Chapter Twenty
Skye
The bass is thumping through the floor and up my legs, a pulse that seems to keep in time with the roar of the crowd.
Lights are sweeping across the stage in streaks of purple and white, catching the raised hands of the fans all around us.
Paige and Rissa are still laughing like hyenas at the fact that Riley didn’t guess the opening song correctly.
All I hear is the two of them yelling “MAGIC MISHAP! MAGIC MISHAP!” over and over as Riley sticks her fingers in her ears to ignore them.
Solace stands in the middle of it like the eye of a storm.
Her glittery bodice catches the light, hair damp with sweat and sticking to her mask as she leans into the mic.
The crowd is eating up every word, and it’s easy to see why.
Even from here, halfway back in the pit, she commands the entire room.
I should be focused on the celebration. That’s why we’re here. Instead, my attention keeps snagging on one stupid detail.
The mark on the inside of Solace’s thigh.
I know it’s there. I can’t help thinking I put it there. A thin mark hidden high enough that nobody else would notice unless they’re told.
My jaw tightens as the stage explodes with lights again and the next song comes crashing in. The opening chord is sharp enough to slice through my thoughts, but my gaze snaps back to the stage. Solace is already looking in my direction. Not at the crowd, but at me.
The distance should make it impossible. There are hundreds of people between us with lights flashing and speakers thumping.
But somehow our eyes lock like she’s been waiting to find me.
For a second, the rest of the room disappears.
The noise, the music, everything. Just that look in her eyes, a look that I know very well.
I know.
Violet looks at me like that when she thinks I’m not paying attention, like she’s gauging my reactions and studying my every move.
My chest tightens. Solace doesn’t react. No flicker of surprise or hesitation. She keeps singing, her voice smooth and controlled as if this moment never happened.
She’s professional and untouchable.
But her gaze lingers a half second too long before sliding past me and back into the crowd.
It’s her. It has to be.
Violet isn’t a surgeon at her local hospital. I should have known that when she said she was here for a few weeks. Surgeons can’t possibly take that long to go on vacation.
Or maybe they can, and this whole thing is all a sick thought my brain is concocting.
But then my eyes find hers again, and I can’t kick this feeling in my gut.
Violet is Solace. Solace is Violet.
A sharp spike of anger shoots through me so fast that I almost feel dizzy.
All those conversations. All of her half answers. All the times Violet disappeared with some vague excuse.
Because she was here. Performing in front of thousands of people. Putting on an act like she has been with me for the last few weeks.
My mind flips through memories like someone shuffling cards too fast to see them clearly.
Late nights. Deep conversations. Laughing effortlessly.
And the contract. Communication. Being open.
My gaze flicks to her neck.
No collar.
My heart thumps in my chest. She’s still staring at me, perfectly in character. As if she doesn’t know me. Like we’ve never spoken.
Everything I thought I understood about her, and about us, has been a lie.
But she’s not getting away that easily.
Violet and I are going to have a little heart-to-heart. Only this time, I want to speak with Solace.
The morning feels too bright. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed in my hotel room, phone in my hand, as my thumb hovers over Violet’s contact.
Still nothing.
No replies. No read receipts. No returned phone calls.
I try again anyway.
It rings twice and goes straight to voicemail.
My jaw tightens, and I hang up before her automated message can finish the greeting.
If Violet wants to disappear, that’s fine because she’s clearly good at it. But I’m not done with her yet.
I drop my phone onto the bed beside me and drag both hands over my face, trying to wipe away the restless knot I keep feeling behind my ribs.
A sharp knock on my door jolts me out of this hell I’ve been living in since last night.
“Skye. Bus in ten,” Paige shouts.
Right. Hockey. That’s why I’m here.
I glare at my phone before I grab it, tossing it into the bottom of my bag where I can’t think about it.
I’m here for a reason, and it’s time that I follow through with that.
Violet and Solace will have to wait.
“LET’S GO!!!!” Paige yells beside me, jumping on me as I stand by the net. We’re at the arena for media and interviews, but the high from yesterday is still heavy on our jackets. “FINALS BABY!”
I laugh despite myself, my heart keeps racing. For a few minutes, everything is perfect. We had a shutout game yesterday, and we’re heading to the next level. The final level.
The gold medal is within reach, and I won’t stop until I have it.
Paige and I exchange a look that tells me it was damn close with me almost own-goaling and putting it at a tied game in the beginning, but we don’t talk about it. We simply celebrate the outcome and ignore what could have been.
The media swarms as soon as they’re let into the arena. Cameras shoved in our faces and microphones flying everywhere.
“Skye. Skye. Over here.”
“How does advancing to the gold medal game feel?”
“What was going through your mind during that first play?”
I answer automatically, leaning on all the practice I’ve had with reporters.
“We trusted the system.” I know they’re being nice about my almost own goal. “Everyone stepped up during that game.” My breathing is heavy from the intense media interrogation. But I keep going. “It’s an honor to represent our country.”
My usual lines. Polished and to the point. I keep glancing toward the crowd behind the cameras without meaning to. I know she’s not here; it’s just a media event. And she’s not answering her phone anyway, so there wasn’t an invitation to be here as my whatever we’re calling it.
A few hours later, the team takes over one of the lounge areas in the village to continue our celebration. Music is playing softly, and someone brings drinks while half the team is still buzzing as though it’s post-game energy.
Coach Madsen, in all her glory, claps me on the shoulder as she walks by.
“Hell of a game,” she says as though we just played today. “That breakaway in the second period? Perfect read.”
We’re only one game away from the gold medal. The gold medal. Olympic winners. Every practice, every move, every game has brought us this far.
I shrug lightly, but my insides are on fire with pride. It really was one hell of a game.
“Just doing my job.” I keep my inner cheerleader at bay.
Imagine that for a second. Skye Callahan with an inner cheerleader?
Ha. It’s almost laughable. But the way I’m feeling right now?
It’s like the entire Dallas Cowboys Cheerleading Squad is screaming inside me.
I’m not even a Cowboys fan, but I know they have a shit ton of cheerleaders.
“Keep playing like that, and we’re bringing the gold home.”
“As long as it’s not an open net, right, Cappy?” Paige nudges me.
I laugh. I can’t even deny that the open nets are my downfall. I know it, and everyone on my team knows it. It’s a hockey player's biggest rival.
All of those thoughts slide away as I melt into the moment and allow my brain to travel.
Too bad it goes to the one place I was hoping to avoid until later tonight.
Violet.
I can’t help wanting her here as I look around at my team. The thought hits hard, even after last night and the lies that came to the surface. I just can’t help thinking that Violet filled some kind of space I didn’t realize was missing.
“Earth to broody hockey legend.” Rissa plops down beside me.
Paige sits down with her phone in hand and a strange look on her face.
“What?” I ask, not sure I actually care, but the way they’re staring at me says they have some kind of bad news.
“Social media is blowing up,” Paige says, showing me the phone.
“Someone post one too many pictures of their grilled cheese?” I reply with disinterest in my tone.
“It’s about you,” Rissa replies.
I watch her eyes dart toward Paige as they both look from me to the phone.
“Still struggling to care here.”
“You're crazy, stalker ex is apparently in Milan,” Riley walks over to the group. “That’s what you’re talking about, right? That’s why you’ve got your phone pulled out.”
My throat goes dry, and I hope that Riley is just blowing smoke with her weird psychic ability. But Paige and Rissa don’t brush her off or tell her to draw a new tarot card. They simply stare at me.
“What?” Forming sentences becomes a chore.
“Yeah,” Paige says, scrolling further down her screen. “People spotted her at the Olympic Park earlier today. Fans are losing their minds.”
I feel something cold slither down my spine. There’s no way she’s here. There’s no way she’s still pushing the story that I abused her. Not while I’m making history for myself and my career.
“That’s great.” I try my best to sound disinterested.
Paige studies my face. I hate when she does that.
“You sure you’re okay with that?” She’s almost a little too in my face when she speaks.
I shrug. “She can watch the Olympics if she wants.”
Riley starts playing with her fingernails as she closes her eyes, a sure sign she’s about to say something else.
“I don’t like it,” is all that comes from her mouth.
I let out a short sigh of relief. As much as we make fun of Riley, she’s known to be on point with almost everything she says.
Spooky, if you ask me.
Paige snorts. “Oh no. Not the psychic vibes again.”
“I’m serious,” Riley insists. “I’ve got a bad feeling about something.”
I raise my eyebrow. “You always have a bad feeling about something.”
“That’s not true. A lot of my gift is positive vibes. I can’t help it when something dark shows itself to me.”
The way she says this makes me want to laugh. I know she’s being serious, but she sounds like a poorly paid actress from a low-budget film.
“Relax, Mystic Meg.” Paige waves her off.
But something in my stomach twists anyway as Riley speaks. “I don’t normally get feelings this bad.”
And she’s probably right. Most of the time when she has visions, it’s because her favorite ice cream flavor is out of stock at the local creamery, or the dress she’s going to buy won’t be in her size.
This time is different, though. Riley says something bad is coming, and I can’t help thinking it already has. It just hasn’t for anyone else in this room because they’re not privy to what I know now.
I push myself up from the couch, feeling the need to get to Violet and make sure she’s okay. I need to talk to her, and we need to figure this thing out. I know last night wasn’t the best time to hash out the details; she’s a busy woman, being a famous singer and all that.
Everyone knows her.
But it’s me. It’s Skye and Violet. And although I haven’t had her in my life for very long, I don’t plan on this thing between us ending anytime soon.
That does not mean, however, that she’s getting out of this without some kind of punishment.
She’s going to work for every inch of trust she’s burned.