Chapter 8 Blind Heroism

Chapter 8 Blind Heroism
Grayson's POV:

The moment the door seals shut, I know without a doubt I messed up. Big time.

I’d had it coming for a while. Right from the moment I agreed to go along with this shitshow my father calls strategy.

At first, it was something I said yes to in a moment of cruelty. She’d disappeared, without a goodbye. Or at least something to fucking explain her sudden need to feel like a saint. And that made me mad as hell.

I wanted to watch her fall apart seeing how easily someone else could fill the void she left.

But seeing Ginny walk out, so obviously betrayed and hurting, I realize it was never really about that. Because no one ever truly came close.

I just hate that it took hurting her—yet again—to see it.

“Where are you going?” Katelyn whispers, pressing the back of her hand against my chest.

Barely five steps away, our parents are rounding up the agreement. Signing necessary contracts and talking over our heads like we aren't even here. Roman’s already moving into delegatory mode, eager to form a relationship with the more powerful family, while Gwenivere fumbles over apologies for her daughter's behaviour, red-faced and embarrassed.

That only makes my gut twist further.

“To make sure Ginger’s okay,” I say.

“She’ll be fine. Poor girl’s probably just feeling more like an idiot than anything. Especially after defending you so fiercely.” She laughs. “Talk about blind heroism.”

My father frowns, and something tells me he picked up that part of the conversation. Rather than say something, he gestures towards the dining area, treating his party of five to a feast.

“A toast to our partnership,” he calls it, disappearing into the hall.

Tch. More like insurance. One I was dumb enough to fall into.

Katelyn grabs her crutches, ready to follow. “You coming?”

I reply in the negative, “No.”

“But I'm going to need some help pulling my seat out.”

“Good thing you have hands.”

Her eye twitches.

“Are you always such a jerk?”

“Depends. Are you always such a bitch?”

Her mouth falls open, genuine surprise flashing across her face before she masks it with a glare.

Bet no one's ever called her out before.

“You know what’s really funny though?” I say.

“What?”

“The fact that you feel qualified to pass a comment when you've only known Ginger for all of five minutes.”

Katelyn shifts on her foot. "Five minutes is enough time to get to know someone,” she replies. “I mean, I tried being friendly with your walking disaster of a sister and look where that's gotten me: Limping around in a cast on day one.”

“Well, you better get used to it then.” I push past her. “Because you'll be limping around for much longer.”

“Wait!”

Katelyn shuffles after me, her metal canes clacking against the porcelain tiles, but I don't turn back.

“My father will hear of this,” she threatens.

That doesn't stop me from yanking the door open.

“Better get started then,” I say. “It's quite a walk to the dining room.”

Her muffled grunt follows me all the way down the front steps.



School’s practically emptied out by now, thank heavens. Only people left are the few teachers I pass by in the halls and the soccer geeks still practicing in the gym; sneakers squeaking against polished hardwood, balls slamming into the net.

My chest is heaving, heart thumping like I've just run a mile when it’s only been an hour. I wipe the sweat on my forehead with the back of my hand, scanning each classroom en-route.

“Ginny?” I call for the umpteenth time, eyes flickering over deserted seats and wiped boards. Nothing.

Fuck.

I place my hands behind my head, elbows jutting out like razors, and I curse again, hating the way my shirt sticks to my torso. I need to work out this frustration building inside of me almost as much as I need a shower, but going home isn't an option.

And I sure as shit can't deal with Katelyn right now.

A vibration in my pocket startles me.

I reach into my pants, pulling up the screen. Norvan’s chat profile pops up on the display; a curvy, sun-tanned blonde in a bikini.

I click the icon.

‘Practice ended two hours ago,’ it reads. ‘And you, my friend, were conveniently absent.’

Shoot.

It had completely skipped my mind. In between the drama that had been my life lately, I'd recklessly let myself forget playoffs were starting next week.

I groan, somewhere between mentally stressed and physically maxed out. My feet moves of its own accord, already making its way towards the locker room.

Playoffs equal tougher drills, earlier mornings and frostier temperature levels. Meaning I've got to be in my best form on the ice if we're to have a chance at making it to Nationals this year.

Fortunately, the locker room’s empty, same with the arena. It should be at least an hour more before Svenson, the janitor, comes in to seal it for the night.

I strip off my clothes, dumping them in the unit before heading to the bath stall. It takes less than ten minutes to shampoo, rinse and towel off. My screen flashes with another message right as I drop onto the bench, rough-drying my hair.

I grab it, eyes racing over the words. ‘Coach was pissed. Threatened to have your hide if you flaked on us again.’

I type in a quick response.

‘I know. I'm sorry.’

A thumbs up emoji appears under my text, and I sigh, lowering my head. The combined heating from the vents, coupled with the lingering scent of sweat and disinfectant swirls around me, rolling down my back in waves.

Missing practice twice in a row would not look good on my recommendation sheet. Not when this could be my only chance at going full pro.

Far from my father's never-ending expectations of me.

I tug on my compression fit, strapping on my gear. I can smooth things over with Ginger later—that's if she's still willing to talk to me after this—but for now, my very future is on the line.
The rink is borderline brutal. My sliders slice across the frosty surface, carving arcs into it for warmup. I breathe in deeply, letting the cool air seep into my system and loosen the tension in my shoulders as I weave through cone-shaped obstacles.

Blood roars in my ears, the ice nipping at my heels with each swerve round the skating rink. My ankle hurts, but that only makes me go faster.

Fingers tightening around my stick, I toss the puck—watching it briefly rotate in the air—before landing in time for me to send it traveling towards the net.

That's when the door swings open.

In walks a girl, all giggles and smiles, laughing like she's just heard the funniest thing.

My heart skips.

I recognize that hair anywhere.

“Ginny?” I start to say, already moving towards the boards. “Oh, thank God you're okay. I had been looking all over for—”

But she's not alone.

Directly behind her is Jayden. Holding onto two tubs of popcorn. Also laughing like they're on some kind of date.

They find themselves a seat between the tiered rows, too engulfed in conversation to notice me through the frame lines covering my face.

My blood bristles. I'd like to bash his skull in. See how funny he finds that.

I return to my game, trying to ignore the intense discussion happening behind me. But that's next to impossible because I know the exact time they decide to ditch the food and focus on something else instead.

Jayden moves in to kiss her, and she agrees.

She fucking agrees.

Their mouths meet in a mesh of wet lust which I convince myself I can live through.

But when his fingers slide beneath her skirt, effectively earning a moan from her,

I completely lose my shit.