Page 25 of Vicious Butterfly
One more thing, and one more thing … just one more thing. I thought that if I appeased him long enough, everything would go back to normal, and I could go back to Phoenix. But then he sent me to North Point. It’s not going back to normal for me, but at least it can for Griff.
Not if we cave now, though.
A terrible feeling creeps over me, and the longer I stare at the empty space where Wren should be, the more my skin crawls. “Griff…”
There’s a click at the door, the sound the lock makes when it’s opened by a keycard, and a tall, lean-muscle-framed cadet enters. He clocks Griff and me but doesn’t say hello or anything at all. He’s carrying a large green duffel bag. Tall Guy assesses the room, then tosses his bag down at the foot of Griff’s bed.
“This won’t work. That bed’s too close to the door. You’re not sleeping there, I am,” he says to Griff as if I don’t exist.
“Ex-fucking-cuse you,” I say. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Rowan Jarvis,” he says, giving that a moment to land. Jarvis as in Major Jarvis? Some of the resemblances clock for me now that I’m looking for them—same exacting eyes, square face shape, and build—but it’s still hard to fucking swallow.
He’s tall, but I’m taller. And bigger. I stand up so I can get in his face.
“Listen, you little freshie pissant, I don’t give a fuck who your dad is. He’s my brother, and I belong here if I say I do.”
He shrugs. “Guess I can’t do all that much until lights out but remember you’re always one text away from discipline.”
Motherfucker.
Rowan carries on with his life, unpacking as if we don’t matter—because we don’t. “Y’know, Cap, there’s a good chance I’ll be your assistant captain this season.”
“You’re on the hockey team,” I say, but I don’t know if I’m asking or in shock. “You weren’t at practice this morning.”
The rest of the plebes were allowed to join us. Where the fuck was this guy?
“It’s none of your fucking business, but I had permission to miss practice. Don’t worry, I’ll be there bright and early for the next one, ‘Cap.’” He puts air quotes around the wordCap.
That’s it. I’m breaking this guy’s fucking nose.
Griffon’s hands move sharp and urgent.Go. Now.
“Griff,” I start.
“Uh, uh. None of that sign language stuff. That’s exactly why I’m here,” the fucking shithead says. He turns to Griff. “I see that again, and I report you.”
His throat is against my palm, his back against the wall before I have time to process what I’m doing. He keeps his chin lifted, eyes glittering almost … entertained. As if he really doesn’t care which way this plays out. His mouth twitches at the edge, but eventually he stops fighting the smile and lets it mock me, full force.
“Go on, Savage. Punch me. You know you want to.”
Yeah, but I can’t. My fucking nuts are tied. I know how this works. I touch him, and he makes Griffon suffer. I let him go.He snorts a laugh. Griffon yanks my T-shirt from behind, and I stumble away from Rowan, still snarling.
Griffon doesn’t need a sign or his phone this time, his face says it all.Go.But I don’t miss the tremble in his bottom lip. He’s scared. He’s been scared and dealing with assholes like Rowan for weeks. This is him trying to prevent it from getting worse.
He doesn’t know. Giving in only gets you more of what you don’t want. Ask me how I know. But what’s that saying? Losing a battle to win a war? Something like that. At least there’s the ice—anything can happen to Rowan on the ice.
I’m quickly disabused of that notion. Rowan skates over at the beginning of practice, leaning over, resting his stick on his thighs. He’s not wearing a helmet yet, his shaved head bare to the chill of the ice, and I can’t help thinking that he’s the kind of guy who’d have longer hair if he hadn’t shaved it for Block training. Guess I’ll see if he grows it out.
“You’re gonna protect me on the ice from now on,” he says.
I laugh. “Not happening. I’m gonna grind you down until you’re indistinguishable from the ice.”
“No wonder they want you away from him. You’re angry. You make bad decisions.”
Using my stick, I cross-check him, even though we’re not in play. It’s only enough to make him stumble backward, spreading an amused smile on his face. “I’m not gonna be your bitch, Jarvis.”
That’ll be the day. I bow to my father by force, and that’s fucking it. He looks past me toward the bleachers. I spin. Griffon in uniform with his book bag.
