18. Grayson

18

GRAYSON

" T his wasn't how I wanted to spend my evening."

"Let me guess. You wanted to spend it with your dick inside Ava. Or is it Micah you want?" Cruz smirked at me, his dark eyes glinting beneath his lashes.

I bared my teeth at him, lifting my middle finger. "Fuck off. I'm not even gay."

He laughed mockingly. "I didn't say you were. Haven't you heard of being bisexual?"

"I'm not that, either. Fuck you, Martinez. What's your problem? You want Ava, is that it? You're jealous that she's interested in me? Or is it Micah you want? I hate to disappoint, but he's straight, too."

"Or so you think. I bet you think I am, too."

My jaw fucking dropped. Cruz smirked even harder at my shock. He was bi? Or gay? I'd never heard any rumors, and— Whatever. It wasn't important. Not at all. Straight, gay, bi, whatever…he was still a complete and utter wanker.

He tapped his fingers to his chin, that mocking smile still on his face. I wanted to punch it. "Micah's cute. I wouldn't mind corrupting him. Ava's hot as fuck. Who wouldn't want her? But both of them together?—"

"Stop. Fucking stop ," I said hoarsely. Images were assaulting my brain—images that had no right being there. Images that, even if they had been welcome, were coming at the most inconvenient time. My gaze dropped to the note, and dread hit me all over again, although I kept my face impassive. I wouldn't allow Cruz fucking Martinez to see any of my vulnerabilities. We may be in this together, but it wasn't out of choice, and I didn't trust him as far as I could throw him.

"Why? Can't you handle the truth? Can't handle the thought of the three of us together without you?"

Stabbing my finger down on the table next to the note, the harsh jab making it flutter, I glared at him, so angry I was shaking. "Research. That's the only thing we need to do. This might be a game to you, but it's not to me. If you want out, get the fuck out." My voice came out as a snarl, and it made his eyes widen.

"Okay, okay." He held up his hands, but I barely paid him any attention, launching myself out of my seat for the second time in an hour and fleeing to the empty stacks where I could gather myself without the asshole's presence. Resting my forehead against the wall, I breathed in and out deeply until I had my temper under control. Hockey players had a bit of a bad rep sometimes, with our propensity for violence. But that was only ever during the heat of the game, when riling up the other team was part and parcel of our gameplay, when tensions ran high, and the stakes were even higher. Off the ice, I wasn't violent. Usually. Unless someone got under my skin—in this case, a certain so-called "bad boy" who liked to think the rules didn't apply to him.

When I returned to my seat, Cruz was tapping at his phone, his brows pulled together in concentration. He didn't even react to my presence, and that was a relief. Carefully tucking the note away, I turned to a fresh page in my notebook, and then opened my internet browser. I searched for deaths, runaways, and disappearances state-wide around the time of the lake party. We had no idea who the person was. No clue about their age or gender or anything. All we had to go on was the fact we'd seen a pale hand coming out of the water. It was barely anything to go on, and as I stared at the sheer number of results that had come up in my search, my jaw clenched. We'd be here forever.

Except…we knew one thing. The person threatening us had a link with the body in the lake. They had to—otherwise, why would they threaten us? And they knew who we were. Knew my fucking locker. Which meant that they had to be connected to Blackwell Lake U, somehow.

If we could find a connection between one of the deceased or disappeared persons and our college, maybe we'd have somewhere to begin.

Slowly, painstakingly, I began to make a list in my notebook, bookmarking pages in my browser if I felt they might be relevant. I assumed Cruz was doing something similar, but I refused to ask him.

My phone vibrated as I was reading through an article about the mysterious disappearance of a sixteen-year-old girl last summer, forty-two miles from Blackwell Lake.

Smith:

Where are you? Team strategy meeting started 15 mins ago

Shit . "I've gotta go. Team meeting." Piling everything into my duffel, I rose to my feet. Across from me, Cruz raised a brow.

"Hockey?"

"Yeah. I'm the captain. I need to be there. And I-I—" Pausing, gathering my thoughts, I was taken aback when Cruz completed my sentence for me.

"You need to act normal. Like nothing's wrong. In case someone is watching us."

I nodded. "Yeah."

He returned my nod. "Go. I'll keep up the research."

Our eyes met, and I made a split-second decision. It was a moment of madness, but fuck it, Cruz made me act out of character, so it probably wasn't all that surprising. Tugging my notebook from my duffel, I slid it across the table to him.

"I've written down everything I've found so far that I think might be relevant. If you want to read it or add to it, or whatever…" I shrugged, letting my words trail off. Surprise flared in his gaze, but then he flashed me a quick grin that looked almost genuine.

"Thanks."

"Yeah." Lifting my hand in a goodbye, I turned on my heel and walked away.