“Scotty?”
I blow out the candles, wanting to erase the look on her face from my memory.
The second the flames are out, the cake slips from her hands and drops straight into my lap.
“Laura, I—”
The house lights are on now.
“Oh,my God.” She stumbles back, her hands flying to her mouth as she whips her head left, then right, realizing she is surrounded by the freshman hockey team. “Oh, my God.”
Fuck. Please, please don't see the camera behind Brooks.
Laura freezes.
She takes in a sharp gasp when she looks over her shoulder.
Too late.
I see it in her eyes—the exact moment she spots the lens.
“Laura,” I choke out, yanking against the cuffs hard enough to rattle the chair. “Laura, wait—”
“Happy birthday, broooooo!” Erik shouts from somewhere behind me, but the sound is minuscule compared to the sound of my life crashing around me.
“Get me out of this fucking chair!” I shout, my voice breaking. “Laura, let me explain.”
She looks at me, really looks, and her eyes are hollow, stunned, and wrecked.
“I need to go.”
“Laura, wait!” I call after her, but she doesn't stop. I can only watch helplessly as she disappears, the door swinging shut behind her.
For a moment, the room is silent except for the absurdly cheerful music track still playing in the background, mocking me.
“Get these fucking handcuffs off me now!” I roar, wrenching hard enough that the chair screeches across the floor. My wrists burn from the metal digging into my skin, but the pain is nothing compared to the rage coursing through me.
I'm going to kill Erik.
Literally murder him.
I'm going to beat him to death with his own hockey stick and then use his body as a puck.
“Whoa, chill out, man. It was just a joke,” Brooks says, stepping forward with the handcuff key, actually looking concerned now.
“A joke?” I spit the word out. “You all humiliated her in front of the entire team. You filmed her for my father’s show. How is that a fucking joke?”
The second the cuffs click open, I'm on my feet, shoving past Brooks, beelining straight for Erik. I slam him backward, knocking him flat onto his ass.
“You're a fucking asshole, Steele.”
He throws his hands up, his eyes wide. “Whoa, wait,” Erik says, having the audacity to sound defensive.
“What the fuck were you thinking?”
My fists clench, ready to punch the shit out of him.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts. “I thought—it was supposed to be like—like this nice, romantic thing? So you could show her you liked her?” He gestures helplessly toward the door Laura ran through. “I swear I didn’t think she’d react like that.”
