Chapter 34 Erin
Me: Hey Brax. I’m in California watching Chase’s away game. We’re heading back to Huxley Bay after. I want to tell him about The Octopus tomorrow, and I was wondering if you can be there when we talk?
My thumb hovers over the screen for a second before I hit send, like the message itself might crack open everything I’ve been trying to keep together.
Send.
Whoosh.
Message delivered.
I pocket my phone feeling a small weight lift.
It’s been a couple weeks since Clarissa Rose arrived in Huxley Bay and seven days since the opening of the Secret Roses Hotel.
Every time we drive past it, a chill crawls up my spine. I swear the building has eyes and is watching me.
Lately, I can’t stop thinking about the night my dad died. The memory hits like a fresh wound—shattered flashes that are bright and disjointed, his body on the floor, my mother’s words cutting through the room.
I love him.
You should have known better.
I never wanted this to happen, but you left me no choice. You ruined everything.
The house had smelled of smoke. I can still taste it on my tongue.
Who did she love? Did my dad know the man? If she loved another man, why did she marry my father and have a child with him?
Why stay?
My nails dig into my palms, and my head spins. The roar of the crowd is quiet compared to my own thoughts.
Aside from my father, the only other man I ever saw around my mother was the man from the hotel, and I never got a look at his face. Was he the person my mother was referring to?
If so…who the hell is he?
Brax is still digging into why Clarissa Rose is here. I haven’t heard from him in a while, and it gnaws at me. The unease that comes from his silence tells me he’s keeping secrets, but I can’t help but think it’s for the right reasons.
I haven’t plucked up the courage to talk to Bella yet either, despite encouragement from Chase and Griff. And then there’s The Octopus situation. I still have no clue why he came for me that night.
I shove my thoughts into a box and rise to my feet. The roar of the crowd claws at my ears, and for a moment, I allow myself to breathe in the lights and cheer—a thrilling kind of chaos as The Flying Tornadoes make their way onto California’s ice.
The atmosphere is electric. Cold air rolls off the rink and chills my cheeks, grounding me for the briefest moment.
My first in-person away game has my body humming with every hand that slams against the plexiglass.
“Hey, you okay?” Valerie says, leaning closer.
“Yeah.” I grin, eyes wide. “Just… Wow.”
She laughs. “Yeah. It’s a different kind of wild.”
The puck drops.
We win the face-off.
Madness flares.
Skates cut the ice, sticks clash, bodies slam into the boards, and I’m on my feet for every second of it, my lungs burning with every cheer.
Chase moves with power and precision, weaving through the players like he knows the play before it even happens.
Oliver slams the puck into the back of the net.
California fans boo, but there are a few Tornadoes scattered throughout the stadium, Valerie and I included.
I bite my nails, barely breathing when a player rushes Chase. I don’t know whether to wince or cheer when Chase flicks the puck with ease into the net, setting off the buzzer, only to be torpedoed before he can celebrate with his team.
Another goal. Another slam.
My stomach flips, and my hands fly to my mouth as Logan’s shoved into the boards. The crunch makes me flinch. He doesn’t cry out, but I cover my eyes, still hearing the thud of his body against the rink.
California scores twice after that.
I groan into my hands, wanting to yell out my annoyance but decide it’s best I avoid death glares from the fans decked out in red and black around me.
“Dirty cheats,” I hiss under my breath when California gets a hooking penalty. Valerie chuckles beside me.
Griff flies down the ice on a breakaway. He scores, then he’s slammed into the boards. He skates off, grimacing. California receives a major penalty for roughing, and Griff doesn’t come back.
“Thirty seconds left,” Valerie says. And it’s the longest thirty seconds of my life. We score and the boys collide into each other.
WE WON!
Valerie throws herself at me, shaking me as we jump. “Come on, let’s go meet the guys,” she shouts over the crowd. I laugh, still trying to catch my breath.
Then my phone buzzes. And the world tilts, the noise of the arena muffling like someone shoved my head underwater.
Unknown Number: Poor little Griffy. Always getting hurt.
Only one person called him that.
Roger.
Panic floods through my veins. When I look up, Valerie is gone. I shove through the crowd, scanning for signs as I run until I spot the medical wing.
Empty.
Another buzz.
Unknown Number: Lucy Goosey. You’re always letting your big brother get hurt.
It’s him.
I call Chase. No answer.
Griff. Nothing.
I leave Griff a voicemail. Logic screams at me to wait. The game just ended, and they’re probably still on the ice or heading to the locker rooms. They wouldn’t get my message just yet, but fear takes over when a third text lands on my lock screen.
Unknown Number: Hunter’s Pavilion. Come alone or he’s dead.
That’s all it takes.
I follow the exit signs until I’m out of the stadium and wave frantically for a cab. I shout the address over the roar of passing traffic and pedestrians. The driver grunts and pulls away from the curb.
My hands dig into the seat at every red light. My knee bounces uncontrollably. I can’t stop thinking of different scenarios, each one worse than the last.
Does Roger have my brother? If so, how did he get Griff out of the stadium? He was hurt and left the ice, but the game didn’t last much longer. How did he know Griff would get hurt? Did he plan it?
Thought after thought consumes me.
My phone buzzes again. It’s the same unknown number, and the text lists instructions. There’s no time to obey traffic signs. I will for the driver to go faster.
He doesn’t.
The cab pulls up to the curb, and I launch myself out.
At the front desk, I give the woman the details from the text. She hands me a keycard, her eyes lingering on me a second too long as if she senses I shouldn’t be here but doesn’t say a word as she gives me the floor and room number.
Eight floors.
I charge into the elevator, pressing the button four times as if that will get me there faster. The elevator hums, vibrating through my bones.
The doors ping open.
I shoot out, flying past each and every door until I find the one I need. The lock turns green from my key card, and I barrel into the room.
“Griff!”
He’s slumped in a chair. Zip tied, head down.
“Griff!”
No response.
Oh, God. Please. No.
“Gri—” His name dies on my lips as I reach the chair and find plastic skin. It’s a mannequin.
My stomach bottoms out. A hollow ache spreads through me. The room spins, and my legs go weak.
What is this?
Meaty arms wrap around my waist, yanking me back. A hand clamps over my mouth as I kick and scream. Someone drags me across the room, my heels scuffing the floor, before I’m slammed into the wall. My vision sparks at the edges, white pinpricks exploding like stars.
When my eyes find the stranger’s face, I realize right away it’s not Roger.
Click-clack. Click-clack.
My mother steps out from the shadows every bit as terrifying as I remember. Her eyes are daggers. One cut from them and she’ll poison you.
“Damn, you’re stupid,” she hums, venom dripping from her lips. “Look at how pathetic you are, running in here for the orphan boy.”
Her henchman drives his arm harder into my windpipe.
“I’ve been watching you ever since I got to town,” she says, her black vulture eyes never leaving mine. “It didn’t take me long to learn about your connection to the orphan boy.”
Realization shoots through me.
She baited me with Griff, making it seem like our abusive foster father was back and had him.
“W-What do you want?” I choke, my hands clawing at the stranger’s arm.
She taps his hand. He releases me enough to take a steadying breath.
“Tell me the truth, and I’ll let you go. It’s that simple,” she says, but I don’t believe her. “Tell me what you know.”
She must be talking about the night she killed my dad.
“I didn’t see you!” I blurt. “I was there that night, yes, but I didn’t know it was you until a few weeks ago!”
There’s a pause, and she blinks. A cackle comes next, her head thrown back as her laughter rings out in full volume.
My blood runs cold.
“I’m not talking about shooting your father, you stupid little bitch. I know you were there.”
I stare, unblinking. Hearing her admit it is worse than I imagined.
Her cold eyes burn into my skin. I want to turn and hide the way I used to when she looked at me this way, but I don’t.
“Someone’s been blackmailing me, Lucia,” she snarls. “Interesting mail came a while ago—photos,” she clarifies. “Everything points to Huxley Bay, your pathetic little town. I thought it was you who sent them, but I know you don’t have it in you to threaten me. Which can only mean one thing.”
Wait, she’s being blackmailed?
“What are you talking about?” I rasp.
“Tell the truth, Lucia,” she screeches. “Who did you talk to? Who knows?”
She steps closer, and I can smell her breath. It’s the same horrible whiskey smell from years ago. The scent alone makes my stomach twist, my body remembering things my mind tried to bury.
“Answer me, stupid girl. Who the hell did you tell?”
A flash of white pain shoots through my body when my mother’s hand reaches out and slaps me. The inside of my cheek splits, a metallic tanginess coating my tongue. I bite back a scream, nails digging into my palms until skin breaks.
A new confidence grows inside of me, one drenched in finality.
She doesn’t get to win.
“I’ve spent every day since you left trying to erase you from my mind, while at the same time, trying to understand what I did that was so horrible that you couldn’t love me.”
She rolls her eyes, already bored of me.
“I remember what you said the day you shot my father,” I continue, glaring at her. “‘I love him. You should have known better. I didn’t want to do this, but you’ve left me no choice. You ruined everything.’”
Acid burns on my tongue as I say the words out loud.
Her nostrils flare.
“Did you kill my dad because I told him about the hotel man—is that who you loved?”
She doesn’t answer, but her silence speaks her truth.
The questions I’ve been wanting the answers to spill from my lips. “If you loved that man, why didn’t you just leave with him?”
She says nothing.
“I blamed myself for Dad’s murder for years,” I admit. “Maybe part of me always will. But you could have left. You didn’t need to kill him.”
My words are sharp, but they don’t seem to cut her at all. There’s no remorse behind her cold, icy eyes.
“If someone’s threatening you, it’s not me. No one I know wants to find you. The farther away you are from me, Clar—”
Her henchman cuts me off, his fist slamming into my stomach. I double over, gasping for breath.
Before my body hits the ground, he grabs a fistful of my hair and smashes my face into the wall. A dull roar fills my ears, fear drowning out every other sound.
I taste more blood.
His hand closes around my throat again but tighter this time. My feet lift off the ground. Black spots dance across my vision, and somewhere on the floor, I think my phone is buzzing.
Then again, maybe that’s just my heartbeat.