Page 30 of Vibes

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I end up taking Iris to the hockey house.

After talking to a baffled police officer, they escorted Dylan away. Apparently a neighbor called in about seeing Dylan in the hall, hours ago. The response time is shit, but they finally arrived, claimed to have seen the door ajar, and came in to investigate. I don’t know if I should be grateful someone reported something or pissed about how long it took for anyone to actually do something about it.

Dylan came to as I was talking to the officer, looking dazed and confused about why I was there. That's the only thing that anyone seemed to agree on.

The officer is a college hockey fan, so it’s not as hard as it should be to win him over. I spin a little tale about staying over with my girlfriend and having a wild week with the guys, gearing up for the game tomorrow. I avoid mentioning anything about the twins, Jaxen, or Flynn, because I have spent zero time figuring out where they are and how the hell to help.

Iris admitted Dylan broke in, and the locks showed evidence of tampering when the officer went to look. Apparently the skills Dylan picked up from online videos are shit, and he was arrested in front of us, cuffed and escorted out of Iris’s apartment.

I wanted to go home once the curse was broken, but not like this. Iris hasn’t said much outside the questions she was required to answer at her apartment, and pretty much since she wrapped a blanket around my hips she’s been quiet and numb. Her eyes are distant, something I don’t fucking like, and all of her movements are robotic as we pack a bag. She’s just going through the motions.

Getting away from her apartment wasn’t easy. The silent neighbors are finally nosy, and I almost ask who made a report when we leave the apartment. Her bag stays slung over my shoulder next to mine, and she’s holding onto me like she needs to remind herself that I’m actually there.

I fucking hate it. She doesn’t say anything when we walk down to her car and load up, and the whole ride to the hockey house is silent. She’s in her own world, and I don’t know what to say to drag her out of it when mine is still fucked up.

I still want to hit Dylan. I wish the damn cops didn’t show up and interrupt me because he doesn’t deserve that easy out.

"I'm your boyfriend, wallflower," I declare to Iris, getting out of the car when we pull up in front of my place. My body is stiff and achy from shifting and punching Dylan in the same fluid motion. “We can work out the details later.”

For the first time since we left her apartment, she starts the conversation and gives me more than a single word or grunt. “Are you sure you want me here?”

I stop collecting things from the car, moving to open the passenger door so I can stare right at her. She stares back over the rim of her glasses, bloodshot eyes glaring at me. She cried for a little while as we packed, but she refused comfort then too. The girl is way too stubborn for her own good, and I can’t help but dig it.

“Fuck yes I want you here,” I say, helping her out of the car. “After this morning? You’re not leaving my sight, wallflower.”

“That’s overkill,” she grumbles, but her voice is a little lighter. She lets me keep a hold of her hand, and I use the other to search for my keys and unlock the front door. “What about everyone else?”

“It’s just Ronaldo, and he won’t know anything’s off. There shouldn't be any gossip about this morning yet, so we should be safe on that end. The only thing Ronaldo’s going to care about is that I’ll be at practice tonight and the game tomorrow.”

Iris nods along, staying quiet as we step into the house. Aside from the party Friday, I don’t think she’s ever been here before. Her eyes drag over the space as I close the door, and part of me is pretty curious what she thinks of the place I live in. "This place isn't as tragic when it isn't packed with partiers.”

I crack a smile at that, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as we walk into the house. “We’ll be cutting back on those.”

She doesn’t ask for me to elaborate on that, and I’m glad. I don’t know what the future looks like when I’m not even sure if I’ll be 100% human tomorrow, but right now, if Iris wants to stay at the hockey house for any amount of time we’ll have to talk about the parties.

We make our way to my room, and I don’t spot Ronaldo anywhere. It doesn’t seem like there’s anyone else here either, but I preemptively send Flynn and the guys a message just to see if someone responds. I’m not counting on much, but it’s worth the try.

Once Iris has a minute to look around my room and not seem like she’s about to bolt, I nod to one of the doors. "It’s been a rough day. Bath first."

"You have your own bathroom here?" She questions, surprised. I get it; the place is set up a lot like a house so it stands to reason that every room wouldn't normally have a private bath.

"Yep," I say, dodging any questions. "Come with me."

She follows silently, and I can feel the tension radiating off of her as we walk into the bathroom and I start filling the tub. I want her to be comfortable before I go back and strip the bed. Her eyes finally lift to mine as we wait, and she looks drained. I don't think I look a lot better after talking to the cops, but I got to beat Dylan up.

"Iris," I say carefully when she doesn't move to take off her clothes despite the heat filling the room. "Come on. Let's get you out of that."

She nods stiffly, not fighting when I pull the shirt over her head or when I help her shimmy out of the sweats and the boy shorts she put on after the cop appeared. She places her glasses carefully on the edge of the counter, and I dig around until I find something to add to the water.

"You have bubblebath?" Iris asks, surprised.

"My sister thought this was a cute gift last Christmas," I admit. "Congrats. You get to christen it because I've never used bubblebath before."

That makes her smile, and I find my gaze wandering as the tub finishes filling. I'm looking for marks he left, places he touched that are mine, but so far I'm not seeing any. Iris was smart enough to come up with a solution to get him to not touch her but somehow still go along with what he wanted.

I absolutely hate it, but it's the lesser of two evils. If there were any marks, I'm not sure if I could've stopped myself from laying into Dylan. The police would've shown up to a murder instead of an assault and break-in.