Page 14 of Unhinged Obsession

I know Blair Winthrop like the back of my hand, even this new version of her. Something innate inside of me knows exactly what she needs, and I’m going to give her just that. I’m going to spend the rest of my life giving her anything and everything she wants.

Fuck the Black Crown Society, fuck our parents, and more than anything fuck the Choosing Ceremony.

I will not let them pair her with anyone else, even if it kills me.

I stay rooted where I am for another second, staring after her long after the doors close behind her. I pull out my phone and text my brothers our code word, dumpling, which means it’s an emergency and we need to meet. Noah chose the words when we were kids, and he turned into a giant toddler when Ben and I suggested changing it. I know Blair is safe right now because everyone on campus knows that St. Augustine is heavily surveilled. That’s why they ambushed Blair in the back of a horse stall, but I’m not taking any chances that she won’t be fully protected.

I trust my brothers with my life, and I trust them with her too. Paris is a giant, glitter-covered, pain in my ass, but she’s special to my brother Ben; therefore, I afford her the same protection as he will give to Blair.

My brothers and I have been trained by our father’s soldiers. Whoever decided to make my girl a target probably doesn’t realize that we’re not just pretty boy hockey players who can throw a punch solely because we’re big. My brothers and I can take a weapon apart and put it back together blindfolded and gut a target like a deer with such precision and ease that it brought a smile to our father’s face once. I think that’s the only time I’ve seen that man’s face move from stone.

I hope these fuckers know what they started, because they certainly don’t know what they’re up against.

I hear a loud, “AHEM,” and roll my eyes up into my skull because I already know who it is. My actual biggest hater, Karin, stands a few stall lengths away with that stupid fly swatter she smacked Noah in the forehead with once. I mean, he did stoop down to her height so she could reach him, but still.

She opens her mouth, but I beat her to it.

"I don't want to be in your stupid fucking barn any more than you want me here." She smirks because she knows she gets under my skin, so I storm off to go meet my brothers. She did make sure Beau got all the special treats Blair usually gave him every night, and for that reason, I will let her keep her fly swatter.

ELIJAH

CHAPTER SEVEN

Coach Remington calls it a low-key practice game, but the second Bradford lines up across from me at center ice, I know there isn’t going to be anything friendly about it.

We’ve divided the team into home jerseys and away jerseys, running three twenty-minute periods with officials, full line changes, and enough structure that Coach can pretend he’s evaluating systems instead of giving a group of pissed-off hockey players permission to beat the shit out of each other. This is all because he’s got some fucking bet going with Coach Kavanagh, Castlebrook University’s coach.

He wants to secure a win, and all he really needs to do is ban Hayden Lockwood’s girlfriend from the arena. He’s Castlebrook’s captain and fucking psychotic if anyone even looks at his girlfriend. He would rip the rink apart, and Castlebrook would have to forfeit our next game.

Literally none of us, specifically those of us that are part of the Black Crown Society, or, you know, have someone trying to murder our future wives, give a shit about hockey. I’m here for other reasons. There are only a few places I can have the conversation I want to have right now, and the middle of the ice rink is one of them. The scoreboard is running, the penalty boxes are open, and Coach Remington is glaring in our direction while Bradford and I stare at each other over the faceoff dot.

Blair has been true to her word, avoiding me every chance she gets, and it’s taken everything in me not to kick her dorm room door down and inform her of her future Mrs. Elijah Moretti status. I’ve always known, always planned on it, but I knew I couldn’t compromise anything with Blair’s place within The Society. Now everything is fucked anyway; I can’t guarantee that my father’s name will be enough to secure her spot as my Chosen One, so I’ve decided to take things into my own hands.

I haven’t been able to prove Bradford had anything to do with what happened to Blair in Beau’s stall, but proof has never been the only way to get information out of someone. Sometimes all it takes is enough pressure applied in exactly the right place, and Bradford has always been too arrogant to keep his mouth shut once he thinks he has the advantage.

The linesman raises the puck between us, and Bradford lowers his stance, choking up on his stick while his eyes stay fixed on mine instead of the official’s hand.

“How’s Blair feeling?” Yep, that’ll fucking do it.

My grip tightens around the shaft of my stick, but I keep my expression empty as the linesman drops the puck. Bradford tries to swipe it cleanly to his right defenseman, turning his bottom hand over for a forehand draw. I tie up his blade before he can sweep through and drive my shoulder into his chest. Noah cuts across from the wing at exactly the right moment, kicking the loose puck back to our defenseman before accelerating through the neutral zone, and I release Bradford only after giving him one final shove that sends him stumbling away from the dot.

If he’s asking about Blair because he heard what happened, that doesn’t mean anything. News travels fast at St. Augustine, especially when it concerns a girl the Society has already decided is valuable. It’s the faint smile on Bradford’s face when he regains his edges that bothers me, because he doesn’t look curious. He looks like he knows exactly what kind of answer he’s trying to pull out of me.

Our defenseman moves the puck D-to-D behind us, drawing the first forechecker toward the left boards before sending a hard stretch pass through the neutral zone. I curl along the far side to stay onside, accept the puck on my backhand, and immediately pull it across my body as Bradford closes from the middle. He expects me to chip it deep and chase, so I open my hips like I’m preparing to dump it behind their defense. That’s when I cut back sharply across the blue line and use his momentum against him.

He reaches for me with one hand on his stick, but I drag the puck around the blade, lower my shoulder, and drive straight through his chest. The hit sends him backward into the boards hard enough that the glass shudders, yet the puck stays on my stick as I continue below the faceoff circle. Their weak-side defenseman collapses toward the crease, leaving Benjamin open high in the slot. I feed him a pass through the triangle between two sticks before continuing toward the net.

Benjamin catches it cleanly and releases it without dusting it off. The shot travels low through traffic, clipping the inside of a defender’s skate before changing direction halfway to the net. Their goalie reacts late, dropping into the butterfly as the puck strikes his left pad and kicks into the blue paint. I’m already there, battling for the inside position while Bradford hooks an arm around my waist from behind. I get one swipe at the rebound before their defenseman clears it toward the corner.

The puck stays alive, and I dig my inside edge into the ice before reversing direction, slipping out of Bradford’s hold as I chase it below the goal line. He follows close enough that I can hear his breathing through the cage of his helmet, his stick tapping mine as he tries to pin the blade against the boards. Looks like someone else only showed up for the conversation we’re inevitably going to have before I crack his skull on the ice in front of everyone.

Fuck, I need to calm down.

“You’re hovering more than usual,” he says as we collide behind the net. “Almost like you’re worried someone might take something that belongs to you.” I can fucking hear him smirking.

“If you’re gonna fuck him up, at least give me the puck,” Noah snaps. I don’t know who the fuck he thinks he is. I’m supposed to be the bossy triplet. I plant my skates wide and shield the puck with my body, absorbing his weight while Noah circles behind us to offer support.

“You spend a lot of time thinking about what belongs to me,” I throw out to Bradford, because I need to get him talking.