19. Preston
PRESTON
“Are you really not going to tell us what the fuck happened three days ago?”
I steal the puck from Jude, who just spoke, skate away with supersonic speed, and score.
Kane, Jude, and I are doing our usual nighttime practice in the rink, now that they finally realized the importance of my highness.
Only, something’s different tonight.
Kane and Jude watch me from the middle of the rink like hawks as I glide backward, then mimic a commentator’s voice. “Armstrong does it again!”
I point my stick at them. “This is the part where you make some noise, peasants.”
They’re both wearing those annoying frowns, and I pout. “No one appreciates Preston enough. I’m telling you, bitches, I’m getting new friends. Will ask my minion Hayes to put out feelers right away.”
“You can’t deflect forever.” Kane glides toward me. “We need to know what happened that night.”
“No, you don’t.” I skate to Jude’s side and wrap an arm around his shoulders. “You don’t see us throwing a bitch fit over your disappearance from the team in your quest to chase Destiny.”
“Her name is Dahlia. And I didn’t hide the facts from you, did I?”
“Don’t care. You abandoned us, and I spent nights on end crying into my pillow. Isn’t that right, Jude?”
My best friend’s frown only deepens as he watches me. It’s far from ideal, considering he’s been giving me that look faster than I can blink lately.
“Kane is right,” Jude says. “You were completely off that night. Not only did you take those meds without telling me beforehand—”
“You were busy stalking Sleeping Beauty, so I didn’t think you could spare a moment for your lord and savior—me.”
His lips part, and a look of guilt passes over his face, his shoulders tightening beneath my grip.
And now, I want to kick myself in the balls for being such a dick.
I mean, yeah, sure, both Jude and Kane have been busy lately.
And Jude is a bit too preoccupied with exacting revenge for his mother and stalking this comatose girl—Viola, I think—who should be on Jude’s list, but he somehow isn’t killing her, so he hasn’t been nagging much about my meds.
Yes, that made me a bit sloppy, and no, it’s not his fault—it’s mine. I’m the fuckup in this friendship, not them.
And making them feel guilty for not stopping my mind from sabotaging itself is just not it.
Do better, asshole brain.
“I always have time for you.” Jude grabs both my shoulders. “You know that, right?”
“Ew, don’t give me diabetes.”
“Preston,” he says with a bit of force in his tone as he repeats, “you know that, right?”
“Yeah, just shoo. I’m allergic to cringe.”
He lets out a breath, then releases me. “Are you really not going to tell us what the fuck happened?”
Kane skates to our side, toying with his stick. “We need to know the full story to be able to take care of it.”
“It was really nothing.” I lean against my stick, speaking in my humorous tone.
“Got drunk and high, which is not recommended, by the way—kids, don’t do this at home.
Then I somehow spilled the bottle of alcohol as I was commemorating Mom’s death anniversary and fighting my demons—I won, incidentally.
I might have had a lighter in my hand, and I could have possibly played with it, and boom!
Fireworks! But I left the car in time, because I was lucid enough to know I was in danger. ”
Lie.
Liar.
Would’ve totally detonated along with the car if Marcus hadn’t pulled me out. Just a fraction of a second later and I would’ve followed my mom all the way down the abyss.
My chest squeezes at the memory of Marcus.
This shit is really serious. First, it was my dick that had a malfunction because of him, and now, it’s my chest?
This needs Dr. Duret’s special black book that she scribbles in all the time. Yesterday, she said, “Don’t you think you’re brave for surviving another anniversary?”
And hell yeah, I am. Because listen up, I always want to follow the ghost of my mom to the abyss on that day. Always.
Not this year, though.
For the first time, I thought to my genius self, Why do I have to die just to ask her a few questions?
Mom abandoned me right after she complained nonstop about how Dad abandoned us. At the end of the day, he’s the one who stayed, and she chose to leave me.
So why do I have to be in pain over it all these years later?
I mean, it’s not like she chose to die. Yes, she made the decision, but suicide is complicated. For instance, it’s not that I wanted to die on her anniversary, but I could’ve.
Anyway, all of this to say, I don’t blame her. I just miss her, and I want to know why she left me.
Yesterday was the first time I thought maybe I should try to stitch up the old wound.
And no, those thoughts are totally not because of a certain leather-clad guy who pulled me out of the cliff’s fangs.
“What about Osborn?”
I lift my head toward Kane, my chest kind of doing this ridiculous thud, thud, thud thing that I need pills for stat. I already have a dozen of those, what’s one more?
“What about him?” I say nonchalantly.
“He was there,” Jude says. “There’s even a rumor on campus that he caused the explosion and nearly killed you. Some say he was watching the whole show with popcorn.”
“Did you see popcorn anywhere, big man? Because if there was and I missed out, I’ll be really pissed.”
“Point is,” Kane says. “How did he figure out you could be in danger, then proceed to text me?”
I tilt my head in his direction. So he’s been talking to Kane while blocking me?
The fucking audacity.
“Why do you have each other’s numbers?” I ask.
“We don’t. He has mine for some reason. And you’re not changing the subject, Pres. Why was Osborn there?”
I shrug. “Ask him. Shouldn’t be hard since you’re besties who are on a texting basis.”
Salty, extra sodium. Yup, that’s me.
“Did he try to blow up your car while you were in it?” Jude stands taller. “Because I don’t give a fuck what our dads say or that he’s an Osborn. I will hunt him down and kill him.”
“Bitch, please.” I pretend to yawn. “You think a nobody like Osborn can hurt me? I’m so offended right now. That’s, like, a total David and Gorilla thing.”
“Goliath,” Jude deadpans.
“They’re both big. Shut up.”
Kane’s eyes narrow the slightest. “You’re meaning to tell me that Osborn just happened to pass by?”
“How would I know? I was having the best time of my life being high and shit.” I study him again, because, yes, I’m still annoyed Marcus got in touch. He can’t be thinking about seducing him, too, right? I’ll bury him alive.
“What did he say when he texted you?”
“Something like, ‘Do you have any idea what Armstrong is doing right now on the top of a fucking cliff while he’s high?’ Considering I was out of the state at the time, naturally, I had no clue.”
“Chasing Denise.”
“Dahlia. And yes, I was far away, so I called Jude as I hit the road.”
“Making a volcano out of a mole.”
“Mountain out of a molehill,” Jude says.
“I meant it the other way. Keep up, big man.”
“I still don’t understand the Osborn angle.” Kane frowns. “It just doesn’t make any sense.”
Me neither.
How the hell did he get Kane’s number so fast, then still come for me?
I thought he hated me.
Or was done with me or what the fuck ever.
He certainly blocked me all the way to hell before that.
It was the bike, wasn’t it? He was dazzled by my riches like all of them.
And yet…
Even as I think that, I don’t believe it. Not really.
I wish he were that shallow; it would be so easy to deal with him then.
“It’s because this idiot—” Jude squeezes my shoulder. “—decided to burn Osborn’s bike out of spite. Told you he won’t sit still. He’s not the type.”
“How do you know what type he is?” I’m obviously fishing for info, because I realized with staggering perplexity that I know close to nothing about Marcus.
The man I let touch me in the obscenest ways possible and kissed out of impulse—no, we’re not talking about that, I was high and it doesn’t count—is a complete mystery.
Yes, sure. He’s the Osborn’s illegitimate child.
He was brought up by a single mom who works as a head nurse in Stantonville’s hospital.
He studies mechanical engineering at that hellhole SRC and has been playing hockey almost as long as we have.
He earned the position of captain of the Wolves last year, and he’s a star of the college league and the god of that ghetto town.
Oh, and he’s a mechanic. Odd—but not surprising, I guess. He’s good with his hands.
Not that I’m thinking of his hands.
But anyway, all that information is basic as fuck and was obtained by a simple background check from Hayes. And yes, I ordered a background check. I might have asked Hayes for a more detailed one.
Don’t judge. Need to be prepared or some shit, as Kane always says.
The point is, I need more information about the guy who’s messing with my head.
“Have you seen him on the ice?” Jude says. “He holds grudges.”
I frown. “Osborn holds grudges? He’s as clean-cut as boring Kane over here.”
“No,” Kane says. “He’s more antagonistic, to put it lightly.
You don’t watch the Wolves game replays, so you might not have noticed this, but if anyone crosses him, they’ll get it one way or another before the end of the game.
Sort of like with Jude. But unlike Jude, Osborn doesn’t slam back right away, risking penalties.
He’s patient and calculative, willing to let the rage simmer, then he strikes back at the exact opportune moment. ”
“He’s also extremely violent,” Jude says. “Some players who’ve gone against him have ended up with permanent damage.”
“Extremely violent coming from you?” I gawk. “Who are you and what have you done to my bestie? Show yourself, Jude’s imposter!”
“Jude is right. Osborn is truly violent. You just don’t see it in full gory detail like with Jude since he’s not impulsive. His strikes are harsher because they’re premeditated.” Kane sighs. “Calculated violence is more dangerous than impulsive violence.”
Calculated violence, huh?
Was it also calculated violence when he decided to fuck with me?