VIOLETWillow gets me to Dr. Michaels’ office five minutes before my appointment time. Mia Germain rises from her seat in the waiting room and strides toward me. She looks the same, if not a tiny bit older. Time marches on for all of us, after all.I hold my breath when she gets closer, convinced she’s going to make a comment on my physique.Instead, she just spreads her arms and wraps me in a giant hug.Her dark hair is streaked through with random strands of silver, giving it a tinsel appearance. It’s twisted into a bun on top of her head. Her oversized sweater makes her seem smaller.“I’m so glad you made it,” she says, withdrawing.I grin. “Me, too. This is my best friend, Willow Reed.”“My parents are hippies,” she says, trying to explain away her name as she shakes Mia’s hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”Mia chuckles. “I wasn’t going to comment. I’ve known some extraordinarily talented young girls and boys who have the most eccentric names.”Willow cracks a smile. “I’d have fi

GREYSONCoach taps my arm, and I hop up onto the wall dividing the rink from our bench. My replacement, a junior named Finch, skates toward me and practically dives over. A split second later, my blades touch the ice and I’m off.I move into position, my muscles stretching and warming back up. I’ve had precious few breaks—all the starters have been rotated out, giving us a chance to breathe, but then we’re right back in. The other team is faring no better.This game is testing us. The Knights haven’t been fighting fair, and I have the sneaking suspicion the refs aren’t on our side. Because of that, I played the second period with my head screwed on right. Sweat soaks down my back.Still, I love this sport. My blood sings, adrenaline pumps and the roar of the crowd just makes me fight harder for it.I catch a glimpse of Violet out of the corner of my eye. Her friends are all preoccupied, and she looks lost.The right-wing from the Knights skates past and pushes his stick in front of me

He lifts his head, and I slowly open my eyes. My vision has adjusted. Moonlight comes in through skylights and high windows. There are faint emergency lights outside the rink, just barely visible from here.The cold hit me, and I shiver.He slips out of me and scoots back on his knees. He grips my knees and widens my legs as far as they can go. My ankles are still trapped together by my jeans, stuck on my boots.When he runs his finger from my slit up to my clit, my lips part.“Here’s a little challenge for you, Violent.” He toys with my clit again, analyzing my reaction.I squirm. I want to get off, I’m right there, on the edge, but he pulls away before I can get there. Again. And again. We go through this for fucking eternity, until I’m desperate enough to do it myself.So I do.I touch myself while he watches, while I shiver and moan and try not to let him see all of me. I fucking hate it. Where did my self-control go? Where did my will? But his gaze combats the cold, and I know ju

GREYSONI consider Violet Reece. Before. The girl who seemed to have everything together.Outward appearances can be deceiving. I know that better than anyone.While she hides in the bathroom, I pull up a video of the Crown Point Ballet. One of their shows stars my girl as the lead. I keep the screen close to my face, trying to analyze her every expression when she dances.There’s another video in the suggested list on the side—an interview with Mia Germain and Violet. I don’t know who Mia is, but I’m curious to see Violet. Not just dancing, but her demeanor.It’s different in front of a camera, that much is immediately obvious. She and an older woman sitting in cushioned chairs side by side. Violet on screen is thinner than she is now. She wears a t-shirt, leggings, and a wraparound cardigan cinched tight to her waist. It gapes at the top. Her hair is slicked back in a bun. Even her face has a sharpness to it that isn’t present nowadays.The date on the video is from a year ago.I hi

VIOLETThe trip organizers rented out one of the conference rooms for breakfast. There’s a congregation of CPU students in the room, spread out across tables, at the buffet line. I ignore them all, though, in my hunt for Willow.I never ended up texting her last night, and I feel a pang of guilt. It eases slightly, though, when I see her sandwiched between Knox and Amanda.Grey stops beside me. Hearing that I’ve used a nickname he likes—especially coming from me, I guess—does weird things to me. Good things. Strange things. It’s a step in a direction I wasn’t expecting. Like our truce. Like pretending not to hate each other.I’m pretty sure I have frostbite on my ass, though.“Hungry?”I glance up at him. “A bit.”He smiles. “Go sit. I’ll grab us something.”“No, it’s okay.” I head toward the buffet.He snags my wrist. “Vi.”“Grey.” I narrow my eyes. “I have a weird relationship with food, okay? Don’t fight me on this.”He appraises me, understanding lighting his expression. He finall