Prologue #3
For someone so fucking small, she sure as hell has a huge fucking attitude. I remember daring her in my head to say something to Coach about my lack of punctuality. I mean, what the hell was he gonna say to one of his top-performing players?
Evidently a lot. He called me into his office after my post-game shower, and he was not happy.
Not even a little bit. After a win like that, you'd think he'd be thrilled, but no, she had to go ahead and fucking ruin it.
She marked me absent, and he got emailed about some tutor attendance log that I didn't even know existed.
That's when I realized that she was a fucking threat and for two very different reasons. Reasons that didn't exist before her. For starters, I don't have a fucking backup plan.
Hockey's everything, and she's messing shit up for me by tattling to Coach. Technically, he could bench me if I don't fulfill my academic requirements. I fucking hated her for that alone. Sassy little snitch.
I've tried to hold onto that hate and snuff out the flame that she lit, but it won't go out.
My heart guards it. And I don't even hate her as much as I used to anymore.
It's faded into something else entirely.
It left me defenseless. That fire that she started has melted away my armor.
It's why she was able to take me out so easily today.
She makes me fucking vulnerable. And that's reason number two.
"You know it's fucking creepy when you start staring off and smiling like that."
"I wasn't smiling, dickhead." If I were, I can't help it, not when I'm remembering how fucking pretty she looked today. See what I mean? She's a fucking problem.
"You were. You were staring up at the ceiling and smiling like you're possessed again." More like poisoned.
"Again? The fuck, Alv?"
"I don't know, man, you look like you're deep in thought.
Whatever it is you're thinking about has you looking like a damn idiot.
" I'm fighting back a stupid smile now, because he's fucking right, she does possess me.
Although I've come to think of it as haunting.
She fucking haunts me. And tonight we're gonna break her goddamn curse.
Alvi leans back over my exposed chest, and it feels like he's performing open-heart surgery. I'm outta fucking options and outta time. This has gotta fucking work.
Because she's back at school, and I can't keep existing like this, with feelings for her. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to trust the process. I've spent a lot of fucking time in his chair and relied on this time and time again to get my mind right.
"Try to relax, man. You're extra tense tonight." I know I am. I've been in a fucking knot ever since I saw her earlier today. No matter how many deep breaths I take, I can't settle. Not when she looked like she did. She looked good. Really fucking good. She looked the healthiest I've ever seen her.
"Think happy thoughts, Hunt," he says, like it's the easiest fucking thing to do. I don't have a lot of those. I compartmentalize everything, and it all gets locked away.
"Think happy thoughts?" Yeah, well, all I'm imagining is her stuffed inside that box and her banging on the sides before clawing her way out. She's not fucking done. She's got more tormenting to do. More torture to inflict with her snarky comments and pretty eyes.
Instead of being punished in peace, I'm listening not only to chaotic banging in my head, but it's now also coming from the back door. What the fuck? The hairs on the back of my neck stick straight up. Who the hell is that?
"You expecting someone, man?" I ask, flexing my hand into a fist while my arm breaks out in goosebumps.
"Yeah, I forgot to mention I'm throwing your sorry ass a pity party," he sarcastically replies, his tattoo needle digging into my chest.
This is one of the only things that feels good lately.
And when it hurts like this, it's when it feels the fucking best. I need it to hurt.
I need it to bleed. And I need it as often as I can fucking get it.
I don't talk about the shit that I've been through and the fucking chaos that I've caused.
I keep my guilt buried deep. It's for me to handle and deal with how I see fit.
And that means that I sit here alone in my head.
My teammates are my best fucking friends, and they only know about the shit that they've seen. They don't know the fucking half of it. I'm like a lockbox. I don't say shit about shit. It all lives down deep in the pits of my stomach and burns like a fucking ulcer.
The only time that I bring bits and pieces up to the surface is when I can't fucking take it anymore.
Then I sketch it out, and Alvi does his thing.
It's a pictorial history of all the bad shit that I've done.
He's already got my arms and part of my chest covered.
I need the reminders. I need to see them every day so that I don't ever behave so carelessly again.
This chair is where I find my peace, and right now, the fucking banging on the goddamn door is fucking it up.
"Who the fuck is that?" I grit out through clenched teeth. The continuous knocking is grating on my nerves.
"No idea, hold on, I'll go check." Alv puts the machine down, and I miss it instantly. As soon as he disappears down the hallway, I feel this deep, nauseating burn as acid flips over and over in my gut. Something doesn't feel right.
The shop's technically closed, but Alvi won't ignore any neighborhood noise. And with the off-campus shop sitting on a main street through town, there's a fuck ton to pay attention to.
He keeps an eye on things. He holds down the Rossi presence and pressure to maintain a sense of order. You don't wanna fuck with them.
Alv may be stubborn and ruthless by blood, but he's also a fucking softie on the inside. If there's a problem out there disturbing the order that his family's established, he's gonna try to fix it before shit goes sideways.
He's like Batman, and he treats this town like Gotham City. If you're not in line with what the Rossi Family wants, then you're against them.
I trust my first line on and off the ice.
We set each other up for hockey success and have each other's backs. I trust my siblings with my fucking life and would die for them. But outta all my boys, Alvi’s the one I trust the most. I trust Alv to give me a safe space and to fix me up. He keeps me fucking sane.
I know he wouldn't let anyone in here unless it were a fucking life-or-death type situation. He wouldn't do me dirty like that. So there's gotta be a really good explanation for why he just let a fucking hellcat into the shop.