Chapter 5
LAINEY
PRESENT
His hand covers my mouth as my lungs burn for relief, the sharp edge of his blade digging into the side of my neck. It breaks the skin, slicing into me, and wet warmth trickles down my collarbone.
Fight! Fight, Lainey! Fight!
My heart sinks to the floor as my body fails me—my arms, my legs, my voice all shutting down. Tears burn my face as pain erupts in my core, every second worse than the last.
Just kill me. Just kill me. Please. Make it stop.
My lungs catch fire as I force air into my nose, contemplating holding my breath to make myself pass out. I should kick him, punch him, do anything but stay still.
As hard as I urge my limbs to move, nothing happens.
“You’re so beautiful,” his dark, twisted voice pants into my ear, his words like knives dragging down my back.
How has no one walked by? How has no one heard my mental cries? How is this happening?
Why?
Why me?
Pain lights up in my throat as the blade draws deeper into my skin.
I’m going to die here. At the hand of a man who decides my fate because I’m too weak to fight back. This will be my legacy. The girl found in an alley who bled out after being assaulted. That’s what my life will be summed up as—what happened to me, not who I am.
His moans claw beneath my skin, burning into my mind, and I know if I survive by some miracle, his sounds will haunt me for the rest of my life.
An alarm rings around us, thumping in rhythm to his assault, and for a brief second, I feel as if I’m floating.
No agony. No sensations. Nothing.
In the next gasp of air, reality slams into me, and my eyes fly open, my gaze locking on to the ceiling above me. It takes me a moment to process that it’s not the dark night sky above me anymore and I’m not in that alley. I’m in my bedroom.
It was a nightmare … but not one conjured from my imagination. It was a flashback to that fateful day last year. With every breath, my body relaxes more and more, my left hand loosening from its tight grip in the sheets, my right hand’s grasp softening on my throat.
My thumb strokes the thick, jagged scar along the side of my neck—the visible mark he left behind. He might not have let many physical scars, but there are plenty that no one can see.
After a moment, my mind settles, and the sound of my alarm fills my ears, flooding out my thoughts. I roll over and grab my phone, silencing the blaring noise.
Eagerness quickly fills me as I check my email—the same thing I’ve done every second of the day since my job interview last week.
All of my hard work through high school and college is so close to fruition, and I’m desperate for the moment to finally happen …
even if it will throw some tension into my relationship.
My boyfriend, Cole Wilder, plays for the Vegas Venom. Of course he wants me to work closer than all the way in New York, but none of the nearby pro teams are hiring, and this has always been my dream.
I grew up playing hockey with my brother, Luca Bradford, and our best friends, Carly and Jensen.
My skills weren’t nearly at the same level, not because they couldn’t be, but I found my passions and dedication guiding me elsewhere.
They spent every waking minute on the ice, and I spent mine studying, nose deep in books.
For most of my life, I knew that I wanted to be a sports therapist for a pro hockey team—ideally my brother’s, as we’ve been close our entire lives.
But working for his team isn’t an option because they’re fully staffed, and that’s not looking to change anytime soon. In the meantime, I’m just looking to get my foot in the door, and I’m going to do it when I land this job with the New York Nighthawks.
My emails are empty yet again this morning, aside from the spam emails that harass everyone. Disappointment floods me instantly.
I want this job—no, I need this job. It’s everything I’ve always wanted, regardless if there’s a certain someone on that team I’m desperate to avoid. But we’re adults now. There’s no reason we can’t be professional toward one another.
The bedroom door swings open, and Cole stops in the frame, annoyance on his face.
“Finally, you’re up. I need your help.” He doesn’t even give me a chance to get a word out before he continues, “My calf has been burning all morning since skate. I need you to massage it so I’m good for the game tonight.”
Sitting up, I stretch my arms above my head and gesture to the bed. Cole rubs his hands together with a smile as he strides over and stretches across the bottom of the comforter on his stomach.
Cole and I have been together for six years. We met back in college when I was a sophomore and he was a junior. But instead of finishing his college career, he joined the professional league early, and I followed with him, changing from campus classes to online.
As I work the muscles out in his leg, guilt settles into my chest. If I get this job, then I’m leaving everything we’ve built behind, putting our life on pause. I’m torn between sacrificing my career for love or potentially sacrificing love for my career.
I do love him, and I know where his frustration is coming from. I’d be annoyed, too, if he moved across the country for a job. Well … he did, and I followed him for that. But it’s not his fault that he can’t follow me.
I just hope that we can get through this one way or another. It’s going to be tough for sure, but we’ve made it this far. We can do this. We can visit each other during game breaks and holidays. When there’s a will, there’s a way.
“Why are you so quiet?” he murmurs as I work his calf muscles out.
“Bad dream.” I sigh.
“I’m sorry, babe.” He pauses for a second before changing the subject. “Haven’t heard anything from New York?”
He pushes himself up and slides backward off the bed, apparently satisfied with his massage.
“Not yet.” I avoid his eye contact, not wanting to see the disappointment in his gaze.
His phone chimes, and he mutters something under his breath that I can’t make out. “Shit, babe. I’ve got to go. I’m sorry.”
My phone rings loudly through the room, the conversation between Cole and me halting. My heart jumps into my throat as I reach over and grab it, spotting an area code from New York.
Oh God, this is it.
“Answer it, Lain!” Cole aggressively whispers, as if the caller can already hear us.
My heart hammers in my chest.
This is the call I’ve been waiting for. It’s going to change everything, one way or another.
Swiping the screen, I answer, “Hello, this is Lainey.”
“Hi, Lainey. This is Avery Peterson with the Nighthawks. Do you have a second to speak with me?”
My gaze locks with Cole, and he mouths, Put it on speaker.
“Yes, of course,” I reply as I switch to speakerphone.
“Wonderful. Well, I am calling because we would love to officially make you an offer for the job.”
I suck in a breath, ready to accept, but then I see Cole’s face fall and shoulders slump. Without another word, he spins on his heel and storms away.
Anxiety tightens my chest as I hear him descend the stairs and leave, slamming the door behind him hard enough to rattle the house.
We knew this day was coming, and it would be hard to accept, but he’s always told me to chase my dreams. He encouraged me to apply for the Nighthawks, for any team hiring. He can’t change his mind right now because I‘m actually doing it. It’s too late.
I’ve followed him across the country multiple times when he’s been traded to different teams. We picked up our lives and did it without question. He says he supports me and understands, but he sure as hell doesn’t do a good job showing that.
I didn’t get angry when he asked if I would switch to virtual school—a decision that actually made my life a thousand times harder since I learned better in a classroom. But I didn’t ever consider rage quitting and storming out. I adapted and became a better student.
I bit the bullet and finished my undergrad and doctorate on my laptop, aside from the mandatory clinical hours that I clocked at the local university.
I haven’t spent nearly eight years in school to throw it away. For the first time in my life, I’m going to be selfish and take what I want.
“Lainey, are you there?” Avery asks, and I force my rambling thoughts away.
This is for me. It’s been far too long since I made a decision with that at the forefront of my mind.
“Hi. Yes. Thank you so much!” I swallow. “I would be honored to work with you guys. I, of course, accept the offer.”
I don’t know if Cole and I will survive this, but I know I’ll fight every step of the way to make us work.
He deserves to live his dream as much as I do—maybe even more after the hardships he’s faced.
I just want him to be happy, and I hate that pursuing my passions brings him any level of anger or sadness.
Cole and I will be just fine—I know it. We’ve faced tribulations before and prevailed every time.
This will be no different, right?
The beeping sound of our front door keypad refuels the rage that has been bubbling up inside of me over the last few hours.
Cole said he’d be home after a drink with the guys after the game, but now it’s three a.m. He ignored my calls and texts for hours and is now stumbling through our front door, drunk off his ass.
“What’re you doing up?” he slurs with annoyance as he shuts and locks the door behind him. “It’s late.”
Standing up from the couch, I cross my arms. “Yeah, I know it’s late, Cole. I’ve been waiting for you for hours. Where have you been?”
I’m usually a very relaxed partner, but since I told him I’m applying for the Nighthawks job, he’s been pulling away more and more.
Some days are better than others. Sometimes, he shows up with flowers and can’t get enough of me, and other days, it’s like my mere existence annoys him.
After he stormed out earlier, the only communication we’ve had is a text from him, saying that he is going to get a drink and will be home before midnight.
This is just a rough patch, I know. But that doesn’t make it hurt any damn less.
He rolls his eyes and obnoxiously drops his phone and keys on the kitchen island. “I was out with the guys, celebrating our win. You’d know that if you’d been there.”
His comment cuts into my chest. He’d known for days that I wasn’t going tonight. He said it was fine. Clearly, he was lying.
“I watched it on the TV.” God, it can be discombobulating, arguing with Cole because he’s so good at smoothly avoiding it. I redirect the conversation to the topic I really want to talk about. “I tried calling and texting a ton afterward.”
“Yeah, my phone died.” Lie. The texts were all showing as delivered, and the calls rang through to voicemail.
“Look, I’m home now. Why do you want to fight?
” His glossy eyes turn hungry, his lips tipping into a smirk.
“Come on. Don’t do this right now. We only have so many days left together before you abandon me. ”
Cole’s words are daggers, and my eyes burn in response. “I’m not leaving you, baby—you know that. I love you. ”
Then why are you treating me like this?” Rounding the corner of the entryway, he saunters over to me with a dramatic pout on his lips. “Let’s just skip the fight and get to the part where we make up.”
His hands wrap around my hips, trailing up higher and hiking my shirt up as his fingers encircle my torso.
Stroking my sides, he murmurs, “I know you don’t want to fight.”
Guilt claws at my throat. I mean, he’s right. Maybe this was a bad time to bring it up. He deserves to celebrate a win, and I am the one leaving. I should be cherishing our time left together, not dreading the little things.
“I’m sorry.” I sigh, exhaling a heavy breath. “You’re right.”
His fingers move higher. “You’re sorry, huh?” He bites down on his bottom lip. “How about you show me how sorry you are, Lain?”
He flirts with me, and my mind instantly snaps into an acting mode. I might not feel sexual drive the same way I once did, but I’ve trained my body to adjust like I did with school. I’m a chameleon, adapting how I need to in order to survive.
Cole guides me to my knees, and my consciousness fades to the background, my body moving purely from muscle memory from the countless times we’ve hooked up before.
I don’t want Cole to know how truly fucked up I am, how I disappear inside of my mind every time we fool around and have sex. It’s not fair to him. When we first got together, I was insatiable, but after the attack, I became an entirely different person.
I don’t crave anyone’s touch, especially not at my core.
But after forcing myself through it a few times, I found this pocket in my mind that wrapped me up like a warm hug while my body acted out his desires.
I know it’s not right, but I think that’s the only way I can do it now.
It’s the only thing that works to keep both of us happy.
Seconds or minutes pass by, and I slowly crawl out of my cozy cave, realizing I’m now on my back on the couch, my legs open and floating in the air.
My center is sore, and I can feel that he finished in me as he pushes off the sofa and strides into the kitchen, butt-ass naked. Good thing I’m regimented with my birth control.
He returns a second later with a paper towel and tosses it at me to get cleaned up. “Come on, babe. Let’s go to bed. I’m exhausted.”
After cleaning myself up, I stroll upstairs, change into pajamas, and crawl into bed beside Cole, who is already passed out and snoring. Something rolls down my cheek, and I wipe it away, having already anticipated its arrival.
I don’t think I’m sad. I think that’s just my body’s response to sex after what happened to me. This is just my new normal. I think everyone who’s been what I’ve been through experiences this.
A haunting sensation sweeps through me as a question flutters into my mind.
What if it’s not normal?
I fight the worrying question away, refusing to let it have another moment in the spotlight. No. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.