Page 48

I can see something’s wrong the moment I walk through the front door.

Slater emerges from my bedroom with a look on his face that makes my stomach drop.

This isn’t the pleading, desperate man I left an hour ago.

This is someone filled with rage, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin.

“We need to talk,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

Terror shoots through me. What was he doing in my room? Did he have more drugs hidden in there that I missed? Was this all some elaborate test I failed?

“Talk about what?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady as I kick off my shoes and set my keys on the counter with deliberate calm.

He looks like he wants to put his fist through the wall. This is not the reaction of someone grateful that I just disposed of ten bags of pills for him.

“I got rid of them for you,” I say, confusion and hurt bleeding into my voice. “Are you punishing me now?”

He shakes his head, and that’s when I notice the way he’s looking at me—like he’s seeing me differently, like he knows something he didn’t before.

“Who’s Fuck You ?”

My blood turns to ice, and for a moment I can’t breathe. “What?”

“ Fuck You ,” he repeats, each word sharp as a blade. “The contact in your phone. Who is he?”

Understanding dawns on me with horrible clarity. “What—How do you know who that is?” The pieces click together in my mind, forming a picture that makes me want to vomit. “Were you going through my things?”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. Just stands there staring at me with those cold eyes, waiting for an explanation.

“Why were you going through my stuff, Slater! What the fuck!” The violation hits me like a slap. He went through my private messages because of what? Because he’s pissed that I found more of his drugs, and this is some sick payback?

“It’s not about that,” he says, dismissing my outrage like it doesn’t matter. “Tell me who the fuck he is right now.”

Shame washes over me in waves, hot and suffocating. The blood drains from my face as the full horror of what he’s seen settles in. “Did you see the pictures?”

His expression is answer enough, and panic begins to claw at my throat.

“Oh my fucking god. You saw them?” My voice comes out strangled, barely above a whisper. Those photos—the most humiliating, degrading moments of my life—are burned into his brain now. He’s seen me at my most vulnerable, most violated, and not because I chose to share that with him.

“He’s threatening you nonstop!” Slater’s voice rises, and I can see the fury building in his eyes.

“I have him blocked,” I say, like that somehow makes it better.

“Is that why you moved here?” His question is quiet, but it cuts deeper than any shout. “Why you don’t actually mind living with me?”

My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. Because he’s right, isn’t he? Some part of my decision to stay here, to accept this living situation, was about having somewhere safe to hide.

“That’s not—” I begin, but the protest dies on my lips because I realize he’s absolutely right, and the truth of it makes me feel sick.

“Who the fuck is he?” Slater demands again, stepping closer.

“He was my boyfriend,” I stammer, my whole body shaking now. “He tricked me. Those pictures were not...” My voice dies.

“Were not what?” His voice is deadly quiet now, and something in his tone tells me I need to be careful with my answer.

The memories flood back—the trust I gave so freely, the way he convinced me it would be fun, romantic, just between us. “He blindfolded me and had his friend...”

I can’t finish the sentence. Can’t voice the betrayal, the humiliation, the way they laughed while I thought I was being intimate with someone I loved.

“I’m going to fucking kill him!” Slater explodes, turning toward his bedroom.

“Slater!” I cry out, chasing after him as panic takes over completely. I follow him into his room where he’s yanking open drawers, looking for God knows what. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

“Who the fuck is he?” He whirls around to face me, his eyes blazing with a fury I’ve never seen before.

“He plays basketball,” I whisper, the admission falling from my lips like a death sentence.

The look that crosses Slater’s face tells me I’ve just made a terrible mistake. Because now he has a sport, which means he has a league, which means he has a way to find him.

“What’s his name?” he asks, his voice terrifyingly calm.

“No, please,” I plead. It’s not to save my ex from anything. I don’t want Slater to do something that will get him in trouble.

“Sage.” He steps closer, and for the first time since I’ve known him, I’m actually afraid of what he might do. “What. Is. His. Name.”

“No.” I back toward the door, putting distance between us. “You went through my private messages without my permission. You violated my trust, and now you want me to give you more information so you can do something stupid?”

“Stupid?” His laugh is harsh, bitter. “That piece of shit is threatening you. Using those photos to blackmail you, and you think wanting to stop him is stupid?”

“I think wanting to find him is stupid!” I snap back. “I think throwing your hockey career away for revenge is stupid!”

“My career?” He stares at me like I’ve spoken in a foreign language. “You think I give a shit about my career when someone is threatening the woman I—”

He stops himself, but the unfinished words hang in the air between us, heavy with implications.

“The woman you what?” I ask as my heart races. Tears threaten to spill over.

He runs his hands through his hair, looking suddenly exhausted. “The woman I care about more than anything fucking else in this world.”

The confession should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. Because caring about someone doesn’t give you the right to invade their privacy. It doesn’t justify going through their personal messages and demanding explanations for trauma they’re not ready to share.

“If you care about me,” I say, my voice shaking with hurt and anger, “then respect my boundaries. Respect my right to handle this my own way.”

“Your way isn’t working,” he says bluntly. “He’s still terrorizing you. Still threatening you. Still has those photos—”

“Stop.” I hold up my hand, unable to hear any more. The tears fall. “Just stop. I can’t do this right now.”

“Can’t do what?”

“This.” I gesture between us. “Have this conversation. Deal with whatever right you think you have!”

“He’s threatening you, Sage, and you’re fucking protecting him!”

“I’m protecting you,” I say.

“So what, you’re just going to run away from me?”

The accusation stings because there’s truth in it. Running is what I do when things get too complicated, too painful, too overwhelming.

“Maybe I am,” I say, lifting my chin defiantly. “Maybe that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“Like hell you are.” He moves to block the doorway, his massive frame filling the space. “We’re not done here.”

“Yes, we are.” I try to push past him, but he doesn’t budge. “Move, Slater.”

“Not until you tell me how long this has been going on. Not until you explain why you didn’t trust me enough to tell me someone was threatening you.”

“Trust?” I laugh, the sound bitter and broken.

“You want to talk about trust? You went through my laptop without my permission. You read my private messages. You saw photos that were taken without my consent and used to humiliate me.” Tears are burning my eyes now.

“So don’t you dare lecture me about trust.”

“Trust! You want to talk about fucking trust! You just ripped my head off after finding a bag of fucking pills that were laying around! And you didn’t fucking believe me when I told you I was sober.”

“Fuck you,” I seethe, stepping into his face. “That doesn’t give you any fucking right to go through my things!”

“Tell me where he fucking lives, Sage.”

“No!” I try to leave, but he steps in front of me. “I’m not doing this with you, Slater. Move out of my way.”

“Do you see me right now?” he asks. I look into his wild eyes. “This is the real me. Someone wants to fuck with someone I love, they’re not going to get away with it. So, tell me where he lives.”

“No, Slater because I fucking love you back and I don’t want you to do something stupid!”

“It wouldn’t be stupid.”

“Reckless,” I shout, pleading. Tears fall from my eyes. “Whatever you want to call it! It’s in the past. Let me go, please.”

He shakes his head. He grabs the door and shuts it. “You’re not going anywhere, and neither am I.”

I walk the room, pacing, trying to calm myself down. But my thoughts are racing, my nerves are shot. I can’t believe this is happening.

“What were you looking for anyway?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I wasn’t looking for anything, Sage. I was just trying not to go off the deep end.”

“So, just snooping for fun?” I scoff. “Seriously?”

“I was not expecting to find anything.”

I sit down on the bed and cradle my face into my hands. I can’t help the surge of emotions that overtake me. I start crying. Like full blown ugly crying, snot rolling down my face, my chest heaving.

He places a hand on my shoulder and then wraps me in his arms. I tangle myself on him, crawling onto his lap after he sits next to me.

“Talk to me, baby. What’s going on?” he whispers.

But I can’t talk. I cry. I can only cry.

Because as much as I’m upset that he found out the way that he did, a part of me is relieved that he knows, that I didn’t have to tell him.

“I got you,” he murmurs against my hair, and it’s all I need to hear to know that he was telling the truth earlier.

That he loves me.