Page 147

A small part of me wishes Eli would text. Just to check on me. Just to say he didn’t know, that he’s sorry. Even if it’s a lie.

But nothing comes.

Why would it?

He was never going to be the one to clean up the mess. He helped make it. Then he walked out of my room and out of responsibility. Like he always does. Leaving just enough behind to keep me wanting.

The rest?

The rest is mine to carry. Alone.

By nightfall, it’s like whoever’s sending these messages has found a rhythm. A sick kind of schedule. Every hour, a new ping. A new email. A new attachment.

More photos. More clips. Some I didn’t even know existed. Different angles. Different lighting. One of me leaving Eli’s place. One of me arguing with Caleb in the parking lot. Some of me looking straight into the camera, like I knew I was being watched. What the fuck?

I don’t sleep.

By morning, I’m numb. Not angry. Not scared. Just done. Worn out, scraped thin, and done.

I get dressed.

And ignore the gnawing in my stomach. Ignore the string of unread messages. I toss on a jacket, grab my keys, and head to the one place I swore I wouldn’t go again.

The Ravens locker room.

The locker room smells the same. Sweat and detergent and leather. I can hear the familiar buzz of voices through the walls — practice drills being barked, someone cursing at a missed shot, the slap of sticks hitting the ice.

I push the door open without knocking. A few heads turn. Caleb’s sitting on a bench, taping his stick.

The second he sees me, he jerks upright. “Are you crazy?”

I stop in front of him with a dead tone, “You need to stop.”

He frowns, confused. “What?”

I clench my fists. “Just stop. With the threats. The emails. The games. Whatever the hell you think you’re doing, stop!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he says, getting to his feet.

“I know it’s you,” I hiss. “Who else would do this? You said you’d ruin me.”

“I didn’t send you anything,” he bites back, eyes flashing.

“You’re the only one with a reason!”

The door swings open behind me.

Eli.

He’s dressed in full practice gear, pads half-undone, helmet in hand. His jaw tightens when he sees me standing this close to Caleb. “What’s going on?”

Neither of us answers right away. I’m breathing hard, my head buzzing.

“Both of you,” Eli says. “Now.”

The classroom is cold. The blinds are drawn, the overhead lights flickering slightly like they always do in this building. Eli shuts the door behind us, then leans against it.

He crosses his arms. “Start talking.”