my bottom lip, I fold my arms and rock back on my heels. “You can forget you ever met me.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Yeah, well, you seem like a pretty”—I scan him up and down, my focus landing for a beat too long on his bare chest, and I step back to put space between us—“ savvy guy. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”