13. Someone You ADORE

Cassian

Rhett walks into the room just as I am putting away my laundry I have just received from the dry cleaners. He sighs when he sees me and rolls his eyes, dropping his helmet on his bed. “So, what’s this about, huh?”

“What?” I ask, blinking innocently at him. I cross my arms over my chest as I take a few steps toward him.

“Jacob? Savannah?” He scoffs and shakes his head, sucking his teeth. “Yeah, you’re up to something that’s not good.”

I tilt my head at him and lift my brows. “You sound paranoid. I hear therapy works for constant paranoia… that it might be PTSD from something traumatic. Or maybe you’re scared of karma. Did you do something bad, Rhettie?”

He lets out a laugh of disbelief, and this time, he is the one that takes a step forward, until there’s almost no space between us. “Wow, Cassian. Who knew you had so much evil in you… you mentioned therapy to Savannah, didn’t you?”

“She agrees you need it,” I smile graciously. “We got to talking, and she admits there’s something going on with you. And opening up is hard—she wished you talked more… and, you know, it just slipped in.”

“Yeah, after acting like we were best of friends and—”

“We were best of friends,” I correct through seethed teeth. “But you became a monster overnight. Would you rather have me tell that to someone you adore?”

“I understand what you’re trying to do now. You tried to take away my captaincy, make people whisper about me, and now you’re trying to use mental health? You really want my life taken away, huh?”

“Like you took mine away?”

Rhett is silent for a long minute. I burst out laughing derisively and shake my head. “That’s one way to see it. Most people would say it’s sticking out for an old friend. And you should be grateful. You should be kneeling at my feet and thanking me for handling Jacob for you—”

“I’d rather die,” he spits coldly at my face. “Than thank you for that. This is all a game to you, Cassian, and I’m not sure what all your angles are, but you better fucking stop it.”

“Or what?” I ask, my voice dropping into a whisper. I step even closer, and this time our noses are touching, and my eyes look down at the side of his lips, which is still a nasty shade of purple from his dad’s fists. “What are you going to do, Rhettie? Find bullshit evidence? Call your daddy to come handle the bad roommate? You don’t have the stomach for it anymore.”

Rhett’s jaw clenchese so hard the muscle twitches. He looks like he wants to wrap his hands around my throat and squeeze it until I die. But at the same time, there’s this flicker of emotion that is quickly replaced before I can recognize it. His breathing becomes shallow, his chest heaving up and down as he clenches his hands into fists. He’s hurting, and we both know it.

Instead of punching me, he reaches out, grabbing the front of my shirt and shoving me back aggressively. He’s trying to act like the big, dominant captain everyone sees on the ice, but his grip lacks the full force it is supposed to have—almost as if he’s too weak, but not physically, to harm me.

“Just shut the fuck up,” he seethes, his voice cracking slightly. “Just... get out of my face.”

I let out a mocking scoff, unpeeling his fingers from my collar easily. “This is my room, too, remember? You’re the one who needs a timeout.”

He glares at me for a long while, realizing he can’t win this conversation without exposing how deeply I’m getting under his skin, and I love it. Without another word, he spins on his heel, grabs a towel from his drawer, and storms into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him so hard the light fixtures rattle.

I stare at the closed door, my chest rising and falling. I should be celebrating and laughing about how easily I just dismantled his arguments and left him hiding in the bathroom. But as I walk back over to my bed, a weird, unsettling feeling knots up in my stomach.

Fuck.

Before I can dwell on my thoughts, my phone buzzes on the mattress. I walk over to my bed and pick it up, sliding the screen open to see a direct message from an anonymous account. I know exactly who it is before I even open it.

Jacob.

The message is brief and, of course, it is filled with desperation and anger. Im not surprised though, Jacob is a guy who just watched his athletic career go down the drain because he thinks Rhett is out for him: “heyy. We met in the locker room. I think I might have found some guys who want to teach Reed a lesson for what he did to me and, you know… because he’s an ass, they don’t like him, and they’re rivals. You said you wanted to get back at him for being an asshole lately and hitting you. Are you in or out?”

I stare at the screen, the color slowly draining from my face.

This was my plan.

I wanted Jacob to take the fall and start doing my dirty bidding, but he’s going off the rails. What I really want is for Rhett to be isolated, broken, and pushed to the brink when I destroy his reputation with anything I can get my hands on. But as I look at the bathroom door, hearing the faint sound of the shower running and remembering the brutal bruises on Rhett’s body, a sudden wave of panic hits me.

Jacob isn’t just looking for a petty prank anymore, and he’s not even someone I can have as a lapdog due to his emotions.

I laugh at myself, realizing this is about emotions for me, too.

But maybe it’s different because he’s bringing in outsiders who aren’t usually a part of Rhett’s life, and he’s setting up an ambush. And in the physical state Rhett is in, a real fight against a gang of guys could seriously land him in the hospital—or worse.

I look back at the phone, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. I’m supposed to hate him. I’m supposed to want his life taken away, just like he took away mine.

If I need him to really know how it feels to have the world against you while so young in life, I should be fine with letting everything just happen to him.

Instead, I find myself typing.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about and who this is. But I hope you know messages can be tracked ;) You better call this off as soon as possible. If anything happens to Reed...”