Chapter 6
FINLEY
There isn’t an inch of my body that isn’t sore. Every time I move my leggings pull at the scabs on my thighs. Last time I used the bathroom, I had to peel the fabric off, leaving every lash as raw as when I received them.
Adjusting the sleeves of my hoodie on my wrists, I watch Elijah do the same to the sleeves of Jayden’s spare suit jacket. He looks so grown up and put together.
Even though he’s a couple inches shorter than Jayden, their brawn is about the same, so the suit fits like a glove.
“Ready?” He asks, walking to the suite door and opening it for me.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I step out into the hallway with his hand coaxing me at the small of my back and we head for the elevator. “Maybe I should stay here.”
“You can, but I don’t want you out of my sight, Fin.” Pausing in front of the brass doors, he pins me with an unwavering expression.
He’s as on edge as I am.
It feels like we’re on borrowed time. As though any second, I’m going to be ripped away from him.
I step closer to Elijah at the thought, only for him to inch backwards towards the lift when the doors ping open.
“Come on,” he says, gesturing for me to follow him. “I have a surprise for you.”
A surprise? I’m more than done with those. I can’t think of the last time anything good ever came from one.
“You’re gonna love it. Promise,” Elijah coaxes.
I’ve always trusted him; so, if he says I’m going to love what he has in store for me, I know I will.
When I follow him into the elevator, he shows me his phone with the map of the Fury’s arena on the screen.
“I’ll be in there with the press,” he says, zooming into the press box before he zooms into the other side of the arena. “You’ll be here with some of the other guys’ families. I promise you’ll be safe, and you won’t be on your own.”
I listen to him intently as he tells me all the ways I can get to him if I need to.
“If you want, you can wave to me,” Elijah whispers, lifting his gaze to mine before he adds, “I’ll wave back.”
A deep flush percolates over his cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears, as I take in the sudden streak of lightness in his demeanor. I can’t stop myself from getting lost to it.
Everything about him is grown… manly and beautiful.
“I was joking,” Elijah murmurs, shaking his head down at floor. “You don’t have to wave at me. It’s kind of dark in the press box anyway, so you probably won’t see me. Plus, the game is more interesting.”
Before I can tell him otherwise, the doors open and he ushers me out.
Hand in hand, he brings me to his side as we move towards the lobby. His hold on me is tight and strong. My belly swoops with every grate of his calloused touch when his thumb strokes the back of my hand.
It’s just like when we were teenagers, hiding out in the woods or walking around my grandparents’ farm.
Gosh, I’ve missed this more than I knew I did. And I don't ever want him to let go. Ever.
“Fin,” he croons, using our joint hands to lift my face to his as he comes to a slow stop as we round the corner from the elevator bank.
A lazy grin tugs at one side of his mouth, and when he opens it, a shrill squeal cuts him off.
“Oh my God!” I don’t get the chance to look up before I’m being yanked away from Elijah. “God, it’s been so long.”
I’m paralyzed by the onslaught of emotion fisting my chest. That uncontrollable burning that makes it impossible to breathe, to speak.
“Let me look at you!” I’m motionless when Christina pulls back. Blue eyes welled and wide as her hands squeeze down my arms to my hands.
I don’t care about the pain. It’s nothing compared to the joy overtaking me.
“No. No… Don’t do that. You can’t fucking cry, Amish, it’ll set me off.”
Too late. Tears are rolling down her freckled cheeks like they’re burning down mine as I laugh at her ridiculous endearment for me. She’s used it since we met at college even though she knows I’m not Amish.
“It’s been too fucking long,” she snorts, gripping my hands tighter and pulling me into her again.
Her personality is so big that I’d forgotten how tiny she is until now that her face is buried in my chest while she hugs me.
“Holy shit, I’ve missed you so much, Fin-bug.” When she looks up at me, her grin is still quivering, and her strawberry blonde hair is stuck to her face. “Fuck, he really did get you out of there. Finally,” she growls excitedly, peering up at Elijah.
A pressed smile tugs when I turn to find him watching us.
“Good job, Blondie.”
I throw myself at him, knowing he’ll catch me like always.
His arms go around me, holding me to his chest while Christina strokes my hair.
“I have to go,” he whispers into my ear, hugging me harder before he pulls away. “An Uber will pick you up in ten and take you to the arena. Christina knows where to go and what to do when you arrive. I’ll come and get you after the game.”
As I nod, he wraps a navy and purple scarf around my neck and whispers, “I’ll be watching you.”
“Jesus Christ, stop it…” Christina hedges between us as a cacophony of voices rumbles somewhere behind Elijah. “Go on, Blondie… Shoo, go do your thing.”
When he starts walking backwards, towards the team filing out of the hotel, Christina links her arm with mine.
“I forgive you,” she calls, earning herself an eye roll from Elijah.
“Behave,” is all he mouths as he turns around and joins the group of players watching him. The same faces from the restaurant when we arrived… and Jayden.
He looks as sharp as Elijah, but even from a distance, there’s a joviality that exudes from him as he waves at me. Warmth bubbles in my chest, fizzing in my lungs when his focus moves to Elijah and he greets him with a secret handshake.
Although he can’t travel with the team, Elijah has a car waiting to drive him to the ice plex behind the team bus. I watch them disappear, leaving a relentless pull in my chest in their wake.
Normally, Christina gives me a rundown of the games in real time over text, sometimes calling me if things get exciting—even though she’s never cared about sports a day in her life.
But tonight, she’s on her feet like every other screaming fan in the arena, yelling at the ice as though she’s lived and breathed this game forever. The din of thousands of voices ricochets through the rafters, mixing with the blare of the horn and the relentless pound of the music between plays.
“This is why I can’t watch sports,” she mutters through gritted teeth, not taking her eyes off the rink while Elijah, across the arena in the press box, freezes mid-pace.
His tall frame is glued to the glass like he’s ready to shatter through it and join the chaos on the ice. Even from this distance, I can tell by the tight set of his shoulders that he’s holding his breath, willing the Comets to change the game by sheer force of will.
“Shit. Shit… shit… Come on!” Christina stomps beside me, her sneakers squealing against the concrete as her hands grip the seat in front of us like she’s hanging off a cliff. “Get it in!”
The Fury are up two-to-one, and the whole atmosphere crackles with frayed nerves and bad tempers. Gritty hits slam into the boards hard enough that I feel each one echo through my bones.
“Pass the damn puck!” Christina’s on tiptoes now, hands half-covering her face like she can’t decide whether she wants to see or not.
Her constant commentary has been the only thing keeping me grounded since Elijah left us at the hotel.
But as the play surges end to end, my nerves coil tighter and tighter.
Every time a player blurs too close to our seating block, I expect it—that hand clamping down on my arm, the sharp jerk back toward Havenview, toward the Elders, toward all the dark places I barely escaped. But no one comes. No one touches me.
My gaze cuts to the press box again.
Elijah hasn’t moved.
Even from here, I can feel his tension winding through the air, matching mine beat for beat.
The jumbotron flashes to a close-up as the Comets make a desperate rush toward the Fury’s net. Number seventy-four cuts across the screen, and my breath catches sharp in my throat.
Jayden.
The crowd surges to its feet, the swell of voices crashing together—
And then it happens.
Bam.
The crack of impact silences everything.
My head snaps between the ice and the jumbotron as Christina slaps a hand over her mouth. “Fuck, that’s a lot of blood.”
Too much blood.
Jayden’s on his hands and knees, crimson blooming beneath him on the white ice while two Comets players try to get him upright. He can’t find his balance, limbs shaking like a baby deer’s. The hush rolling through the arena swells with every failed attempt to get him standing.
The medics rush out, skates carving deep lines in the ice as the ref waves them through. A stretcher follows close behind.
Oh God.
My chest caves as the players pull back to give the medics room. Only the Comets goalie lingers close enough to hear what they’re saying, crouched low, nodding fast, his glove tapping his stick against the ice like he’s praying.
Slow applause starts somewhere behind us as the medics finally get Jayden onto the stretcher, his head lolling, his arm twitching weakly in acknowledgment of the crowd before they wheel him off the ice. The cheers rise like a tidal wave, but all I can hear is the pounding of my own heart.
The patch of blood by the Fury’s goal glistens under the rink lights.
My throat swells tight. Too tight.
It looks just like the Table of Sorrow back home.
My blood on the ironwood slab. My wrists tied so tight the rope burned through skin. The Muzzle of Grace biting into my mouth until my own breath scalded my lips. Verse after verse carved into the wood beneath my body while Evelyn Sylkes whispered prayers over every lash.
Bleed your sin, Finley-James. Bleed until He forgives you.
“You okay, babe?” Christina whispers, barely audible over the noise.
Yes.
No.
The lashes on my thighs burn and itch, fire racing along my nerves like it’s happening all over again.
“I-I need the bathroom,” I manage, shoving past knees, stumbling into the aisle as the cheers start to fade behind me.
My pulse hammers up the back of my skull by the time I reach the concourse, the crowd blurring into faceless shapes as I shove through toward the restroom signs.
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead when I push into the bathroom, metal stall doors swinging on weak hinges as I stagger into one and drop the bolt. My knees nearly give out as I brace my hands on the wall, breathing hard, too hard, the pounding in my ears drowning everything else out.
I barely make it before the nausea wins.
It takes forever to get myself under control, palms flat against the cool metal divider as my breathing finally evens out. My whole body hurts—shoulders, thighs, the rope-burned skin at my wrists, my throat where Presley’s grip left its mark. I feel flayed open, inside and out, every nerve raw.
“There’s only eight or nine minutes left of the game if you want to hang out in here.” Christina’s voice floats in from the doorway.
I shake my head even though she can’t see me, flushing the toilet and forcing my hands steady under the cold tap. I’m safe. I’m with Elijah. This isn’t Havenview. Nobody here can hurt me.
“These games are fucking brutal,” Christina mutters as I splash water over my face.
“Do you think Jayden’s going to be okay? There was so much blood…” My voice trembles despite my best effort. “And he was nice to me. He didn’t have to be.”
“I’m sure he’s going to be fine. These guys are built like tanks.” She leans against the counter, arms crossed, still watching me like she’s waiting for me to break again.
The heaviness won’t leave my shoulders. It drags at my muscles as I force myself upright, wiping my face with a rough paper towel. “We should get back.”
“Swear to God, I don’t know how anyone does this to themselves for shits and giggles.
My blood pressure is through the fucking roof.
Like, no. No, thank you. Never again.” She rolls her eyes so hard I can practically hear it, then runs her fingers through my hair, smoothing it back into a messy knot.
“Next time Loverboy asks me to come to a game, I’m demanding emotional compensation. ”
“Don’t even. You were the loudest out there.”
Christina smirks at me in the mirror. “Did you even know what you were saying?”
“Fuck no. The words were coming, and I wasn’t about to stop them. Please, I might have actually died.” She throws herself backward dramatically against the counter. “Besides, did you hear the trash talk the kids were spouting? Made me blush.”
“I doubt that,” I mutter, fighting a smile.
Christina wiggles her brows, grinning wickedly, and I lose it—laughter ripping straight from my chest before I can stop it. It burns through the anxiety, through the heaviness, leaving me a little lighter, a little less like I’m about to shatter.
“That’s better,” she says softly, eyes bright with unshed tears. “Now, let’s get out of here before I start bawling again.”
Her hand finds mine as we leave the bathroom, her grip warm and sure.
And for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe I’m safe.