11. Sydney
eleven
sydney
This is my third Intro to Law class, and I’m not a hundred percent convinced it’s for me. The more we discuss how law works, and the many ways it seems to not work, the more I’m convinced the police will never help me find my mother.
I have the Emerald Cove detective’s number saved in my phone from when I reported her missing, but since then? Crickets.
My mind goes back to the yearbook photo. She was wearing the bracelet in it. If her stories are to be believed, it was handed down from her grandmother’s grandmother.
And now it’s somewhere in Oliver Ruiz’s house, if the paper trail is to be believed.
Breaking into his house seems a little insane at this point. It’s brought along no small amount of struggle. And there’s that saying: possession is nine tenths of the law . He, or someone in his family, bought the bracelet that has been in my family for generations.
“If whatever career path you go down doesn’t work, you could always become a confidential informant,” a voice says in my ear.
I shudder.
Penn sinks into the seat behind me, kicking the back of my chair. The lecture hasn’t begun yet, although he’s definitely late. He doesn’t seem to care. His black eye seems better. Almost gone, just kind of yellowish in a ring around the socket.
“Where’d you get the black eye?” I ask.
“Bar fight. Who hit you?”
I frown.
He stares at me some more, his green eyes looking almost blue in comparison to the yellow hue around the one.
“No one hit me,” I mumble.
“Uh-huh. And that girl who follows Andi Sharpe around like a Mindy doesn’t have two black eyes.”
“Does she? I haven’t seen.”
“Interesting.” He reaches out and presses on the back of my head. The bruised, tender skin.
I jerk forward, biting my tongue to keep from swearing.
“Like a headbutt,” he muses. “Something happen, princess? Want to report it to the authorities?”
“I had the opportunity and I didn’t,” I snap. “So just leave me alone.”
He chuckles. “I’m not talking about the scum in-campus security. I’m talking about me.”
I twist toward him fully. The professor is still unpacking his bag, for fuck’s sake. Everyone around us is conversing, too. I grab on to the back of my chair, but Penn is leaning forward. He’s practically in my face already.
“You’re the authority? Your bestie is the one who issued the order.”
His brows furrow.
“Maybe I’ll just transfer out of this class and take art or something. Especially if you’re here. You can’t call yourself an authority and be this thick, Penn.”
I shove my things in my bag, just as the professor calls the class to settle down. He makes a noise when I rise and head straight for the door.
“Ms. Windsor?—”
I’m gone before he can finish that sentence. Instead of going to the registrar—seems like a tomorrow problem—I head home and change into running clothes. I haven’t gone on an actual run in a long time, and maybe the restlessness in my muscles will finally quiet if I give it an outlet.
Hooking up my earbuds, zipping the lightweight jacket over my sports bra, I hit the road. Almost immediately, my breathing is labored. That’s what I fucking get for not running in almost a month.
Everything with my mom just messed me up, I guess. Running is a healthy habit, and I may have been more interested in self-destructing.
But once I push past that painful part, it gets easier. I hit that zone where it’s just my stride and breathing and the music in my ears.
I skirt campus, instead heading toward St. James. I don’t know why… I just miss seeing people who don’t hate me on sight. There’s a more direct route, but the road is more like a highway. The sidewalks there aren’t maintained well. So I take the winding road that curves through the forest and gives a decent view of the lake.
Few cars come this way, it seems. The road is quiet until a car whizzes past me. The brake lights illuminate a second later, and the vehicle swerves across the lane to stop in my path.
My stride slows.
It isn’t until the driver’s door opens and Carter Masters gets out that I realize I recognize his vehicle.
I put my hand on my chest, dropping into a walk and pulling out my earbuds with my other hand. “You scared me!”
“You’re running out here all by yourself?” He approaches quickly, stopping just short of me. His gaze snaps to my cheek. “What the fuck happened?”
I shiver and touch the bruise I can’t seem to hide. “Oh, uh…”
“Sydney.”
“Some stupid drama,” I mutter. “FSU’s student body doesn’t like me very much.”
“All of them?” His blue eyes are so freaking intense. “That doesn’t explain—did someone hit you?”
“I…” I don’t want to lie. But literally everyone found out about what I did from Carter. “How did they know it was me that gave you the FSU plays?”
He blinks. “Whoa, that’s quite the change in direction.”
“We haven’t talked about it since I was kicked out of SJU.” I plant my hands on my hips. “And why are you out here?—?”
“I was on my way back into town.” He shifts back, sliding his hands into his pockets. “It’s kind of cold out here, huh? Can I buy you some lunch? Maybe not in FSU territory.”
My stomach grumbles, and I crack a smile when he raises his eyebrow.
“Okay,” I allow.
I settle in his car and run my hands along my thighs. The hives from the tape have mostly gone away, but I’m covered in bruises from struggling. It’s easy to hide when the weather is cool, and long-sleeve shirts or sweatshirts are acceptable. But when Carter cranks the heat…
I want to crack the window instead of take off the jacket.
“How has SJU been without me?”
He glances over. “You miss us?”
“Something like that.” I roll my eyes. “I’m not sure I miss you, Carter. You didn’t say how they found out it was me.”
“It’s shitty,” he confesses. “And it snowballed.”
I motion for him to continue.
“Coach wouldn’t take the photos without proof that they came from someone reliable. And you… you’re the most reliable source I could’ve asked for, Syd. You’re literally the FSU coach’s daughter. Estranged or not?—”
“Our relationship is under construction,” I interrupt.
“Okay,” he allows. “But he saw your name on the message thread, and it just kind of spiraled from there. It definitely got out of control as soon as the administration got wind of it.”
The worst part is that Carter and the hockey team didn’t get in trouble—not more than just a slap on the wrist anyway. They had the playoffs, they had prestige and glory to bring to the school, while I was the one jeopardizing everything by cheating.
Stealing.
Whatever they said.
“Going in front of the ethics committee was humiliating.”
“I went in front of them, too. I told them it wasn’t your fault, that I stole the photos from your phone, but they didn’t believe me.” He reaches over and puts his hand on my thigh. “How much do you hate me?”
I flinch.
He retracts quickly, lips parting. “What kind of reaction was that?”
“I just?—”
“Sydney.”
“I have some bruising. And places where my skin is a little fragile at the moment.” I look out the window. “It’s fine.”
It’s not a complete lie.
If Andi or Oliver aren’t going to post that photo, I’m sure as shit not going to tell anyone.
“I don’t understand why you went there.” He pulls into the parking lot of the diner we used to frequent, in the spot he always parks in. Except today, he’s out of the car and around to my door in a flash, leaning over me and gently touching the top of my thigh. “Here?”
My head falls back. “Just assume everywhere hurts.”
“Fucking hell, Sydney.”
I unbuckle and climb out, forcing him to move back. We stare at each other for a beat, and my face heats at the memory of our last encounter. The last kiss… The one that ruined my life as I knew it.
Finally, I shake it off and brush past him, heading for the door.
“I don’t have any money, by the way,” I call over my shoulder.
“Good thing it’s my treat,” he counters.
He practically chases me inside. We sit at the booth that Lettie and I spent many Sundays slumped in, nursing our hangovers with bottomless mimosas and sugar-dusted pancakes.
If I close my eyes, I can practically envision Lettie, Marcy, and whoever else piled into the booth, laughing over the latest scandal… not knowing that eventually, it would be me.
“FSU had their first scrimmage this weekend,” he says.
I stiffen.
“Did they get new plays, or are we going to wipe the ice with their asses again?”
He’s not fucking serious, is he?
I lean forward. “Did you bring me here just to try and get information out of me, Carter?”
“Nah.” He settles back, hooking his arm over the back of his seat. “You know me better than that. It was a simple question.”
I scoff. “Yeah, right. I changed my mind about lunch.”
“Your stomach growled,” he points out. “I won’t ask about hockey, okay?”
“How about I ask you about hockey?” I counter. “How’re the Seawolves doing? Any good prospects come in this year?”
“Some.” His smile tells me he knows exactly what I’m doing.
I like hockey. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. I still have vivid memories of learning to skate with my dad holding my hands as a toddler, and then later, when he put me on the ice to wander around as he coached, some of the older boys helping. Their version of it anyway.
But I haven’t been on the ice in years. Not since the last time I stayed with Dad, and I’m pretty sure I was on the cusp of eighteen. Right before we went no-contact. One final visit, even though I hated every minute of it.
The waitress comes by and takes our drink and food orders. While she repeats what we said, Carter’s foot runs up the inside of my ankle. It sends a spike of heat through me, although I don’t want it to—I’m supposed to be mad at him.
But how can I be mad when he’s the only one who doesn’t hate my guts?
My fragile new friendships don’t count. I’m still wary of them exploding in my face. Not that I would admit that to anyone but myself.
I tuck my hair behind my ear. The waitress leaves, and I decide to try and unnerve him a little. Just because he’s touching me like he still has a right to do so.
“Oliver Ruiz. What else do you know about him?”
Carter scowls. “He’s a devil on the ice. He was drafted out of high school, although he committed to FSU for two years. This is his last year. He plays forward… Please tell me he wasn’t the one who hurt you.”
“Not directly. And Penn Walker?”
“Goalie.”
“Obviously.”
He sighs. “Did you show this much interest in me when you went to St. James, Syd?”
“Yeah, right. Your ego doesn’t need inflating any more.” I nudge his leg with my toe. “So, you threw me under the bus and got me kicked out, and now you’re buying me lunch. Should I remind you that this doesn’t usually end well for us?”
His eyes gleam. “I don’t know… if by that you mean naked, then you can remind me all you want.”
I roll my eyes, but my face flames. It’s been too fucking long since I had sex, and now that he’s insinuating, it seems like all the adrenaline drops straight to my core.
No. I’m not about to fall down that rabbit hole.
Was he the last person I had sex with? Maybe.
Does he need to know that? Nope .
“You know,” he leans forward, “I can do that thing with my tongue that gets you to come all over my face in seconds.”
Jesus. My face gets hotter.
He smirks. “Your choice.”
Of course it is.
The waitress delivers our drinks and food quickly, and by the time we’re done, Carter has traced every inch of the inside of my leg with his foot. Something that absolutely shouldn’t turn me on, but maybe I’ve just been fucking starved of positive touch.
So when he drives us back to my place, I bite my lip and silently invite him up.
He follows closer than a shadow up the three floors, brushing my hair off my neck and kissing just behind my ear when I stop to unlock my apartment door.
This is bad .
We barely make it inside. He kicks the door closed and spins me in place, my back hitting the door with a soft thud. I toe off my shoes, flinging them to the side. He flips the lock, his lips crashing into mine. I rise on my toes, wrapping my arms around his neck. He knows how to make a girl feel like the sun. He unzips my jacket and shoves it off my shoulders, then goes for my leggings.
“Carter?” I gasp, tearing my lips away.
He immediately moves to my neck, sucking and nipping his way down to my collarbone.
“Just ignore the bruises, okay?”
He hums affirmation. My arms drop, and the jacket slips free. He pushes my sports bra up and palms my breast, paying my nipples attention until I whimper, then moves lower.
He does pause at the bruises on my stomach, though. He traces the fist-shaped one, then presses. The dull ache makes me squirm. He drags my leggings down and hooks my one leg over his shoulder, pressing a single kiss to my pubic bone.
And then he goes lower…
He makes good on his promise to do that thing with his tongue . I cry out, gripping his hair and tugging. Whether I’m trying to get him off or closer is anyone’s guess, though. He chuckles against my core, and once I’ve stopped trembling, he surges up. I go for his jeans, pushing them down until he kicks them and his shoes off.
I take his hand and practically drag him to the couch, shoving him onto it. I straddle him, and he fists his cock, stroking once, twice while he looks me over.
“Those bruises really do fucking suck,” he says. His attention drops to my thighs. “And these…”
“Ignore it,” I beg. I kiss him again. My hand covers his, taking over the long, firm strokes. When his hips jack and his breathing stutters, I line him up and slowly lower myself. He stretches me, and it takes all my willpower not to chase another high immediately.
My body is singing.
He reaches up and runs his fingers through my hair, tilting my head to kiss me deeper. A quick fuck with an ex shouldn’t involve so much intimacy, but it’s always been our way. I feel the way he cares in how he handles me, even if he doesn’t show it the best sometimes.
I hate it, too.
Hate him a bit.
There’s no one to blame but myself. On a cellular level, I know this.
We fuck slowly until he can’t take it anymore. In a smooth motion, he flips us. My back hits the cushions, and he draws almost all the way out of me. My pussy is clenching at just the tip of his dick, and he waits, running his hand over my breast and trailing down between my legs again.
He replaces his dick with his fingers, and I tremble when he finds my G-spot. He pays it special attention, his gaze rapt on my face, until I find the pressure building again.
Higher.
Higher… and then it plateaus.
“You. In me. Now.”
He laughs. “Yeah? You don’t like this?”
“You’re fucking torturing me.” No matter how I move my hips, I can’t get enough.
“All right,” he finally accepts. “Tell me this: did you give it back to them? Whoever did this to you?”
I hesitate.
“Yeah. She’s probably sporting a pair of black eyes by now.”
He smiles. “Good girl. Now, let me take care of that for you.”
Fingers disappear, coming back to my breasts. Both hands. Pinching and rolling my nipples, tugging my breasts, while he notches himself again.
He thrusts forward hard enough to make me scream. I arch, my eyes barely staying open. He fucks me hard and fast, chasing his own orgasm. My fingers go to my clit. I rub little circles, the pressure just how I like it, until I’m riding the edge.
He locks eyes with me, and I nod.
“Now,” he groans.
I shove myself over the cliff, my orgasm somehow more intense than the first. I clench around him, and two fast pumps later, he comes, too.
Without a condom.
“Carter.”
He falls forward, wrapping his arms around me. He continues jacking his hips slowly, even after finishing. I hook my legs around his hips, but my muscles are trembling.
“I’m not on birth control,” I whisper.
He kisses my throat. “Okay.”
“ Okay? Not okay.”
“We’ll take care of it.”
I push his face away. “You better not be referring to a baby.”
His nose wrinkles. “I meant the morning after pill or whatever. I’ll get you some.”
As in, one of the more expensive birth control options. I can’t afford that, and I’m sure as hell not asking my father for money to get it.
So either he’s telling the truth, or I’m fucked.