Page 9

I FURROW MY brOW AS I watch Victor skate past his opponent, shoving the guy out of the way. The game is almost over, but there are still some seconds left.

The crowd collectively holds their breaths as Victor hits the puck. It looks like the goalie will catch it, but then there’s a roar from the crowd. Victor has done it again, and Emberwell has won.

But as his team celebrates and hugs, Victor skates away from them. First he throws away his gloves and then tosses his helmet to someone. He strips off his jersey and some of his protective gear.

Under it all, he’s wearing a plain black shirt. He’s turned away from me and I think there’s the word “no” written on his back, but the crowd on the other side is acting weird. Some are laughing. Some are gasping in shock. Some are looking around them in confusion.

What the hell is going on?

Victor turns around, and my heart stops. An image of me that he must’ve taken when he was in my home is printed out on his shirt.

Right above my photo is a question in big white letters, “Victor, will you fuck me?”

I curse under my breath as people around me start whispering and staring at me. Everyone’s attention is on me now, and I wish I could disappear. I shouldn’t have picked a seat so close to the rink, but I wanted to see everything better.

How did Victor know I was going to be here? Maybe he didn’t, but he still wanted to embarrass me. Everyone has their phones out and I’m sure the whole thing will spread like wildfire.

Why? Why is he doing this to me?

I get to my feet and race for the exit, followed by people’s snickers and laughs. Someone even tries to trip me, but I hop over his foot. What the hell is wrong with people?

I burst into the hallway, and then I keep running until I’m as far away from the rink as possible. When I’m sure no one is around, I hide behind a wall and pull out my phone.

My heart is pounding, my cheeks heated. Nausea rises at the back of my throat, and it’s a wonder I don’t throw up. Images from the game are all over social media. Victor’s name is trending, and the photos of his shirt are everywhere. Some people even had the nerve to tag me in their mocking posts.

Couldn’t Victor have picked a better photo of me? He must’ve somehow taken it when I looked up right at him from the kitchen, which means he must’ve been in my parents’ bedroom in the darkness.

He was right there, staring at me and taking photos, and I had no fucking clue. Who knows what kind of photos he could’ve taken while he was in my house. I shudder just thinking about it.

Has he seen me naked too? I hope not. He couldn’t have entered the bathroom and I didn’t go out without any clothes on. But he could’ve seen me in my underwear. Maybe. If he was in the right place at the right time.

I bite down hard on my lip. Can I use the photo to prove that he was in my house? I don’t think so. My face is zoomed in, and I can recognize the blurry objects behind me, but that’s only because I know that’s the most likely place the photo was taken.

Victor is an idiot, but he’s smart about this. He just wants me to know that he was there, but I can’t really prove it.

I stare at the photo. My expression is weird because I must’ve looked up because I felt something moving in the darkness, but I ignored the feeling. And I was biting my lip then, so it seems as if I’m epically failing at making a seductive pose. People will look at that photo and assume I was really trying to make a move on Victor and he rejected me.

I’m still not sure if he’s doing it for more attention and popularity, or if he and his friends are doing everything in their power to get me out of their college because they think I don’t belong there.

It hurts.

It fucking hurts.

Every ugly comment. All the hate. The insults.

How will I even go back to Emberwell tomorrow? Walk the hallways while everyone believes Victor’s story? I hate him so much I want to punch something.

If only I’d recorded him when he met with that guy. It wouldn’t even matter if the packet contained drugs or not. I could’ve uploaded it somewhere and let people conclude whatever they wanted. No one seems to care or think that Victor is lying about me.

I need to make him confess the truth. Maybe I can get him to do it in private and secretly record him admitting everything.

I head back to the arena and duck my head as I pass by some students. It’s impossible to ignore their stupid comments about me, but I grit my teeth and keep going. I still have my staff pass, since no one has remembered to take it away from me, so I manage to sneak my way into the hallway with the locker rooms.

I lean against the wall, facing away from players as they leave while I pretend to be busy with my phone. Every now and then, I glance over my shoulder to see where Victor is. But as time passes and the hallway goes quiet, I furrow my brow.

Is it possible I missed him and he already left? Before anyone else? Or did he get in trouble with someone because of his shirt? I would be really happy if he did, but I somehow doubt it.

Still, I slowly make my way toward the locker room. The door is open and I scrunch my nose as I take a quick peek inside. No one’s there. But I can see Victor’s bag. He’s still here somewhere.

I find the door that leads to the rink and push it open. As I reach the stands, I can hear more noise coming from the rink. Most of the lights have been turned off, and I crouch in the darkness. What’s happening?

An older man in a suit with dark hair is sitting in the penalty box, surrounded by two dangerous-looking men in black shirts. They must be his bodyguards or they just look like it.

Victor is on the ice, with full gear on. There are five more guys not too far away from him, ready to play. I don’t think I’ve seen them before. Their gear is all black too, without any numbers or anything.

“Again!” the man in a suit yells, his tone impassive.

Victor hesitates as he holds his stick. The five men take their positions. Wait, what? Why does it look like they’re all playing against Victor?

I get my phone out and start recording. Whatever is happening here, I want to have proof of it. Isn’t it a bit weird to have a training session after the game? Victor must be tired, but I don’t want to feel bad for him.

He moves and I finally spot the puck right behind all the men. It’s so close to the goal, but Victor needs to get to it first. He evades the first guy and slams his shoulder into the other.

But the third guy and fourth don’t wait. They ram into him from both sides. Victor lets out a shout that echoes through the silence as he falls down. One of the men places his stick right under Victor’s chin, and I gasp.

“Let him up,” the man in a suit says. “Again.”

Victor pushes himself up to his knees as the guys back away from him. For a moment, I don’t think he’s going to get up, but he does.

He picks up his stick and skates away from the men. Then they’re all back to their initial positions. How many times has he done this already? His movements are slower than before, and it’s the second guy who shoves him with so much force that Victor collides with the side of the rink.

He drops his stick as another guy punches him in the stomach. As he doubles over, two guys are on him. They’re shielding my view of him, but I can see them raising their fists and throwing punches.

“Enough,” the man in a suit yells.

The guys back away. Victor is sprawled on the ice, barely moving.

“So you admit your defeat then?” The man gets to his feet.

Victor says something I can’t hear.

“What did you say?” the man asks. “Speak up.”

Victor lifts himself up enough to take his helmet off. “Yes, sir.”

“All right then.” The man smiles. “See you at the club.”

At the club? What club? What was this about? Everyone leaves, except Victor, who slams his fist hard against the side of the rink. He lets out an angry and frustrated shout as he pushes himself up.

But he doesn’t make it far. He just sits on the steps that lead to the locker rooms and leans his head against the wall as he holds his arm over his stomach. Those punches must’ve hurt. But why did he do all that? And after the game? Who is that man?

I stop recording. It’s better if I get out of here before Victor sees me. He’s in pain, but I don’t think that would stop him if he thought I saw something I shouldn’t have. And I doubt he wanted me to witness any of this.

I slowly head back to the door, careful not to make any noise. Once I’m in the hallway, I hurry away from there as fast as I can and rush home.

I barely say hi to my parents, who are in the kitchen, as I storm to my room. As I transfer the video I took to my laptop, I chew on the inside of my cheek. I’m not going to try to use the video against Victor until I know more, but I need to study it carefully.

As I zoom in on the face of the man in a suit, I take a screenshot and use reverse image search to see if anything pops up.

And it does.

Jake Overton.

Victor has the same last name, so is the man his father?

Jake is a rich businessman, and there are plenty of photos where he appears with Victor. I click through some social media posts.

Yep, definitely Victor’s father.

Wow.

And he owns a popular nightclub. I guess that’s the place he was talking about when he mentioned the club.

No wonder Victor thinks he owns the whole damn world. His father almost does. There are tons of companies connected to him. Hotels, casinos, clubs, restaurants... He’s a damn billionaire.

I lean back in my chair. An article describes Jake as a perfectionist who never settles for less or accepts defeat. Victor must be under a lot of pressure to be the best if he wants to impress his father. But he already has millions and he’s going to inherit more. I refuse to pity him, and I don’t want to be his punching bag.

I’m not exactly sure what kind of training Jake had Victor do, but if I leaked the video, his father might be upset. As I replay the whole thing two more times, I can’t shake off the feeling that it was too much and too cruel for no reason.

Victor would’ve never gotten past all those five guys on his own, no matter how hard he tried. The whole thing was set up against him, and yet he tried again and again just as Jake wanted.

Why? Is he a perfectionist too? Or overestimating his abilities? They didn’t have to punch him when he went down, but they did, and Jake wasn’t even the least bit concerned for his son’s wellbeing.

Maybe he knows Victor can take it, but still. And I can see Victor being stubborn enough to try to win, despite the odds, because I’m sure he thinks he’s the best at everything in this whole damn universe.

But why would his father let him risk getting hurt? If he wants Victor to be the best player, doesn’t he know Victor can’t do anything if he’s injured?

Maybe there’s something I don’t know, and maybe I can use it to get Victor to stop. I push the replay button on the video and pause it as Victor is on his knees. That’s exactly how I want him to end up.

But will this video be enough? I don’t know, but I can imply I have some more videos. It’s not like he’ll know whether I’m lying if I mix some lies with the truth. He knows I saw him with that guy in the alley. Maybe I can make him believe I have a video of that too.

Oh yeah, it’s his time to be afraid and worried.