Devious Obsession: A Dark Hockey Romance (Hockey Gods)

Iwas unsuccessful breaking into Aspen’s phone. I tried in the middle of the night, when she was passed out in my bed, but it’s locked down. Not a simple passcode—she has a six-digit one. Plus face ID, but it didn’t register it with her eyes closed.

I’ll get into it eventually. I want to know exactly what she’s saying to my father. To make matters worse, they’re not even in the country. They’re on vacation. When’s the last time my workaholic father took time off?

The only trips I remember are back from when my mom was still in the picture. When we were one big happy family. But that all changed in high school. Dad buckled down and became all about work.

My stomach twists. I check my calendar. It’s mid-October. Mom’s birthday is early November, and I need to arrange a visit. I’ll have to tell Coach, too, but he might remember the situation from last year. How I usually have to dance around my father’s demands and my game schedule.

Besides that, I’m fine missing classes. And Coach will excuse me from a practice or two.

Well, he might not this time, since we’ve been on thin ice since the first game. Even winning against the Knights did nothing to stave off his ire.

It’s been three days since the game. Knox, Greyson, and Miles went over to the girls’ apartment the morning after. I didn’t go, but apparently there were some creeps hanging out that scattered when they showed up.

Good.

That’s been a mess.

However, my new course of action has presented itself: since Aspen is still under my father’s thumb, I’m going to make her an unreliable narrator. Which means warping Aspen’s perception of reality a little. Twisting her around until she doesn’t know which way is up. And then my father will have no faith in her, and it won’t matter if she blames the whole thing on me.

The first order of business: the hallucinogenic in my pocket.

She and Thalia showed up at the hockey house with their packed bags, and she’s since decided that she’d rather stay with Thalia in Greyson’s old room than bunk with me.

That girl has a habit of twisting me up, so I let it slide.

For now.

But only because the guys in my house know that she’s off-limits. If Thalia wants to fuck one of them, she can go to their room. She’s got more options than Aspen anyway. The two of them sharing a bed actually keeps Aspen safer.

I put a few drops into a water bottle that I carefully manipulated. The cap and the safety seal stayed together, so it appears like it was never opened. I find Aspen in one of the practice rooms, leaning over the piano in the corner of the room. There are music stands stacked along the wall, with a few folded chairs for other instruments, I suppose. Unnecessary for Aspen and her piano.

However, the sound that comes out, the drifting melodic tune she’s playing, is muted. The soundproofing in the room isn’t horrible, especially since I’m sure it’s loud inside it. But I can still hear her in the hallway. Figures the school wouldn’t splurge on quality for their practice rooms.

That gives me another idea for another day.

Enough waiting. I unlock the door with my ID and stroll inside. Aspen stops mid-song and cranes around. Her eyebrows hike up, and her mouth parts. I like her surprise. But it’s instantly replaced with wariness. She swivels to face me fully, opening her mouth to probably tell me off—or to get out.

I hold up the water and granola bar in my hands. “I’m playing nice,” I lie. “Thought you might want some nourishment, since you’ve been in here for hours.”

She frowns. “I’ve been in here for an hour, tops.”

I scoff. “Whatever.” I set the water and bar on the bench beside her, then unfold one of the metal chairs. I lower myself into it and cross my arms, propping my leg up. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

She reaches for the water and unscrews it. The satisfying noise of the seal breaking fills the room, and she takes a sip. Then another. Her throat moves with every swallow.

She sets it back down and wipes her mouth on the back of her forearm, then turns back to the sheet music. Some of the edges are bent, which makes me think they’re the same pages that I sent flying down the stairwell. Which means she didn’t reprint them.

Interesting.

“Are you just going to watch?”

“Listen,” I reply, closing my eyes. “Yes.”

Pause.

I resist the urge to check if she’s looking at me.

She lets out a breath and starts again from the beginning. I think it’s the beginning anyway. I really don’t have any idea about piano music. I don’t know if she’s playing classical or new age or a cover of a modern song. Maybe something from a movie.

I like it, though. It kind of has that haunting melody that sits in your chest.

Suddenly, she stops. Curses. After a second, she restarts again. The notes go all wonky, and she stops with a squeak.

I crack my eye open.

She’s leaning forward, her head tipped to the side. Her fingers are pulled away from the keys like they bit her.

“Aspen?” I focus more fully on her.

The drugs went to work fast, judging by her expression. I wonder what her sheet music is doing. If it’s talking to her or wiggling across the page.

She glances at me, and her eyes bug out. I slip my phone from my pocket and switch it to video mode, aiming it at her.

“What is it?” I ask.

She’s staring at me with a horrified expression. “Steele,” she whisper-yells. “T-there’s a monster behind you.” Her grip tightens on the bench, her feet leaving the pedals.

I glance behind me, then face her again. “Maybe we should get out of here? Get to safety.”

She nods wordlessly and rises, leaving her bag behind. She hurries out into the hallway, and I follow. She seems to be walking like someone’s hunting her, glancing over her shoulder at me with wide eyes.

I smile to myself.

Perfect.