Page 43 of Sticks and Stones (Shadow Valley U)

I tilt my head, then lunge for him. I grab the back of his head and yank forward, slamming his face into the table. There’s a satisfyingcrunch, and Wren slips free. I release him and back away. He pushes upright. Blood pours from his nose.

“That was a warning.” I point at him. “You go ahead and spread the goddamn word that Wren Davis is off limits.”

“Stone—”

I whirl on her. “Save it, Sticks.”

Her face is flushed, her hair wild. I have the indescribable urge to go caveman on her. Toss her over my shoulder, carry her outside. Fucking ravage her just to lay claim on her.

That’s not how this works.

“You need to leave.” She grips my arm.

It’s only then that I realize the place has gone silent.

Grant comes up and guides me out. Wren follows.

“You’re a monster,” she calls. “All your talk aboutmebeing the selfish one. You just want me gone by any means necessary—”

“No.” I whirl around and point at her. “All I want is to play hockey! And I can’t seem to do that with you fucking with my head.”

She stares at me. She has the audacity to look hurt by that. “You’re kidding me.”

“You jeopardizeeverythingI want!” I jerk out of Grant’s hold and stride past her. Fuck this. I break into a run. I don’t even care where I go—I just can’t stay here.

I hate her.

I hate her.

I hate her.

Say it enough times and it might become true.

* * *

I’m just dozing off when Wren’s door cracks open. The past week, she’s cried in her sleep every night. But she’s only emerged a few times. And in those times, we haven’t spoken a word.

Evan and I are currently not speaking either. He’s still pissed about the photo, and me being an insensitive ass, and also for not clearing the air with Wren. Any time he sees us in a room together, he scowls like I’ve broken his favorite pet and leaves as fast as he entered.

The light from Wren’s phone sweeps over my outstretched legs, up my chest, and finally lands on my face. I squint up into it, more than a little confused about why we’re breaking the pattern.

“Why are you still here?”

I shrug and raise my hand, blocking the light.

“Is it because you feel guilty?”

“I don’t fucking know.” My headthunksagainst the wall. Then, “Yeah, maybe I do feel guilty.”

She hesitates. But only for a second. “Good.”

I accept that.

She moves down the hall. The fridge light illuminates the kitchen for a brief moment, then recedes into darkness. I wait for her to come back and retreat into her room, but instead…she stops beside me.

Then she slides down the wall and sits next to me. She holds out a bottle of water.

“This is not a truce,” she warns.