44. sure does

Bailey

On the way home a few hours later, I curled up against the passenger door, eyelids heavy with looming sleep. But that didn’t stop Chase from grilling me about my run-in with Luke.

As we drove, the streetlights cast flickers of shadows across Chase’s profile. Reluctantly, I gave him the whole story, including the part where Luke called me a slut. The more I spoke, the more his face clouded over with anger. Not just anger—rage. His grip on the steering wheel got tighter and tighter, the cords in his neck tensing to match.

“Then he drove away,” I finished.

“Fuck!” Chase smacked the steering wheel with his open palm. “I’m going to snap his neck like a twig.”

He drew in a breath and let out a low growl. “Maybe break his legs first,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Or his fingers. One at a time. Pull out some teeth with pliers too.”

After his verbal rampage, he fell silent for several moments. I stole a glance at him but didn’t know what to say. He was on a precariously short leash, especially given that he was operating a motor vehicle. It wasn’t that he was flying off the handle. Just the opposite. An eerie, overly quiet calm had settled over him. The kind that meant something lethal was brewing beneath the surface.

“I hope you know I’m not mad at you,” Chase said quietly. “Just at him and what he did.”

“I know.” But part of me felt strangely guilty that he was so upset.

“Has he texted you since I wrote him back from your phone?” His tone was unnaturally even. “I need the truth.”

“No.” Chase’s threats tended to put Luke off temporarily. It just never stuck.

“Are you sure?”

“Promise. I can show you if you want.”

“You need to block him, baby.”

“Good call.” I yawned. “I will now that I’ve moved.”

Chase added, “Better yet, change your number so he can’t contact you from someone else’s phone. And for the love of god, no more attending games alone. Please.”

“Deal. On both counts.”

Getting a new number would be a hassle, which was why I’d been resistant initially, but Chase was right—Luke wasn’t above using other people’s phones to contact me. I knew that from experience. A clean slate was worth the inconvenience.

The game thing might be trickier, but I would make it work somehow. I wasn’t eager to live through a repeat of what Luke did, either.

Chase turned onto the freeway entrance ramp. After shoulder-checking, he merged into the middle lane. I closed my eyes, snuggling against a black hoodie that I’d snagged from the back seat and folded into a makeshift pillow. It smelled like him. He probably wasn’t getting it back. Sorry, Carter.

A few more seconds of silence passed, then he sucked in a sharp inhale. “I’m sorry, I can’t get past this. Why the hell didn’t you call me? What if he’d hurt you?”

“A few reasons,” I said, eyes still closed.

“Like…”

“I guess part of me feels like it’s my fault.”

My fault for dating Luke in the first place; my fault for not handling him correctly and provoking him; my fault for going to the hockey game alone.

“James.” His voice softened. “That’s not even a little true.”

“How is it not?”

“You’re not responsible for anything that fucker does.”

It didn’t feel that way.

“That and I don’t want you to get yourself into trouble,” I said.

“One of these days I’m going to have to make good on my threats to him or they won’t mean anything.”

“Can you limit beating him to when you’re on the ice so you don’t go to jail?”

“Trust me when I say that I am trying very, very hard to do that. Counting down the days until I can demolish him,” he said. “But if he pulls something like that car thing again, he’s leaving in a body bag.”

“Chase.” I groaned.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I can afford a top-notch lawyer. Call it self-defense or something, whatever.”

He paused. “Or maybe I should hire a hit man. It would be money well spent.”

I couldn’t tell if he was serious.

* * *