Page 34 of Ice-Cold Obsession

I force myself to focus on the drill. Coach is watching from the bench, his arms crossed, and I can tell he’s not happy with my performance today. I can’t afford to screw this up any more than I already have. My teammates might hate me, but I still have to play with them and win games. Hockey is the only thing I have left right now, and the only thing I’m still good at.

The whistle blows, and I skate harder, pushing myself until my legs burn and my lungs ache. But it doesn’t help, because Scarlett’s still in my head, and so is everything else.

Fuck!

Chapter 20

SCARLETT

I WAKE UP GASPING,my heart pounding. The dream lingers. Gabriel tied to the bed, his hands straining against the restraints, his mouth on me... I can still feel the heat of his skin under my fingertips.

I press my face into the pillow, annoyed at myself. I can’t let this happen. He’s my target, and not someone I’m supposed to be dreaming about.

I force myself out of bed and head to the bathroom, splashing some water on my face.

Focus. I need to focus.

My plan is working. Gabriel’s teammates are mad at him and ignoring him, just like I hoped. But I still don’t have anything I could use to destroy him completely. I haven’t found any evidence that he drove Carla to suicide. No messages. No photos. Nothing.

I wonder if he got rid of it all. Deleted everything and covered his tracks.

But if he did, maybe there’s another way I can get some info out of him.

I spend the morning cutting letters out of old newspapers and magazines I grabbed from the library. It takes longer than I thought it would, but eventually, I have enough. I arrange them on a blank sheet of paper, gluing each one down carefully until the message is complete.

Stay away from Gabriel. A girl he was with died.

Simple. Vague enough to be threatening. Specific enough to make him think.

I crumple it slightly so it looks like someone shoved it under a door. Good enough.

Now I just need to find Gabriel.

I SPOT HIM OUTSIDEon the main quad as he’s sitting on one of the benches with his phone in his hand. He’s alone, which is unusual. Normally he’s surrounded by his teammates or fans.

I make my way toward him, clutching the letter in my hand, and force my expression into something worried and scared.

“Gabriel,” I say.

He looks up, and his face softens when he sees me. “Hey.”

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Yeah, of course.” He gets to his feet and steps closer. “What’s up?”

I hold out the letter. “I found this under my door this morning.”

He takes it from me and unfolds it. His eyes scan the message, and his brow furrows. He tilts his head slightly, staring at the cut-out letters like he’s trying to make sense of them. Then his jaw tightens, his eyes widen just a fraction, and I see recognition click into place like something in his head just connected.

My heart skips a beat. He knows exactly what this is referring to, and the fact that Carla meant so little to him that he didn’t remember right away makes me want to scream.

“No one who was with me died,” he says. “I don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. “What if it was some hookup you forgot about?”

“No. It’s probably just a prank. Someone’s messing with you.”

“But did any girl you know die?”