Page 92 of Secret Obsession
I shake my head and wipe at my mouth. Someone got in a free hit. Don’t ask me who. But when I glance up at the stands, Willow’s seat is empty.
The fuck?
I bang on the glass separating me from them. Violet looks over, her brows furrowing.
“Where is she?” I yell.
Violet rolls her eyes. “She’s getting a drink. She’ll be right back.”
A drink, my fucking ass.
On the ice, Blue Jay has returned to his spot in the crease. And you know what? Fuck, it’sfine. But Willow’s not fucking drinking. I spot her coming down the stairs with a cup in her hand. She takes a sip, and my blood boils.
She was doing fine this whole time. The week wasfine. She didn’t seem to struggle with not drinking—not that I gave her a fucking choice. Or put her in situations where I thought she might fail.
Like this.
She sits and doesn’t so much as look at me.
I just… I stare at her. Fuck the game and everything else, I can’t take my eyes off her. And the way her body loosens up the more she sips whatever’s in her cup, and her eyes lose their wild edge. Thalia gets her another one.
She’s sinking into oblivion right in front of me, and no one’s fucking saying a goddamn word about it.
She lifts the cup to her lips, and I hit the button on the remote. Her plug vibrates to life, and I click it through the levels until it must be wiggling in her ass. She jerks and spills the drink. It drips down her chest, soaking her shirt.
The buzzer sounds.
End of the first period.
I end the vibrations again, my thumb coasting over the smooth buttons. I follow my team into the locker room and listen to Coach berate all of us for playing like heathens. He’s smiling, though. I think he likes the aggression, but he’d never admit it.
Out we go. The second period passes faster than the first. Willow tries to drink, and every time, I punish her with the toy. Over and over again, until it seems like her stubbornness might win out against the battery.
But she doesn’t take it out, and she avoids my gaze.
Third period, and I’m dying to drag her out of here.
Finally, the fucking game is over. We won by the skin of our teeth. Four to three. Higher points than we usually allow in a game, but whatever. We got it done. I skate out to congratulate Blue Jay, fist bumping him before taking a lap of the ice. We trade handshakes with the other team, then we’re released.
We head back into the locker room and strip out of our gear. I take a sip of water and catch Steele’s eye. He wanders over. Coach is talking, so I tell him in a low voice what I need.
He nods.
Player of the night goes to Knox, unsurprisingly.
Finally,finally, Coach lets us go. We finish packing our equipment, and Steele stands.
“Party at my house tonight after Haven. We’re mixing it up.”
There are cheers around the room, and Knox flashes me a confused look. I shrug him off and continue with my laces, making sure everything is perfect for the next time I open my hockey bag. Not everyone is as anal—I know for a fact that my brother just throws his shit in his and hopes for the best—but I prefer to know exactly where things are.
Which is why I pull up Willow’s tracking data before I text her.
Where are you?
I already know she’s still in the stands. Maybe she’s talking to her friends or waiting for us to leave or… whatever.
Willow
