Page 27

Chapter Twenty

I avoided Sebastian like the goddamn plague this morning.

He texted twice so far and I've ignored them both. I timed everything perfectly to avoid crossing paths in the house. If I heard his voice, I went the other way. If I heard his footsteps, I disappeared. No way in hell am I giving him the satisfaction of rubbing what we did in my face. And if he thinks he can lecture me about the lipstick on his mirror after everything he’s done, he can go straight to hell.

Maybe next time he'll learn to lock his door.

I’m skipping all my classes today because, really, what good is a degree if I’m not alive to use it? The only thing that matters now is staying ahead of whatever’s coming. I'm done being passive. It's time to take action.

Before I can really get into the dirty work, I need to make sure everything is set for Callan's benefit event on Friday.

I spent the entire morning back in my dorm with my laptop, a stack of flyers, and what is now three empty coffee cups. If I can’t fix the disaster that is my personal life, at least I can make this event one for the books.

The masked benefit is being held at the arena, and while the Lords team handled most of the arrangements, there were still a few details left hanging.

I scroll through my checklist again, making sure everything has been assigned, confirmed, or completed.

Catering: confirmed.

Ice time and lighting transitions: double-checked.

DJ’s song list: delivered.

Tribute video: Brogan’s emailing it later.

All that’s left now is for me to find something to wear .

It’s so easy to get lost in the tasks and disappear inside the details. Honestly, I don't mind helping with the event one bit. I love a good distraction. It keeps me from unraveling completely because if I stop moving, I’ll think about Sebastian. Or Callan.

So instead, I keep working—for control, and for the version of myself that still believes in clean slates. Because I know there will be a day that all of this anxiety and fear will be a distant memory, and I have to convince myself to keep working toward that.

Once I'm certain everything is finalized, I pack a few essentials Aidric missed when I was forced into the hockey house: my hair straightener, my dildo, and a box of tampons.

After stuffing them in an old backpack, I fling it over my shoulder and give the room one more sweep.

Time to head out and complete my next task of the day—figuring out how the hell I can get fingerprints scanned on a hockey puck without triggering an investigation.

I drop my face into my hands, rubbing my temples like I can massage the confusion out of my brain. None of what I’m reading makes any sense.

I’ve been holed up in the library for the past hour, scouring every possible way to get fingerprints analyzed quietly.

Every search I make on my laptop or phone back at the house could be tracked and maybe that makes me paranoid, but after everything that’s happened, I’d rather be paranoid than blind.

As of right now, there is only one person who can help me out in this matter, and I really don't want it to come to that because I know he'll tell my dad. But, after everything I've researched, I know I can't do this one on my own.

Standing up, I grab my phone and scroll my contact list until I find "Uncle Dave."

As it rings, I pace the thriller section with my phone pressed to my ear and my heart in my throat. I stop in front of a shelf and run my fingers down the spine of a murder mystery novel, wondering how their story ended.

The line picks up, and I flinch.

"Avery," Uncle Dave answers, warm and surprised. "It’s been a while."

"Hey, Uncle Dave," I say, using the name I’ve called my dad’s best friend since I was old enough to say it. "I was wondering if I could ask a favor?"

There’s a pause and I wonder if this is too weird. I haven’t talked to him in years so calling for a random favor is probably the last thing he expected. But after a moment, he responds, "Of course, sweetie. Anything for my favorite niece. Is this about your mom?"

"Not this time," I tell him truthfully. "It's something…intense."

After my mom ended up in the center, Uncle Dave dove into research trying to help us find all the best resources for her. However, when my dad felt like it was time for him to move on and Uncle Dave supported him, I felt betrayed, and it’s the main reason we haven’t talked in so long.

"Are you in some sort of trouble?"

"No," I lie without hesitation. "Nothing like that. I just need to run a set of fingerprints off a hockey puck. It's sort of silly, but there was this prank and I was hoping maybe you could help me out."

There’s a pause. "You want prints?"

"Yes," I whisper. "No questions asked, please. Just a precaution."

He exhales and my heart rate kicks up. This is really the only option because Detective Klein can’t get wind of what I’m doing and the guys can’t know either. If he can’t do this, then I'm not sure what I'll do.

"Kid–" he tries, but I cut him off.

"Please don't," I warn, knowing where he was going. "If you can’t do it, just say so. But please don't try to get information out of me. I really can't say anything more"

He sighs and I can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose like he normally does when he’s frustrated. "Okay. As long as you’re sure. You know you can come to me if something’s really going on."

"I know. And thank you." I force a small laugh. "But really, I’m okay. I just need this favor."

"Alright," he says, not sounding convinced. "Text me when you’re nearby."

"Will do. Thanks again. You’re the best."

"I know," he says with a smile in his voice. "Talk soon, sweetie."

There's no way in hell he's not going to press when I see him, but I'll deal with that conversation when it happens. I hang up and let out a long breath, readying myself to do what I have to do next.

First, I have to get that damn puck. I haven't seen it since Sebastian and I dug it up in the woods, but I did see him go down to The Chamber with it. Breaking into their creepy ritual room and stealing it back shouldn't be that hard, right?

I pick up my bag and start heading out, smiling at the librarian as I leave.

"Have a nice day," I murmur.

She nods, barely glancing up from her computer, and I slip out the main doors.

The sun’s dipped behind the clouds and the roads are slick as hell from the freeze we got overnight. Every stop light drags; every red brake light feels like a sign from the universe telling me to turn back.

By the time I pull into the driveway, my jaw aches from clenching and my nerves are vibrating. The guys are all at the arena getting ready for the game, so this should be a no-brainer.

I don’t waste time. I get out of my car and slip through the front door, careful not to let it slam behind me, then I make my way toward the basement. It’s strange when the house is quiet; the guys usually make it feel full of life. But now it's silent and eerie, as if I'm walking to my death.

I hold my breath as I twist the knob to the door, and to my surprise, it isn’t locked. Making my way down the stairs, my hands trail over the cool stone, trying to center myself as I make it to the bottom.

The Chamber is completely empty, just that weird stillness that makes the air feel too thick to breathe. I waste no time making my way past the altar to the hidden key. If I’m lucky, it’s still where I found it last time.

Behind the curtain, the surgical trays gleam under the light, lined with tools used in psychological and physical warfare.

It's strange how this place doesn't faze me anymore.

The first time I saw all of this, I was literally preparing to be under these knives at some point.

Now, I find myself wondering which one I'll use when we catch our stalker.

Because I have no doubt they'll be strapped down right here, bleeding for their sins.

Bypassing the horror show, I head straight for the far wall.

Sure enough, the key dangles from the same rusty nail driven into the stone.

You’d think after everything that’s happened, these guys would have started guarding their secrets better.

But it seems ego wins over logic in this house. Typical fucking men.

I step out from behind the curtain and head for the door to the room that holds the Ice Lords’ secrets and, if I’m lucky, the puck.

I slide the key into the lock and twist. The door creaks open and I immediately see that the glass case I shattered has been replaced, like it never broke into a million pieces all over this very floor. It feels unsettling, seeing how quickly they can put back together the pieces I destroy.

My eyes scan the area and damn, luck is on my side.

Sitting right on the dusty bookshelf is the puck.

I walk over and pull the gloves out of my pocket, careful when I pick it up, noticing that it's still smeared with that dried red stain, marked with Callan's number.

I slip it into a plastic baggie before looking over the shelf again.

I don’t know what I expected, but it isn’t what comes next. My chest tightens when I see a rock sitting there, out in the open. Not just any rock— the rock. The one that the guys have been giving me shit about that Klein confiscated.

My brows pinch together as I try to process what I’m seeing. They told me that Klein having it was the reason Callan wasn’t safe. They said it would burn us all.

They fucking lied.

All this time, they’ve had it while feeding me bullshit lies. I'm not sure why, but it hurts more than I expected it to. Part of me knew I shouldn't trust them, but another stupid part of me was starting to.

And to think I was taking my walls down for Sebastian. I confided in him about my mom and my fears. I fucking had sex with him. All the while, he's been lying to my face. First about the time at the indoor range, and now this.