I press my finger to my lips, and she nods. We stand in the dark, barely breathing as the footsteps get louder. Someone laughs. They pass right by the closet door and keep walking.
We wait until their conversation fades away.
“Go,” I tell her. “Go get your camera at the rink, and I’ll go out the back.”
She moves toward the door and pauses with her hand on the knob. “So, I text you when I want you?”
“Yes. Now go,” I tell her. “Oh, and, Kendall?”
“Yeah?” she asks.
“Know that I really, really fucking hate you.”
Her mouth curves up into a smile. “Hate you too, Pattycakes.”
She slips out, and I’m alone in the dark. I release a long breath, but it doesn’t stop my body from buzzing.
I made a deal with the devil, and there’s no going back now.
I’ll fuck her out of my system if it’s the last thing I do, and when the season ends, I’ll walk away like none of this ever happened. I’ll get to have my cake and eat it too. Maybe then I’ll be able to properly move on.
The wordRUINEDburns under my jersey like a brand. The word is truer now than it’s ever been.
Fuck.
12
KENDALL
Ihaven’t stopped thinking about Patterson and what happened in the storage closet yesterday. Even now, I’m still in shock that he agreed, especially considering how he’s always treated me.
The way his voice dropped when he said, “Your pussy is mine,” may haunt me for the rest of my life. It was intense, like he was claiming his territory. I’ve replayed it so many times that I barely slept, tossing and turning while my body remembered every detail of something I should be trying to forget.
I’ve never lost control like that. My sex life has been vanilla at best. Careful. For once, I don’t want that.
Now I’m standing outside my parents’ house in Westchester with a bottle of wine in one hand and my sanity slipping through the other. Sunday dinner before I moved away was a Hart family tradition that survived my years in Europe through video calls and care packages. I’ve been looking forward to having my mom’s cooking while listening to Dad’s really bad jokes. There are comforts this house gives me that no other place in the world can.
As I make my way onto the top step, I notice a black Range Rover sitting on the other side of my dad’s jacked-up pickup truck that he hardly ever drives. I figure one of the neighbors. The Amorettis live right next door and use my parents’ driveway when their relatives are in town.
Before I make it to the front door, it swings open.
“There she is!” My mom steps outside with her arms spread wide, wearing the floral apron she’s had since I was twelve. Her dark hair is streaked with gray, more than I remember, and it’s pulled back into a loose bun. I am a spitting image of my mom, her true mini-me. “I was starting to think you’d gotten lost.”
“Sorry. Traffic on the Hutch.”
I climb the steps and let her pull me into a hug. She smells like lavender and home, and I hold on a little longer than usual because I’ve missed this. Five years of video calls could never replace the real thing. Considering I’m an only child, I’m all my parents have.
“You’re too thin,” she says, pulling back to examine me. “Are you eating enough? I worry about you in that apartment by yourself. You should stay with your father at his place in the city.”
“I’m eating fine, Mom. And I need my privacy. I’m twenty-seven now, and Dad is nosy.”
“Yes, he is.” She ushers me inside with a soft hand on my back. “Your father’s in the living room. Dinner is almost ready.”
The house hasn’t changed since I was a kid. The same hardwood floors creak in the hallway and made it impossible for me to sneak out as a teen. Family photos line the staircase wall, documenting every awkward phase of my adolescence, along with championship plaques that were given to my dad. I even pass the ugly ceramic vase I made when I was ten that my mom refuses to throw away.
I follow the sound of my dad’s voice in the living room. He’s loud and animated, and he’s talking about hockey. He must be on the phone with one of his assistant coaches, breaking down film or arguing about line combinations the way he does every?—
I freeze in the doorway.
