Page 13 of Sticks and Stones (Shadow Valley U)
Suddenly, I’m fifteen years old again and uncomfortable at the thought of someone taking care of me.Should I give them money for dinner? Should I say I already ate? Should I pick up dinner tomorrow night?The last thought sends a rush of panic down my spine because how the hell can I afford to feed hockey players on my measly waitressing salary?
Instead of asking any of the questions on the tip of my tongue, I smile and walk into the kitchen, leaving Evan, Sully, and Grant in the living room as they rewatch some hockey game on ESPN—probably of themselves, knowing how hockey players are.
The moment I step foot on the tiled floor, I pause and almost retreat.
There he is, all tall and broad-shouldered, leaning over the counter like he owns the room. I don’t make a single noise, something I managed to master all those years ago, sneaking through foster homes while my temporary guardians were asleep so I could find loose coins in the couch cushions or some leftover food that was usually spoiled in the back of the fridge.
“Hungry, Sticks?”
I stay quiet because I don’t trust him. He’s probably poisoning the food.
“There’s a nice spot out back.” Stone peeks over his shoulder, and his lips tip in a devilish grin. “Perfect for sunlight. I’ll water you every other day, and I picked up a bag of soil after practice.” He spins around and leans against the sink, holding a white-and-red container that hasTouch of Thaiwritten on the front. “I thought if we just buried those sticks of yours, they would morph into a tree trunk, and you’d be set.”
I hate him.
I hate that I’m letting him bully me.
I hate that I understand why he’s bullying me.
“Clever,” I say, moving farther into the kitchen. Nerves fuel my steps, but I refuse to show him any sort of guilt or any type of cowering. I will make this work between us, mainly because I truly have nowhere else to go—I can’t afford it.
“I thought so,” he replies.
I catch the quick grin on his lips, and alarm bells ring in the back of my head.
“Here you go.”
He’s holding out the container of Thai food, and I gingerly reach up and place my hand on it. Our fingers brush, and heat whooshes all the way up my arm and into my chest, burning me from the inside.
“Did you poison it first?”
Stone keeps his fingers resting against mine. “No, I prefer to watch you suffer slowly. Makes it more rewarding.”
His hand is gone a moment later, and that’s when I realize the nonexistent weight of the Thai container. I peer inside and see that it’s completely empty.
“Enjoy dinner, Sticks.”
His evil, menacing laugh is more of a threat, and I’m suddenly wondering what is more uncomfortable: sleeping in a room with someone who hates me or sleeping in the backseat of my old, barely running Honda.
CHAPTER6
STONE
I leavethe kitchen before I can see Wren’s reaction. As soon as I heard the guys welcoming her home, I hurried to scrape every last remainder of food into a different container, which is now buried at the back of the fridge.
The slightest tinge of guilt presses down on me, but I shrug it off. If not for her, I’d have a better relationship with my father. I wouldn’t have had to all but beg him to let me continue my journey with the NHL. I wouldn’t have had to apologize to the head coach of the New York Guardians on the night before I signed with them, making up some acceptable excuse.
Most embarrassing moment of mylife, and I thought I was going to watch it all go down the drain. Every late night practicing my slap shots, every sprint, every drill. For nothing.
I don’t trust her not to stab me in the back again.
I close myself in my room, leaning against the door for a moment while I formulate a plan.
Wren Davis is fucking dangerous to be around. Those big hazel eyes seem to look right through me, and sometimes—well, most of the time—she doesn’t like what she sees. It’s obvious from the hate in her expression.
Just as well. I can’t stand her guts.
And every moment in this house puts me and my teammates in jeopardy.