Chapter 3

Violet:

"Tell me something I don't know." I signaled the bartender for another round. "What's your excuse? Why are you drinking alone when you have an entire team celebrating over there?"

He glanced back at his teammates. They were loud, slapping each other's backs, pouring beer over someone's head. Derek... I recognized him from the team photos, was in the middle of it, his booming laugh cutting through the noise.

"Same reason as you, probably," He said. "Trying to forget."

I didn't press. I didn't want to know his secrets. I didn't want to know anything about him. I just wanted the numbness to last a little longer.

The next drink arrived. I downed it in one gulp.

"I need something stronger," I muttered.

He stood, swaying slightly, and offered me his hand. "I know a place."

I stared at his outstretched fingers. They were calloused, rough from gripping hockey sticks. I shouldn't have taken it. I should have stayed on that stool, finished my drink, and gone back to my depressing hotel room.

But I was so tired of making the right choices.

I took his hand.

*****

The private room was small and dark, with a worn leather couch and a single lamp casting amber shadows across the walls. I didn't ask how he knew about it. I didn't ask how many times he'd brought other girls here. I didn't care.

He closed the door behind us, and suddenly the world narrowed to just the two of us.

He didn't rush. He stood there, watching me, his back against the door. "We don't have to do anything," he said. "If you just want to sit and drink, that's fine."

But I didn't want to sit. I wanted to feel something other than the jagged pieces of my heart scraping against my ribs.

I crossed the room in three steps and kissed him.

It wasn't gentle. It was desperate and hungry and full of all the anger I couldn't express. The stranger responded immediately, his hands finding my waist, pulling me against him like I was the only thing keeping him upright.

His mouth tasted like whiskey and something darker. His fingers tangled in my hair, tilting my head back, and I let him. I let him take control because I was too tired to fight. Too tired to think. Too tired to be anyone but the broken girl who needed to forget.

We stumbled toward the couch, shedding clothes like we were shedding our identities. His hands were everywhere...on my hips, my thighs, my back. He touched me like I was something precious, and I hated how much I needed that.

"This is just tonight," I breathed against his mouth. "Just tonight."

He nodded, his forehead pressed to mine. "Just tonight."

It was a lie, and we both knew it.

The sex was frantic and messy and over too quickly. But for those few minutes, I didn't think about Marcus. I didn't think about Chloe.

I just felt.

Afterward, we lay tangled together on the narrow couch, our breathing slowly evening out. His arm was draped across my stomach, heavy and warm. I stared at the ceiling and tried to remember how to breathe.

"I don't even know your name," I said, my voice hollow.

"Does it matter?" His thumb traced lazy circles on my hip.

"No." I closed my eyes. "It doesn't matter."

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, morning light was streaming through the window, and my head was pounding like someone had taken a hockey stick to it.

I sat up too fast, immediately regretting it. The room spun. My clothes were scattered across the floor. My throat was dry. My entire body ached in ways I didn't want to examine.

The shame hit me at once.

What had I done? I'd gone to a bar, gotten drunk, and slept with a complete stranger. A hockey player, no less. The exact thing I'd sworn I'd never do.

I scrambled off the couch, grabbing my clothes and pulling them on with shaking hands.

The man on the couch stirred. He was still half-asleep, his dark hair mussed, his bare chest rising and falling with slow breaths. He looked younger in the daylight. Softer.

The movement made him open his eyes. They found me instantly, hazy with sleep but sharpening quickly.

"Hey," he said, his voice rough. "You okay?"

"Fine." The word came out too fast, too high. "I'm fine. I just...I should go."

He sat up, the sheet pooling around his waist. "Hey, wait..."

"Thanks for last night," I cut him off, my voice brittle. "But I really need to leave."

Then a text message popped up on his phone, I caught the first word, Liam. I didn't stop to read the rest. I couldn't. If I looked back, I'd see his face, and I'd remember everything I was trying to forget.

The hallway of the bar was empty, thank God. I found the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I looked terrible. Mascara smeared under my eyes. Hair a tangled mess. A bruise forming on my collarbone that I didn't remember getting.

I fixed myself as best I could and slipped out the back exit.

The morning air was sharp and cold. I walked fast, my head down, my hands shoved in my jacket pockets.

I'd just had a one-night stand with a stranger. A random hockey player. Someone whose name I barely remembered.

Wait. I stopped walking.

What was his name? It was in the texts I read but hadn't stopped to sink in.

Liam.

The captain.

I turned around and looked back at the bar, my heart hammering. That wasn't just any hockey player.

That was Liam Carter.