Page 45 of Unhinged Obsession

"What is he talking about?" I ask, and Elijah finally lets out a quiet breath through his nose before trying to answer.

"Hayden Lockwood dragged him into the penalty box during a game once." He holds his hand up, palm out, as if to tell me to just wait, and thatthere’s more.

"No… he didn’t?" I don’t even know why I’m questioning this, because that very much sounds like something Hayden would do.

"That ref had had enough of nobody actually taking the game seriously,” Elijah makes a face, because he is the king of not caring about the actual game. ”He kept blowing the whistle because Hayden was standing against the glass, catching the kisses Madison was blowing at him from the front row."

I blink once because, of course, Hayden was doing that in the middle of a game. Elijah shrugs, like that's a perfectly reasonable explanation.

“The ref wouldn’t let it go and gave him some bullshit penalty,” Elijah says, still grinning like he’s reliving the entire thing in real time, and he’s very much Team Hayden right now.

I tilt my head, waiting for him to continue, because there is absolutely no way the story ends there. “So Hayden…” I prompt gently, narrowing my eyes at him, because I really need the rest of this story to be able to move on with my day.

“Hayden dragged him into the penalty box with him…” he says, like he’s not sure if he should tell me the rest. I stare at him for a beat, just waiting “…And sat on his head,” he adds unceremoniously, almost like that isn’t the most ridiculous thing he could have possibly ended this story with.

"The ref was crying, and Hayden wouldn’t let him out of the box until he apologized to Madison." Elijah wraps an arm around me and slowly guides me toward the arena. I think the Hayden lore has reached its absolute peak, but then Elijah tells me through a laugh, “Apparently he got pissed that the ref said her name when he was apologizing. He made Coach Remington say “pretty please” for him to let the ref go. It was a whole thing.”

I consider that for all of three seconds before deciding it tracks so perfectly with everything I know about Hayden Lockwood that asking follow-up questions feels unnecessary.

"If you told me that he let a herd of elephants loose in the arena to stomp on anyone who looked at Madi, and I don’t think I’d even question it," I say, and my laugh even sounds light and carefree to myself. I can’t say I’ve felt like that in a long time.

Elijah pulls me close, kissing the top of my head before saying, “Don’t give him any ideas, little dove.”

“What do you think will be the breaking point before he’s kicked off the team?” I ask, but I really don’t see that happening in a place like Castlebrook. It’s the same as St. Augustine. Everything is based on who you are and who you know, and certainly not on your behavior.

“That’ll never happen. Hayden is the best player I’ve ever shared the ice with. None of us might give a shit about winning or the games, but he has a natural talent.” Elijah shrugs. “I highly doubt any of that comes from practicing. His coach needs him and is willing to deal with the fuckery because of it.”

I clap my hands together suddenly before I can stop myself, the realization finally catching up with me.

"Wait!" I exclaim, and Elijah looks down at me.

"If Hayden's here..." I say, unable to hide my excitement, "does that mean Madi, Lilac, and Winter are here too?"

His entire expression softens. Without answering right away, he pulls me comfortably against his side as we start walking toward the arena doors, his fingers giving my upper arm a gentle squeeze. He knows I’m sad about Paris leaving campus with Ben. I understand why they’re doing it, but it doesn’t mean I can’t wish she was here with me.

"They're already inside," he says. "They're saving you a seat." The smile that spreads across my face is immediate, and I can tell by his reaction that this is his goal now. To make me happy. That whole concept seems surreal, but really, I think that was Elijah’s goal the entire time I’ve known him.

Those girls have become so much more than teammates' girlfriends or the women dating Elijah's friends. Friends? I guess associates is the term I'm looking for. The thought of spending an afternoon with them, cheering from the stands while the boys don’t hide the fact that they’re showing off for us every chance they get, feels wonderfully, refreshingly normal. Even so, a small ache settles in my chest before we reach the entrance.

I don’t think I've ever attended one of Elijah’s hockey games without Paris, dazzled in pink instead of team colors, sitting next to me.

To her, Benjamin was the star player, and each game was a theatrical event. She always had the best snacks stuffed into her purse. We had our favorite seats, our ridiculous superstitions, and an ongoing argument about whether cheering louder actually helped the boys score. She insisted it did.

I wish I could check in with her, but I have to wait for her to call me. Every conversation leaves me missing her, but still a little lighter knowing she's safe, knowing she's exactly where she's supposed to be—with Benjamin.

The noise reaches us before the rink does, the sharp scrape of skates against ice mixing with the hollow crack of pucks hitting the boards as Elijah leads me through the doors. The stands are only occupied by Castlebrook’s immediate guests, because the game doesn’t start for a while. The Castlebrook players are already suited up and spread across the ice, moving quickly beneath the bright overhead lights as they pass pucks back and forth through warm-up drills. Elijah explains that Coach Remington extended them the courtesy of using the rink while the Angels suit up. Once both teams are ready, the Zamboni will come out to smooth the ice before the game officially begins.

Judging by the way several Castlebrook players are already slamming one another into the boards despite the absence of an opposing team, I’m not sure courtesy is the word I would use for anything happening today.

I’m still watching two players fight over a puck in the corner when someone calls my name from the front row, and I look toward the glass to find Madison Caldwell waving both hands over her head like there is any chance I could miss her. Winter and Lilac are sitting beside her, but Madi is already pushing herself out of her seat before I can even wave back.

“Come sit with us!” she calls. Apparently deciding that I’m taking too long to follow the instruction, she abandons her row entirely and hurries toward me, weaving between the mostly empty seats until she reaches the aisle. She looks like an angel in pink, with her long blonde hair curled perfectly down her back and one side pinned away from her face with a bow that matches her skirt and top. Even her white thigh-high socks have tiny pink bows near the tops, and the entire outfit is so unapologetically her that it makes me smile.

She has a whole online store where she sells things she makes, and her whole aesthetic is pink bows. I’m pretty sure Paris put in a request to get Benjamin’s jersey made in pink, and then proceeded to buy everything she had available with a bow on it.

“I’m so happy you're here” she says, hugging me tightly enough that I know she isn’t only being polite. Madi has a way of making every bit of affection she gives feel entirely sincere, as though welcoming me into their group isn’t something she has to think about because she already decided I belonged there.

“Madi, can you please remember Hayden is a fucking psycho?” Winter groans from her seat. “I’ll pay the Zamboni driver to chase him around the ice again if he starts acting up.”