Chapter 3 Theo
I don’t know what to think.
It’s fucking outrageous to see a girl that pretty with red cheeks, watery eyes, and looking like she hasn’t slept all night, and still so fucking edible.
God damn.
I keep my eyes forward, disgusted with the fact that she’s crying over Cody. He doesn’t deserve a single tear shed.
Soon.
Soon she’ll know.
Nessa cried like that once. Same red cheeks. Same shaking hands. Same stupid fucking belief that love meant safety.
I cut the corner and grin. A folded-in girl on the chair, shoulders trembling like something snapped inside of her, and those curious eyes. Tear-stained. Shaken. Small.
It shouldn’t entice me.
She shouldn’t somehow still be polished, dressed in fucking bright red pajamas with cherries on them.
My knuckles throb hard enough that I want to slam them into the wall, but I don’t.
I flex my hand three times. Open. Close.
Open. Close. Open. Close. Pain is data. Data means control.
The ache tells me that if I hit something again, I’ll do more damage than I can afford.
I need to save this rage for what’s coming because if something follows, then I’ll burn this entire fucking city down.
I take the elevator up, jaw tight, and the technician barely glances up from his screen when I walk in.
“Name?”
“Theo Rhodes.”
He looks at the form, then at my arm in the sling. “Mechanism of injury?”
“Hockey.” It drops out flat.
“Position?”
“Defense.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“Right this way.” He gestures behind him, bored but not rude.
I stand where the tech tells me to. The pain pulses when he removes the sling. The slightest pressure makes every tendon in my arm pull tight. He positions my body and then walks off.
“Stay just like that,” he says, stepping behind the shield.
The machine clicks, whirs, and flashes. My jaw locks through every second of it.
“You’ve done this before?” he asks as he checks the monitor.
“More than once.”
He hums. “You guys should get hazard pay.”
“We don’t.”
“Shame.” He tells me to face forward. Another click. Another flash. And then he has me face the wall. “Okay. You’re done. Go back to the waiting room. They’ll call you out shortly.”
When I step back into the hallway, I automatically glance in the direction where I’d seen her earlier. She’s gone.
I sit directly across from her empty chair and stare at it. The tears she’s shedding over this guy are comical. I run a hand down my face to harden my expression. My mom always told me I shouldn’t laugh when others are in pain, and I told her she shouldn’t have birthed a fucking devil.
The number of people pouring in at this early hour makes me grateful I couldn’t sleep last night.
Coach would have my head if I didn’t do this.
The last time I was injured, he lectured me about health and listening to my body.
But pain is a mental game I always win. He doesn’t understand the disconnection between my brain and body.
He didn’t consider that’s the only reason why I’m a good hockey player.
I can push when they want me to push. I can take any hit.
My dad thinks it’s a shame I’m not a world-renowned MMA fighter, but my mom couldn’t handle that.
She wanted me skating on ice instead, like her dad used to.
It makes me sick to my stomach how much humans try to recreate their past losses in their children. Yet here I am.
The doctor calls my name after I’ve stared too long at the fucking chair.
I finally step inside, ready to get this over with.
He looks me over, then clicks open the X-ray image.
“Broken,” he says. “But you don’t need surgery, so in other words, you got lucky with the break. You’ll need rest for the next few weeks. Stay off the ice. No stick work until the swelling goes down.”
I shake my head. “No, I need to play.”
He huffs, pausing to look at me. “Are you just going to put bubblegum and duct tape?”
I glare at him.
He shakes his head.
“It feels fine,” I say, even though I know it’s not fine. It’s clear on the X-ray that it’s fucking broken. My mind and body are two separate entities, so I don’t care about proof.
He writes a note for medication and then sends me off, making another snide comment I ignore completely. I shove the paper in my pocket and exit the building.
Serena is sitting in my car. Great. I thought she’d leave by now. I exhale, annoyed. The second I open the driver’s door, she looks up at me.
“Get out.”
“Is it broken?”
I shake my head, so she crawls into the passenger seat.
She’s quiet as I start the engine and drive out of the parking lot.
The only sound is the tires on the road as I drive in the direction of Silas’s house.
“Did you hear anything?” she asks quietly.
I grip the steering wheel tightly.
“About Cody?”
“Don’t say his fucking name,” I warn. Everything inside me tightens.
“Is he––”
“I don’t know, Serena.” My tone is dead. “Count your lucky stars that I don’t break your fucking hand for calling that bitch.”
“She was there?”
I inhale, remembering the way she looked like a dream. Scared, terrified, crying.
Serena’s on edge now, so I turn the music all the way up, drowning out her presence next to me.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, so I use my knee to steer the car and yank it out of my back pocket.
Silas: Behind campus
Fuck.
I take the next right and head toward UW.
“Where are we going?” Serena asks.
I turn the volume up even more, ignoring her. I always knew she would be a problem, letting her emotions cloud her fucking judgment. I don’t even know why she’s with me right now, other than she’s nosy as fuck. Sooner or later, I’m going to put her in her place.
I pull up to the front of campus, purposely on the opposite side where she dorms. I reach over, opening the door for her.
“Get out.”
“You don’t have to be such a dick.”
The pills I took haven’t kicked in yet, so the pain throbs in my entire body. “You cause more problems than you’re good for. Get the fuck out.”
She snaps, “I’m not the psychopath who––”
I grab her hair.
From anyone on the outside looking in, it could look like a possessive kiss as I bring her face towards mine.
It’s not.
I loathe this girl.
I whisper in her ear, “If you say his name again, Serena, I will make sure you regret it in a way you won’t recover from.”
I release her. She pulls back just an inch, staring into my eyes. Something in her expression shifts — not quite fear, but the place right before it.
“You think you’re such a fucking king, Theo––”
I grab her by the throat. Is she sick in the fucking head? Does she know when to stop?
I look down at her lips, wondering what extent I’ll need to go to keep her mouth shut.
But she doesn’t say anything more, so I pull back my hand. She removes herself from my car and slams the door shut.
I don’t need her around when things start collapsing.
I lean against the brick wall, head tipped back, waiting for my boys to arrive.
The pain in my arm throbs like a heartbeat.
My vision swims. I throw a few more pills into my mouth to drown out the feeling.
I tell myself I’m only thinking about the fight.
The hit. The rage. The unfinished score of Jax Kingsway.
Jax from UCLA wants beef? Well, I’ll serve it to him on a silver fucking platter.
Cody is a story for another day. I don’t need to worry about him anymore.
My phone buzzes. My father’s name flashes on the screen. He probably heard about the tragedy of my teammate and wants to check in.
I ignore it, closing my eyes. My arm rests against my body. The fracture runs clean across the bone –– a perfect split. Cody’s face didn’t split that clean. I threw out the sling, not wanting to give anyone the wrong idea.
I huff. These fuckers really told me to meet them back here, and they’re not here yet.
Ten fucking minutes.
That’s how long it takes before headlights sweep across me, and a familiar beat-up dark green Jeep comes into view — Silas’s baby, a Frankenstein of parts he stole from junkyards and salvaged like treasure. It rumbles to a stop beside me, and the passenger door swings open.
Silas whistles low when he reaches my side.
“There he is,” he says. “The man of the hour.”
Silas lifts both hands, rings glinting beneath the streetlight. “It’s broken, isn’t it?”
“Nope,” I say.
Beckett steps closer, grabbing my arm. He twists it, so I push his chest.
“The fuck!”
“It’s broken,” Beckett laughs, stepping back.
Silas stares down at my arm. “You saying it was from Jax?”
“I’m not saying shit.”
“But to Coach,” Silas points out.
I glare at him. “Coach is the only one who’s going to demand an answer.”
“Then we’d better act like we’re getting revenge on Kingsway the next time we play against UCLA.”
“Easy enough,” I say.
They stare, waiting for me to continue talking.
“What?”
Beckett pushes my arm again, and I exhale. “How’s our prince?” He laughs. “Will he need true love’s kiss to wake up?”
I stare at him.
“Weren’t you in there?” Silas asks.
I nod. “His room was empty when I passed. The princess was in the waiting room, so––”
“Putting that together means…” Silas puts his hands in front of him. “Surgery.”
“They might need a lifesaving miracle.”
Beckett scoffs. “You look like shit. You should get Serena to put makeup on that bruise. Put ice to reduce the swelling. It’ll raise fewer questions.”
My jaw tightens. “We should have killed him.”
The fact that I mean that doesn’t scare me. It probably should.
Silas snorts. “And done what? Buried him?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe we can visit the hospital and finish the job,” Beckett adds.
I bite down. “It might just take true love’s kiss to break the spell. But not unless we get to him first. I want to watch him fucking suffer.”
Beckett chuckles. “Agreed. Last night wasn’t good enough.”
Silas agrees. “So what the fuck are we gonna do? Sit around here and talk about it?”
I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter now. I doubt the spell will break. We did good, boys. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Silas and Beckett exchange a look. “Are you going to go home?”
“No.” It comes out fast and sharp. Beckett’s eyes narrow, catching the crack in my voice.
I force my shoulders back. “We were supposed to have family therapy this morning,” I say.
They all know about family therapy. My mom, Dr. Celeste Rhodes, is a renowned forensic psychologist, and for that reason, we have all been going to family therapy since I was ten.
I usually skipped out on most of the sessions, because they both know I am presenting a facade whenever I attend, but ever since… well, ever since Nessa.
Ever since she stopped leaving her room. Ever since she started sleeping with the lights on. Ever since she said his name like it tasted like blood.
Even my father, who has always been a skeptic, has been adamant that we all attend.
The therapy won’t help the demons in my head. It doesn’t matter how much my mom wants to fucking save me; they always win.
“Maybe just hold your arm a little more normally, and you can go,” Beckett says. Beckett is in no way a doctor. He’s a third-year Sports Medicine major and a complete idiot, but we use his skills from time to time. If he hadn’t pushed me to go to the hospital this morning, I wouldn’t have gone.
“It’ll raise questions. My family is too concerned with me right now. They want to fucking heal me. And Nessa…” I run a hand through my hair, willing myself to hold my arm normally. “She’ll put it together. It’s better if I stay away.”
Silas’s face shifts instantly at my sister’s name. Something tightens around his expression, a line drawn hard across his features.
Silas scoffs. “You think she won’t when that asshole isn’t calling her today?”
I grind my teeth. “Don’t fucking mention it.”
Silas studies me for a long moment, then glances at Beckett.
“There’s no one at my place,” he says. “We should go there.”
Beckett nods once.
We start moving toward the Jeep, but I stop after two steps.
“There’s something else,” I say.
Silas turns. “Please don’t say you punched someone on the way out.”
“Serena.”
Beckett goes still.
Silas’s expression darkens. “You’re serious.”
Beckett mutters in frustration under his breath.
Silas clicks his tongue. “Of course she’s sticking her head where it doesn’t belong.”
“I handled it,” I say.
“Right,” Beckett mocks. “Girls like her don’t know when to stop.”
I glare at him. “She won’t say anything.”
Silas snorts. “You trust her?”
“No,” I answer truthfully. “But I warned her. I have no problem putting her in her place.”
“But she’s fucking unhinged, bro,” Silas remarks. “She’d love to be hunted down by us.”
“You’re the dumb fuck who brought her along, so this is your fucking mess that I’m cleaning up.”
Beckett shakes his head but doesn’t argue. He knows better than anyone to question my threats.
Silas claps his hands once. “All right. Get your ass in the car. You look like you’re about to topple over.”
He’s not wrong. The combination of painkillers and the exhaustion crawling through my bloodstream makes every step feel heavier than it should.
Beckett opens the door for me, a silent gesture that would irritate me from anyone else. But from him, it’s not pity. It’s loyalty.
I settle into the seat, breathing slow, careful. The Jeep smells like engine oil and nicotine, with a faint hint of whatever cologne Silas uses.
Silas slides behind the wheel. Beckett climbs in the back.
I watch the city blur, slowly allowing myself to relax. Nothing will crawl back to us. I have Jax to blame for the bruises and broken arm. I have an alibi.
My mind races, but keeps rewinding to those wet eyes. Crying for a boy who isn’t worth the space he takes up on this earth. Crying for a boy I made sure would never look the same again. Just fucking crying.
She has no idea what she just stepped into.
And I have no intention of letting her step out.