25. Sydney
twenty-five
sydney
My alarm goes off bright and early Sunday.
I smack at it, cursing the light behind my closed blinds. It takes me a second to pull back into reality. I stayed up late last night, curled in bed with my eye on the window that opens onto the fire escape. With the blinds… open .
Because that must be how Penn got in to return my backpack, right?
But he didn’t come, and I eventually fell asleep.
My back cracks when I stretch, and there’s a new ache in my muscles.
The figure skating, obviously. My arm is sore, too, but that’s probably from the birth control shot. I shuffle out of bed and straight to the bathroom. But on the toilet, I pause.
There’s a thick white substance on my panties.
I wipe, collecting more from between my legs. It’s not normal by any means. I don’t like to actively think about it, but ovulation discharge is a thing… except not that much. Not for me anyway. My brows furrowed, I brush it off. Bodies change, right?
I shed my clothes to shower. There’s a game this afternoon, which I may as well go to. I seem to be in good standing with the hockey team.
I eventually took a break from skating yesterday to sit with my dad and sip hot chocolate. We didn’t talk about anything super important, but it was really nice. Some hints of the old him came out. The gruffness in his voice when he mentions things that matter to him. The way he sees a lot. Not just in me , but everything around him.
The intercom buzzer goes off when I’m nearly dressed. I finish hopping into my jeans and head for the door.
“Who is it?” I ask.
I hit the button to hear them.
“Your favorite hockey player,” comes the reply.
Well, that solves nothing. So I unlock the door for him and wait.
It’s Carter. He looks around the apartment and frowns.
Then does a double take.
I belatedly realize my neck is bare, and I haven’t had a chance to explain… I raise my hand, but he beats me to it and bats it away.
“What’s this?”
“Um…” I swallow. “Just a little misunderstanding.”
His scowl deepens. “Do I need to beat the shit out of Ruiz? Someone else?”
I shrug lightly and step out of his reach. “I’m pretty sure Ruiz did the beating. It’s fine. Why are you here?”
He glowers at me. “Really?”
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong is that you should lock your windows,” he says. “Anyone could break in and hurt you, Sydney.”
I stare at him, but this change of subject makes no sense. If anything, I thought I’d be getting a lecture about carrying pepper spray or something.
“What do you know?”
He shakes his head, but he goes straight for my bedroom and flips the two locks on the windows with the fire escape. Again.
“Carter.”
“Stop,” he orders. “Stop being careless. Stop thinking that anyone at FSU gives a shit about you. They’re going to use you?—”
“Fuck off! Like you’re not using me for something?”
“The only thing I want to use is your mouth,” he snaps.
I straighten.
The thought of Carter Masters fucking my mouth does something to me. Something hot and wonderful and surprising. And it’s probably because we’ve only ever done vanilla things, right?
“If you want it, take it.” The words are out before my brain can stop them.
His gaze darkens. “Don’t ask if you don’t?—”
“Carter.” I appraise him. “You scared of hurting me?”
“Hardly.”
He approaches me like I’m a wild animal. He winds his hand around the back of my neck. His frozen fingers raise goosebumps down my spine and the backs of my arms. I don’t even care that his fingers dig into the bruise. In fact, it grounds me.
“I just don’t want to scare you.”
I grip his wrist. “Be honest with me about something.”
He raises his eyebrow. “I will.”
“Did you only date me because Scarlett told you to?”
“No. She may have highlighted you, but it was my decision where we went from there.”
“And now…”
“She’s not my type, if that’s what you’re asking.” His gaze darkens. “You’re my type.”
Am I that insecure? There are three guys who seem to want to be in my orbit, and I just don’t see the appeal.
“My tastes run darker than we’ve ever gone.” His thumb moves under my ear. “There’s something in me that wants you to break, Sydney. That wants you to bleed for me.”
Desire pulses between my legs.
“Okay.”
He closes his eyes. “Fuck.”
“That’s the idea.” I squeeze his wrist. “Fuck me.”
He pulls away. “Not like this.”
“Not when I ask for it?”
“Not when you see me coming.”
He steps back, his gaze dark enough to make me want to drop to my knees right now.
Fuck is right. Because now I’m a hot mess. He turns on his heel and leaves me standing in the middle of my apartment. I lock the door behind him and make a beeline for my room, rifling through my bottom drawer for my vibrator.
And I spend the next hour making myself come.
Brandon picks me up. Dylan and Maddy are already in the car, decked out in purple FSU gear. I’m wearing the hockey sweatshirt my dad got for me, although I lifted Penn’s necklace to hang on the outside.
His sweatshirt is in the wash. While I was loath to toss it in with my load, his scent was starting to fade. And it really needed to be cleaned.
Which leaves me with this.
There’s also the matter of Carter’s confession. Who knew, hidden under that sexy exterior, lurked someone… kinkier?
He has a green light as far as I’m concerned. My phone goes off, and I glance at the incoming text.
L.
Things seem better for you.
Annoyance flares through me. Things are most certainly not better. Superficially, maybe. But absolutely not under the surface. He would know that if he bothered to have an actual conversation with me.
I stuff my phone in my purse and tune back in to the conversation in the car. Dylan and Maddy are debating which is harder, hockey or volleyball. Brandon is laughing at them.
I smile, too, because Maddy has no skin in the game. Her smirk says she’s just ribbing Dylan, who can’t seem to see that through the argument.
“They’re on little death blades on ice ,” Maddy says.
“The coordination it takes, the communication to get the ball over the net?—”
“That same coordination argument can be used for hockey. They have to use a stick to get a slim puck past a huge goalie.”
“It’s different,” Dylan huffs.
“I went to the public rink yesterday,” I volunteer. “With my dad.”
They all go quiet. They know of my brief, sordid history with my father. How we’re on tentative, shaky ground because I essentially had to go plead for his help over the summer.
Finally, Brandon asks, “How did that go?”
I smile. “It was actually really nice. Oliver and Penn were there, but?—”
“Wait.” Maddy swivels to face me. “Penn is Team Sydney, but Oliver has been against you since the beginning. And you’re smiling as you say both of their names. Did something change? Or are you still Team Penn?”
I shift, considering meeting his abuela, the rage room, telling him about the bracelet. It was a lot of honesty all at once, and he didn’t entirely run away. Besides spending a week avoiding me.
“I think we’ve come to an understanding,” I say. “Which came about after he tossed me in a trunk and threatened to beat me up.”
They gape at me. Brandon almost swerves off the road. Dylan launches for the steering wheel at the last minute, getting us back on track, and I force another, wider smile.
“It ended up fine,” I add.
“More,” Brandon sputters. “More details.”
“I was walking home… a car turned onto the street and came at me with high beams on, two masked guys jumped out and got me into the trunk. They brought me to some warehouse and wanted me to rat on the FSU team. Like tell them anything I knew…”
“And you didn’t,” Maddy confirms.
“Of course not. They said they were going to return me to Penn all bloody and bruised and basically surge the rivalry between the two schools, implying it would be my fault.”
“And it was Oliver and Penn?”
“Oliver and Bear.” I scowl. “Penn showed up afterward… put a stop to it.”
I can’t say what actually happened. How Oliver stopped Bear from doing something truly horrible.
“Good,” Dylan echoes. “I told you he could be nice sometimes.”
“Right.” I do recall her saying that about Penn.
“So then what?” Maddy prompts. “There must be more to that.”
“I was pissed. Penn wanted to comfort me. I didn’t grow up with like… hugs, you know? It just felt wrong. So Oliver took me to a place where I could destroy a room.” I obviously leave out that it’s his family’s business. Admitting that feels too personal. Like the fact that his abuela was there.
Meeting his family was not on my bingo card.
We park in the garage under the arena. It doesn’t connect to it, with all exits leading to the street, which is why the players and staff don’t use it. But it’s great right now, since we have to go out to the front and scan to get in.
I check my phone out of habit, only to find another text.
L: I’ll tell you a lie, if you want
Me: Why are you doing this to me?
L: I would run away with you if I could.
What the fuck does that mean?
Me
Not good enough.
I’m starting to think this is some sick prank.
L.
It’s not.
If I call you right now, will you answer?
No response.
And then—it goes off.
It rings.
The call comes through, the screen illuminated with L. at the top. The green accept button is right under my thumb, but my heart stops.
“You guys go on ahead,” I say to my friends. My voice wobbles. “I’ve got to take this.”
Brandon squints at me, but I hold up the phone to indicate a phone call. And I pray that they don’t ask more about it, because… he’s actually calling me? I’m about to hear L.’s voice?
I was half joking. I really, really want to hear his voice, I want to know who he is—I want to know everything. I’m insatiable in that regard.
“Okay,” Brandon agrees. “See you inside.”
I answer the call with a soft, “Hello?”
I can’t believe this is happening—and it could still be a sick joke. Scarlett or Andi could be on the other end of the line, ready to laugh at me.
“I thought about it,” a low, raspy voice says. Male. Vaguely familiar, but at the pitch he’s speaking, I can’t place it. “I wouldn’t run away. But I would follow you if you did.”
Doesn’t help that my heart picks up its pace, sprinting in my chest. I grip the phone tighter, turning away from the direction my friends went. A million questions bubble up my throat, but then it hits me.
“I don’t know how you can say that when I know nothing about you.” Not sure accusatory is the best route to go, but how long can L. string me along?
“You know more than you think.”
He hangs up just as the light over my head flickers and goes out.
The whole row does.
I stare at my phone in shock. I know more than I think? I know more about him than he’s let on? That all but confirms he knows who I am in real life—and it still leaves me in the dark.
Both metaphorically, and now, literally.
There’s still light coming from my left, where the ramp comes down from the next level up. I hurry in that direction, heading up the incline toward the glowing red exit sign.
Someone steps out from between two cars ahead of me.
I stop short. It isn’t that I’m surprised to see someone else. It’s that they’re not moving toward the exit like me. They stop in the middle of the aisle facing me. They’re wearing all black, shadows clinging to them in the darkness. Their hood is up, hiding their face.
They slowly remove a hand from their pocket, and with a flick of their wrist, a blade appears in their hand. It catches the faint light from the other level.
Clear threat.
Nope .
I turn and run.