27. Sydney
twenty-seven
sydney
We lose.
The FSU fans file out of the arena with a weird energy. Some are dejected, but others seem restless.
Home game loss.
Fight night.
The game started at three, but it’s nearly eight o’clock by the time we get back to Brandon’s car. I take the front seat this time, flipping the music to a pop channel that’s all static while we’re underground. My ass has been burning through the whole game, the cuts refusing to be quiet. Reminding me of Carter, even as I watched Penn and Oliver.
“So… anyone want a taste of more violence?” I glance first at Brandon, then Dylan and Maddy in the back.
Brandon shakes his head. “I’ll pass.”
“Is this a tonight thing? Because I have an early morning run scheduled with some of my teammates,” Dylan says.
My lips flatten. I have no idea how long these fights would go.
“I’m in,” Maddy says. “If you’re good with just us going.”
I smile at her.
“Bran, can you drop us off at my car, please?” she asks.
“You got it.”
Ten minutes later, Maddy and I are on our way to the warehouse. I’m not entirely thrilled about going back to the place I was almost-raped and nearly asphyxiated. But with Maddy at my side, and the guys probably going, it should be fine.
Right?
Right.
One notable thing about the game—Bear didn’t play. He wasn’t even on the bench. His absence wasn’t commented on by anyone who would know, so I brushed it off. Maybe he’s sick. Or Oliver told him to miss the next game.
Either way, I didn’t have to look at him across the arena. For that, I’m grateful.
We’re not the only car on our way from Framingham. We follow a small line of cars that bump along the gravel, pothole-ridden road and park behind the warehouse. We climb out, and I shake out my hair and pull it up. It’s getting a little out of hand with how long it is, but I’d rather have this than short hair.
Penn
I see you.
I don’t see him, though. Not immediately. I scout around and finally pick him out of the crowd. He’s standing off to the side of the huge garage door that’s admitting people by the swarm. His gaze is on me.
When I get up next to him, he fists the front of my sweatshirt and drags me into him. His lips slam into mine. Our kiss turns open-mouthed and hungry in an instant. It might be the first time he’s kissed me.
His kiss reminds me of a wildfire, and I gladly lean into the flames. He nibbles on my lips, thoroughly explores my mouth with his tongue, sucks on mine.
I stare up at him when he straightens. His wrist rests on my shoulder, my hair threaded between his fingers. He smirks at me, and it’s fucking devastating.
He could have any girl he wanted.
Easy.
“Wow.” Maddy fans herself beside me. “I need to find myself someone who kisses me like that.”
My face flames. “Sorry.”
Penn focuses on me. “Stay in the warehouse. Don’t go wandering. And take this.”
He pulls a slender cylinder from his pocket and slips it into mine. His fingers dip into my jeans, and it should not be sensual that his knuckles brush my upper thigh.
But it is.
“By the way…” He tugs the lock of hair caught in his fingers. The next words are said directly into my ear. “You smell like sex, princess.”
I lean away.
His jaw tics when I don’t refute it, and he moves seamlessly into the crowd. I try to keep an eye on him, the top of his head, but in a matter of seconds, he’s gone.
Guess there’s no such thing as a secret with him.
“What did he give you?” Maddy asks.
I pull out the tube, unsurprised to find pepper spray in my palm. I shake my head and shove it back into my pocket. “He worries.”
I don’t want to elaborate. I didn’t really tell them about Bear, although they obviously got the rest of the story. My scarf and jacket have been doing a fine job when I have to be outside, and I’ve been getting better at the makeup component, too. I practiced a lot last night, and I woke up feeling off again.
Whatever.
If I lose a little sleep because of what happened, it’ll just make me stronger. In theory. Because it doesn’t kill me, right?
We head inside, and Maddy takes the lead. For a petite girl, she has a surprisingly bold way of moving through crowds. Or rather, plowing through them. She takes my hand, and I simply follow in her wake, all the way to the front.
A chalk ring has been drawn on the concrete.
A guy I’ve never seen before stands in the center, explaining something. I catch only the end about not leaving the circle. If they do, the crowd has the right to shove them back in.
Fights end with a knockout or if one person taps out.
First up is one of the d-men on the hockey team. He’s shirtless and fucking ripped, his muscles bulging on his arms and abdomen. He makes a circle, bouncing on his feet and trying to hype up the crowd. They oblige, and he stops beside the emcee.
The crowd parts again to let out his opponent, another player whose name I don’t know.
Both the fighters’ fists are wrapped. They wear shorts and are barefoot. Nothing else.
“How do they not get caught?” I ask in Maddy’s ear.
There aren’t that many people, but it’s still enough that something like this should leak. It would be expected. People shift around me, the energy spiking. The emcee has left the circle, and the two fighters barely wait a moment before crashing.
“I don’t get it,” I say, more to myself than her. “How are they a team if they fight each other?”
“It’s accountability,” Maddy yells in my ear. “Right? If you know you’re going to get your ass beat by your teammate after a loss, you give a hundred and ten percent every time.”
I nod.
The fight lasts minutes. Someone hands us a bottle of vodka, and I take a swig before considering the dangers. Pepper spray won’t really be helpful if I’m doped up. Maddy passes it along without taking a drink.
I end up swigging from two more bottles that seem to just find their way around, and I’m swaying by the time Penn emerges as the next fighter.
Forget that other guy being ripped. Penn has a lean, corded body. He flexes, and the crowd immediately reacts.
He’s fighting another guy I don’t recognize.
Figures.
“The other goalie,” Maddy says in my ear.
“I didn’t know you followed all of this so closely.”
She blushes.
I eye her with renewed interest, but then the fight starts. I step forward, toeing the line, as Penn and the other goalie come together in the center. Penn moves like lightning, dodging and striking back with hits to his opponent’s torso. He gets in a few quick hits, pummeling and then slipping out of reach.
Over and over.
The other goalie gets in a hit to Penn’s face, and his head whips to the side.
He spits blood and goes right back into it. This time, they seem content to stop fucking around and just trade blows to the face, until Penn gets in an uppercut that snaps his opponent’s head back.
The guy falls hard.
Penn’s chest is heaving, and I don’t know whether to run and check on him or cheer along with everyone else.
He disappears the way he came, swallowed by the crowd.
We watch the next three fights while I grow increasingly anxious. Penn doesn’t come back. I check my phone. I text him. But nothing.
“Final fight,” the emcee calls.
The crowd parts, and Oliver strides out. He’s shirtless, his muscles rippling. There’s a nasty bruise in the center of his stomach, and I vividly recall kicking him before they tossed me in the trunk.
He walks right up to me and appraises me.
I stare back. My heart thunders against my ribcage.
Did Penn say something?
Is he about to drag me into the ring?
There’s a few gasps behind us, but he shifts his body to block what’s happening behind him. There’s something in his expression… I don’t know, but I want to fall into his eyes. I reach out and touch the bruise on his stomach, and he catches my fingers.
Squeezes gently.
Finally, he moves enough so I can see?—
Bear .
He’s covered in bruises, his face swollen so bad, his eyes are forced almost completely shut. He walks in a shuffle, his left leg dragging. I’m not sure how he’s even standing, let alone entering the ring on his own. Every bruise reminds me of my own, until my chest has tightened so much, I might as well be wrapped up by a boa constrictor.
“Eyes,” Oliver demands.
I shift my attention to his face.
“You walked away from him.”
Yes, I did.
“He’s not going to do the same.”
What?
He moves away from me, circling Bear and stopping next to the emcee. There’s no brief introduction, no cheering. No one seems to know what to do with this, because the huge hockey player—who towers over Oliver, for the record—seems to already be on the cusp of a knockout.
This is the sort of public humiliation I wouldn’t have dreamed up in my worst nightmares.
The emcee leaves.
Oliver attacks.
It’s a bloodbath that Bear can’t escape. He dodges, raises his arms, but no matter what he does, Oliver targets somewhere else. Compared to the giant, Oliver is quick. He uses bursts of speed to get out of range when Bear tries to strike back, then darts in and delivers two, three powerful blows.
I watch through my fingers. The marks around my throat seem to pulse with every hit delivered to Bear. Maddy’s arm is pressed tight to mine, and she seems to wince with every connection, too.
The last blow comes when Bear staggers toward him, yelling incoherent gibberish. A final hail Mary to end it, maybe.
Oliver steps aside and kicks out. His foot connects with the side of his knee, and there’s a sickening crack that goes straight through me.
Bear screams, falling and clutching at his leg. The sound just goes on and on and on, and no one fucking moves.
He doesn’t tap out.
Oliver leans over him, that analytical expression on his face belying nothing. His attention sweeps lower, to the knee that’s bent at an awkward angle. Bear holds it with both hands, quickly dissolving into a blubbering mess.
“Get up or tap out,” Oliver says.
I have no idea how Bear hears him, or even registers that he’s giving him an order. Maybe it’s just ingrained after a year and a half of playing hockey together. But he manages to get on his good knee and then hop up.
His injured leg holds none of his weight. He stares at Oliver, his lips still moving. The words have stopped, though. He could be praying.
The final hit comes fast, finally putting him out of his misery. A blow to the temple that he doesn’t even attempt to block.
When he falls, I feel nothing.
And I’m pretty sure it just confirms I’m more broken than I originally thought.