4. RYAN #5
A terrible feeling creeps over me, and the longer I stare at the empty space where Wren should be, the more my skin crawls. “Griff…”
There’s a click at the door, the sound the lock makes when it’s opened by a keycard, and a tall, lean-muscle-framed cadet enters.
He clocks Griff and me but doesn’t say hello or anything at all.
He’s carrying a large green duffel bag. Tall Guy assesses the room, then tosses his bag down at the foot of Griff’s bed.
“This won’t work. That bed’s too close to the door. You’re not sleeping there, I am,” he says to Griff as if I don’t exist.
“Ex-fucking-cuse you,” I say. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Rowan Jarvis,” he says, giving that a moment to land. Jarvis as in Major Jarvis? Some of the resemblances clock for me now that I’m looking for them—same exacting eyes, square face shape, and build—but it’s still hard to fucking swallow.
He’s tall, but I’m taller. And bigger. I stand up so I can get in his face.
“Listen, you little freshie pissant, I don’t give a fuck who your dad is. He’s my brother, and I belong here if I say I do.”
He shrugs. “Guess I can’t do all that much until lights out but remember you’re always one text away from discipline.”
Motherfucker.
Rowan carries on with his life, unpacking as if we don’t matter—because we don’t. “Y’know, Cap, there’s a good chance I’ll be your assistant captain this season.”
“You’re on the hockey team,” I say, but I don’t know if I’m asking or in shock. “You weren’t at practice this morning.”
The rest of the plebes were allowed to join us. Where the fuck was this guy?
“It’s none of your fucking business, but I had permission to miss practice. Don’t worry, I’ll be there bright and early for the next one, ‘Cap.’” He puts air quotes around the word Cap.
That’s it. I’m breaking this guy’s fucking nose.
Griffon’s hands move sharp and urgent. Go. Now.
“Griff,” I start.
“Uh, uh. None of that sign language stuff. That’s exactly why I’m here,” the fucking shithead says. He turns to Griff. “I see that again, and I report you.”
His throat is against my palm, his back against the wall before I have time to process what I’m doing.
He keeps his chin lifted, eyes glittering almost …
entertained. As if he really doesn’t care which way this plays out.
His mouth twitches at the edge, but eventually he stops fighting the smile and lets it mock me, full force.
“Go on, Savage. Punch me. You know you want to.”
Yeah, but I can’t. My fucking nuts are tied. I know how this works. I touch him, and he makes Griffon suffer. I let him go. He snorts a laugh. Griffon yanks my T-shirt from behind, and I stumble away from Rowan, still snarling.
Griffon doesn’t need a sign or his phone this time, his face says it all. Go. But I don’t miss the tremble in his bottom lip. He’s scared. He’s been scared and dealing with assholes like Rowan for weeks. This is him trying to prevent it from getting worse.
He doesn’t know. Giving in only gets you more of what you don’t want. Ask me how I know. But what’s that saying? Losing a battle to win a war? Something like that. At least there’s the ice—anything can happen to Rowan on the ice.
I’m quickly disabused of that notion. Rowan skates over at the beginning of practice, leaning over, resting his stick on his thighs.
He’s not wearing a helmet yet, his shaved head bare to the chill of the ice, and I can’t help thinking that he’s the kind of guy who’d have longer hair if he hadn’t shaved it for Block training. Guess I’ll see if he grows it out.
“You’re gonna protect me on the ice from now on,” he says.
I laugh. “Not happening. I’m gonna grind you down until you’re indistinguishable from the ice.”
“No wonder they want you away from him. You’re angry. You make bad decisions.”
Using my stick, I cross-check him, even though we’re not in play. It’s only enough to make him stumble backward, spreading an amused smile on his face. “I’m not gonna be your bitch, Jarvis.”
That’ll be the day. I bow to my father by force, and that’s fucking it. He looks past me toward the bleachers. I spin. Griffon in uniform with his book bag.
“Huh, right on time. At least one of you listens. Remember, protect my ass. The nicer you are to me, the nicer I am to him.”
“What the fuck?” But Coach blows his whistle. I take a long look at Griff. He’s pulled his book out, just studying, totally fine, but he’s here because Rowan told him to be. I don’t fucking like that.
The drills today are just as murderous as yesterday. Zero reprieve. At least once the season starts, there’ll be less of this. Fewer practices altogether. I push through if only to show Jarvis that I don’t back down.
Becks stares at me for so long, Coach snaps at him. Bet he’s still thinking about how he’s getting me to join his hockey fight club. Kane watches me too, amused. He knows something’s up, but I doubt he cares past what good it will do him. He’s so fucking self-involved sometimes.
We’re about to start the scrimmage—thank fucking God drills are over—when I catch movement on the bench. My eyes snap up; it’s Wren and Scout in uniform, book bags slung over their shoulders.
The cavalry has fucking arrived.
Griff’s smile could span the length of a hockey rink. Don’t think I’ve seen him smile like that in a long time. There are high-fives as greetings. My heart clenches. They have something just for him, so he doesn’t have to speak.
“Looks like I spoke too soon about him behaving,” a low voice growls beside me. “He’s gonna get it when I have him alone. I heard him moaning in his sleep last night. Was hot. Maybe I’ll bend him over, make him—”
I see fucking red.
And then red sprays across the ice.
My jaw throbs. Icing it does shit at this point except for aggravating the fuck outta my skin.
I ripped Rowan’s helmet off and cracked his nose, but he’s got a hell of a left paw.
I’m still plotting all the ways I can dispose of Jarvis junior’s body when Jarvis senior enters the long corridor that eventually leads to his office.
I’m in one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs outside his door.
I’m too slow to get to my feet, which isn’t going to help me.
“Sir,” I say, gaze focused straight ahead.
The collar of my shirt chokes me, so I take a slow breath, clawing at reality to keep my mind here and out of the tank.
I hold the now lukewarm ice pack by my side, ignoring the ache that crawls all the way up to my right eye.
In addition to boxing the physical pain, I have to not think about Griff right now.
They let him go with Rowan. Once Rowan’s nose stopped bleeding and the on-site medic patched up his face, Rowan was free to go. He took my brother, acting like he thinks Griff’s his fucking pet, and I was sent here.
Major Jarvis has his hat tucked under his arm, the gold buttons on his jacket glinting in the dim light of the corridor. His face is all sharp stone. His eyes an abyss, threatening to swallow me whole.
“In,” his deep voice says. “Sit.”
I’m invited to sit down? That’s usually reserved for casual conversations, and there’s no fucking way this is gonna be that. Not after attempting to turn his son’s face into hamburger meat. I have to say, though, it was some of my finest work.
Approaching with caution, I sit, waiting for the trap to spring. Because this is a trap, I just don’t know what kind of trap it is.
Major Jarvis sets his hat down on his desk, and then sets about rearranging his items, pulling out an iPad, and setting it up so that I have a full view of the screen.
I’m not supposed to speak to an officer unless I have permission or have been addressed, but the rising anxiety wins.
“Sir—”
“Quiet, cadet.”
I place the ice pack on my face again for something to do, but I track all of his movements. There was a time when this kind of shit didn’t intimidate me. But that was when I had some jurisdiction over my own life. Now, I’m at the suffocating mercy of others.
Finally, he perches on the edge of his desk, resting his palms behind him on the surface of the cherry mahogany.
“You can be expelled for what you did, cadet.”
Do I want to be at this college? No. That news should be cause for celebration. But I’ve already been warned that there are worse places than North Point. Father won’t hesitate to send me to them. And with Griff here, it makes staying at North Point extra imperative.
“Sir, he threatened to fuck my brother without consent, sir,” I say with all the underlying menace bubbling within me.
He gives a curt nod. “He told me.”
Well, that’s kind of a fucking shock. “Then we should be done here, sir.”
He gives a long if only kind of sigh, licking his lips while peering at me as if he’s trying to read my next move.
“He deserved what he got. He’s lucky he still has a face,” I say, dispensing with protocol. Fuck that and fuck him. Clearly, his son’s getting preferential treatment. I grit my teeth. “You can’t make me sorry.”
Major Jarvis huffs a laugh. “Oh, I think I could make you sorry. If you keep pushing me, I’ll do it for fun, but I’ve got better things to do, and that’s not why I’ve called you into my office.”
A terrible chill waves down my spine.
“It’s become clear to me, several members of staff, your father, and Griffon’s care team that you are compromising his recovery.”
No. No. I know where this is going. Everything feels like it’s slipping. My eyes burn with unshed wetness. I know that it’s not true, but it doesn’t make the words less painful. That anyone would deem me harmful to Griffon is fucking laughable.
“You’re going to stay away from him, effective immediately,” he says.
I shake my head. “That’s not happening, sir.”
“It is, or your life at North Point is about to become severely restricted.”
“I don’t care.”
“Your father said you might say that. He’s on standby, ready to speak to you if necessary.”