Pucking Obsessed (Kings of Castlebrook #1)

1. Hayden

HAYDEN

T he main quad of Castlebrook University is packed tonight, the kind of crowd that makes the air feel heavy, like it’s suffocating you. Candles flicker in people’s hands that I’ve never fucking seen before tonight. This whole clusterfuck, like every other thing my mother does, is annoying.

The thing is, this time, she’s dead.

This isn’t mourning. It’s a spectacle I don’t want any part of. A blur of police lights and sirens earlier in the night turned into this. A vigil, my father had called it, but even he would have to admit it feels fake just like everything else at this pretentious school.

My mother’s body was found in Ronald Caldwell’s car, stabbed to death near the cliffs on the edge of campus just a few hours ago. The details are horrifying enough to stick in most people’s throats, but I can’t force myself to care. She was never really around. I’d probably care if it had been that nanny we had for a while when we were kids. The one with the gray-blue hair and the addiction to soap operas that let me eat ice cream for breakfast so I’d leave her alone.

I’m annoyed that I have to be here at all, but I’d be even more enraged if I had to deal with my father’s bellowing that my absence is making him look bad.

None of these people like my mother or knew her for that matter. I glance at the crowd. A sea of familiar faces, all bathed in candlelight, all pretending to feel something. It’s like they showed up because they want the excitement and gossip, not because they actually care.

My mother. What can I even say? She wasn’t a mother, not in the ways that mattered. Always chasing something better, something more dangerous that my father’s money would bail her out of when it inevitably got her in trouble. Her death is just another bad decision catching up with her, and there’s no one to pay up this time.

This fuckery of a night has been a haze. The texts, the campus-wide alerts, the way people are whispering like my mother’s bloody ghost will swing through campus and curse them if they say her name too loud. I don’t even know who organized this thing, but whoever it was is on my list to get their ass kicked.

My eyes land on my sister, Kirsten, up front, wailing into her hands like she’s auditioning for the lead in a tragedy. It’s so loud, so theatrical, I can’t help but snort. That’s my sister for you. Every sob is perfectly timed, every move calculated to keep all eyes on her. The people gathered eat it up, leaning in, all trying to be the one to comfort the star of the show.

My sister’s best friend Bethany walks up alongside me, grabbing my bicep like she has any right to touch me. She opens her mouth to speak, but I shut that shit down by shaking her off my arm. I glare down at her, fully prepared to tell her to get the fuck away from me, but she takes the hint and fucks off on her own. I hear her screechy voice trying to incite panic by reiterating that the perpetrator hasn’t been apprehended.

No shit. It’s been three hours. From what I know about Ronald Caldwell, his gambling debts and loan sharks probably caught up with him. I’m not lucky enough for a homicidal maniac to be loose on campus, hellbent on thinning out the herd.

I brush my hand over the spot where Bethany touched my arm like I’m washing her off. She’s been dead-set on being a fucking pest since she found out I’m a virgin courtesy of my teammate, Callum, and his big mouth. It’s by choice, and I’m not about to lower my standards now for the barnacle on my sister’s ass.

I shove my hands into my pockets, rolling my eyes as the sound of Kirsten’s melodramatic cries cut through the hushed murmurs of fake people offering even more contrived condolences. I’m just going to let her have her moment. If this is what my sister needs to feel important, fine. Just leave me the hell out of it. It’s all a waste of time. My mother’s barely a memory to me, and tonight doesn’t change that. Let her have her moment. She lives for this shit, and when she has the attention of the masses, she leaves me the hell alone.

Further down the line, my father stands too close to Mrs. Caldwell, his hand resting on her shoulder, fingers brushing back and forth in a soothing manner, like she belongs to him. I don’t care what the fuck he does or with who, truly. If I'm going to get a lecture about showing respect to my barely cold mother, maybe feeling up the widow of her latest conquest should be added to the list of things we shouldn’t be doing tonight. He’s got that mask on, the one he pulls out when he needs people to think he’s sincere. I know better, because I’m just like him. We don’t give a fuck about anyone or anything, he’s just better at hiding it. I bite back a laugh that feels sharper than it should because it’s all rather ironic, isn’t it? Hating someone that you’re just like.

I push past the crowd, my gaze trying to find the easiest way out of this fucking circus until I see her. Her golden hair and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen is all it takes to have me staring like a fucking horny toad. My future wife is standing off to the side, looking less like she’s grieving and more like she’s looking for an exit strategy. Something about her is magnetic, and it hits me like a punch to the gut.

I hear someone whisper, “I’m so sorry about your dad, Madi.”

Madison Caldwell. The daughter of the man my mother was screwing. I can’t tear my eyes away from her. It’s like I’ve been struck, frozen in place. There’s an ache in my chest that I don’t recognize. It’s something raw and primal. I’ve never felt like this, never had this kind of visceral reaction to anyone. It’s not just attraction. It feels like possession, obsession. It feels like she belongs to me. A need so sharp it borders on painful floods all of my senses.

There’s a guy stepping up to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Madison looks up at him with a faint smile, and something inside me snaps. Jealousy. It’s a foreign emotion and it blazes hot and vicious, coiling tight in my gut. I clench my jaw, my hands balling into fists. I’ve never been jealous of anything in my life, but if I see her smile at him again, I’m going to rip his arm off and beat him with it. The thought shouldn’t make me smirk, but it does.

I take a step closer, not caring if anyone sees the look on my face. I’ve got no interest in pretending. I want her, and if I have to break every rule to get her, so be it.

I’m rooted in place, staring at Madison like I’ve been struck stupid. The way she moves, delicate and deliberate, makes me want to be the only one who ever gets to watch her. She brushes her long blonde hair over her shoulder, and it catches the dim street lights making it glow like spun gold. Her lashes flutter closed, kissing the tops of her flushed cheeks, and my fingers itch to feel her soft skin. It’s a strange, unsettling urge.

I’ve never shared my bed with anyone, but with Madison, I want her in it. Under me, her hands on me. I want her everywhere. I don’t even know her scent yet, but I know it’ll be something I crave.

People circle her like vultures, spewing condolences she clearly doesn’t want. I watch the way her shoulders stiffen every time someone touches her, even if it’s just a hand brushing her arm. It pisses me off in a way I can’t explain. I want to walk over there and tell them all to fuck off. Can’t they see she doesn’t want them near her? She flinches, and my fists clench at my sides and I realize the urge to protect her is as strong as my need to mark her as mine. I don’t give a fuck if they’re not actually hurting her, I still want to shove them away, and stomp on their necks for making her uncomfortable. I don’t even question where this is all coming from, because it’s exhilarating to finally feel anything but annoyance. It’s insane, the way I am with her, but I’ve never been more sure about anything. I’m apathetic about everything. Nothing catches my interest. I would agree that I’m good at a lot of things, but I don’t enjoy them. I certainly don’t fixate on anyone or anything.

Until now.

Then Madison looks up, as if she can feel my gaze on her. Her big eyes lock onto mine, and it’s like the fucking ground drops out from under me. My chest tightens painfully, and I can’t look away. She’s so goddamn perfect. Her gaze flicks down quickly, almost shy, and a small, uncertain smile tugs at the corner of her lips like she knows every crazed thought that’s racing through my brain. It makes me want to reach out and cup her face, feel the softness of her cheek against my palm. I’m probably scaring her, but I can’t help it. She’s fucking stunning.

Someone slams into my shoulder, breaking the spell and I’m ready to wreck whoever had the audacity. I glance to the side, scowling when I see Callum Grey. He's the jokester of our little trio of...friends? No. Guys like Tristan Vale, Callum Grey and myself don’t have friends. We’re more like associates who can tolerate each other in a way we can’t stand anyone else. We help each other out because we can’t trust anyone else. We know too much about each other to ever tell the others’ secrets. Tristan kills someone because they made his foster sister uncomfortable? Not our business, but you can bet we got his back with an alibi and a place to dump the body.

The three of us look out for one another, but also, they get on my last fucking nerve. Callum turns his hat backwards and he’s smirking at me like he wants to say something he knows is going to send my rage into orbit. “I know you’re not upset about your mom and shit, and I get it. My mom sucks too, but people are starting to whisper about the way you’re staring at that girl,” he says, his lips stretching into a grin because he knows I don’t give a fuck. “You look like you want to fuck her silly or choke her out, and that’s weird coming from you. Is the ice prince ready to lose his v-card?”

“Fuck off, Grey.” I shove him away, but he just laughs.

“Who is she? She doesn’t look like one of the usual puck bunnies that hang around.” He nods toward Madison, and I see red.

“Don’t lump her in with them, and you’d fucking know. You’ve stuck your dick in every one of them.” My voice comes out in a low growl, and Callum raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “She doesn’t go here…yet.” She will, if I have anything to say about it. We’ll never be apart, that’s for certain. I just need to figure out the details.

“Well, well,” he chuckles out the words, patting me on the shoulder. “Wait till Tristan hears you’ve finally got a thing for someone.” He’s about to say more, but I stop listening the second I see Scott Jacobs approach Madison.

Scott fucking Jacobs. I’ve never liked him because he thinks he’s so slick. Smarmy is what he is, always acting like he owns the place because he’s Castlebrook’s head hockey coach’s son and his mother is the dean of admissions. Scott Jacobs couldn’t find the fucking puck if I bashed him in the face with it, and the way things are going tonight, I just might. He wraps an arm around Madison, and I see her flinch, trying to pull away. But Scott just holds on, flashing his teeth in a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I know you don’t really know me,” he says, voice dripping with fake concern, “but I’m kind of a big deal in Castlebrook. Are you a freshman? I’m Scott, but everyone calls me Skippy.”

My vision blurs with rage. I take a step forward, but Callum grabs my arm. “Hey, you don’t want your legacy to be the guy who finally snapped and killed Skippy Jacobs.”

I don’t bother responding. I wrench my arm free and stomp over, ripping Scott’s hand off her shoulder. I get right in his face, my height giving me the advantage as I tower over him. “Touch her again,” I grit out, “and I’ll fucking kill you.”

Scott brushes off his shirt, smiling like the smug asshole he is. “Careful, Lockwood. You’re captain this year, do you really want to risk your place on the team?”

I grab him by the collar, yanking him up so he’s standing on his tiptoes. “Touch her again,” I repeat, my voice deadly calm, “and you’ll see how little I care about hockey, this school or your miserable little life.”

Scott laughs, but it’s shaky now. He glances behind me, pointing. “Looks like you scared her off.”

I release him, shoving him back hard enough that he stumbles. I turn to see Madison walking quickly toward the treeline, her arms wrapped around herself. Without another glance at Scott, I follow her, ignoring the whispers and stares from the people around us. Let them talk. I don’t give a shit.

I slip into the woods, trailing her without a sound. She doesn’t look back, just keeps walking like she’s oblivious that she’s being followed. I don’t say a word, just watch her, letting the silence stretch between us. She finally stops, her back still to me, and the only sound is the crunch of leaves under my boots as I close the distance.

“Do you make a habit of following girls into the woods?” she asks, her voice surprisingly steady.

“My only habit is being where you are at all times,” I say, the words spilling out before I can stop them. I come to a halt right behind her, close enough that I can breathe her in. She’s sweet with some spice and a hint of my fucking favorite... maple syrup. I reach out, fingers hovering just above the glossy strands of her hair, but before I can touch it, she spins around.

She has to look up at me because I must be a whole foot taller than her. Those gorgeous eyes of hers are wide and unafraid. I can’t help myself, I reach out and cup her jaw, tilting her chin up. The contact sends a jolt through me, like my heart’s been kickstarted back to life.

“You’re not afraid of me,” I murmur, my thumb stroking over her soft cheek.

She leans into my touch, just for a second, before pulling back. “I’m not afraid of anything anymore,” she says, a small, almost triumphant smile on her lips. “My dad’s dead. I’m free now.” I’m too fixated on how close she is to me to process what she’s just said to me.

Before I can respond, she surprises me by pushing up on her tiptoes and pressing a quick, sweet kiss to my lips. It’s innocent, chaste, but it sets me on fire. Her fingers brush the hair out of my eyes as she pulls back, leaving me stunned.

“Thanks for getting that guy off me,” she says, her voice light. “No one’s ever stuck up for me before.”

She turns and walks away, heading back toward the vigil without another word. I stand there, watching her go, rubbing my thumb over my lips where I can still feel the slick remnants of her cherry-flavored gloss. A grin breaks across my face, pride swelling in my chest. If I made an impression on her tonight, wait until she finds out I’d burn the whole fucking world for her. She was mine the minute I laid eyes on her. She just doesn’t know it yet.

This is it. This right here is when my obsession with Madison Caldwell officially begins.