Torment

by Chloe Fischer

  Torment

  Chloe Fischer

  Copyright © 2019 by Chloe Fischer

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  NEXT

  Also by Chloe Fischer

  Recommended

  CONNECT WITH ME!

  Chapter 1

  Odette’s brown eyes widened in disbelief, her mouth slacking slightly as the words sunk into her head.

  “What?” she demanded dumbly, despite having heard exactly what Marcus had said. She was just refusing to accept them.

  The editor-in-chief shrugged cockily, a lazy smirk forming on his mouth as he met her eyes with his own bespectacled blue stare.

  “Sports,” he said again. “That’s what I have.”

  She began to shake her unruly mop of dark curls but abruptly stopped, knowing that this was a trick.

  He’s testing me, she decided. There’s no way he would really do this to me. We have a history here, a friendship…?

  She knew the latter thought was bullshit. No one was really friends with Marcus. He was far too big a prick for alliances. But after four years of working on The State News, she had no doubt that Marcus was being serious and the thought made her stomach churn. It was her senior year, her last one to prove herself before heading out into the workforce and becoming a real journalist. And this was how she was going out? As a sports columnist?

  “Marcus,” she tried, adding a cajoling note to override the desperation in her voice. “I-I’ve been working on current affairs, political pieces since my freshman year. It’s what I’m best versed in.”

  “And failing miserably,” Marcus snapped, losing the half-hearted sneer on his face. “If that’s all you know, we’re all in deep shit.”

  Annoyance clouded his eyes and he leaned forward over the desk. “I swear readership is down ten percent since I hired you on, Odette.”

  And you’re blaming me for your shitty management? She wanted to howl. How dare you!

  Of course she said none of this, the desire to keep her job much more important than hurting Marcus’ non-existent feelings. Yelling at him would serve no purpose but to get her higher up on his crap list.

  “Marcus,” she tried again, also leaning forward from where she was sitting on the opposite side of the desk. “I don’t know anything about sports. I grew up with sisters. I’ve never watched a baseball game in my life.”

  “It’s football season,” Marcus intoned flatly. “And I guess you’ll have to learn if you want to stay here.”

  Indignation coupled with anger surged through her in a rush.

  Why is he doing this to me?

  The self-pity was short-lived, however, Odette knowing exactly why she was being punished. The last few articles she’d published had been discounted as tabloid trash, her quest for the truth uncovering scandals within the faculty. Even though Odette had stood by her sources and her writing, she knew that Marcus had to be receiving flack from the powers that be to shut her up.

  A realization dawned on her and she almost gasped aloud.

  He thinks by sticking me in sports, I’ll either quit or be so inadequate, he’ll have just cause for firing me.

  Pride swelled inside her and somehow, Odette managed a plaintive smile on her face.

  “Sports, huh?” she said, her voice suddenly optimistic. “I suppose it is time for a change.”

  Marcus blinked, her response clearly catching him off guard.

  “Right,” he grumbled, sensing that the conversation was not going the way he had expected. “A change.”

  “And a good journalist should be well-rounded,” she continued, driving her intentions home. “I have been focused on one topic for far too long.”

  Marcus opened his mouth to say something but apparently changed his mind, shifting his eyes away to look at the open laptop on his desk instead.

  “Glad you see this as an opportunity,” he muttered.

  Oh, it’s an opportunity, you bastard. It’s an opportunity to show you that I’m not going down so easily. You can’t shove me out in my final year of college.

  She didn’t even want to think about what it would mean for her career if she was shoved off The State News this late in the game. She had one school year to redeem herself and given the way the rest of her degree had gone, it didn’t feel like a lot of time.

  Stop being a fatalist. You can do this. You’ve beaten way worse odds than this, she reminded herself grimly.

  “Football season, huh?” she said, realizing that Marcus was all but ignoring her now. “I guess I can learn about the Buckeyes.”

  Marcus’ head whipped up and he glowered at her, his mouth a firm, angry line.

  “A-are you joking?” he demanded, his face coloring purple. Odette looked at him innocently.

  “What?”

  “The Buckeyes are Ohio State and our mortal enemies.”

  Odette had known that but she hadn’t been able to resist sticking it to the editor before rising from her spot.

  “Really?”

  Marcus grunted, unsure whether to fall into her trap but seemed to think better of it.

  “Learn about our teams before you make an ass out of yourself, Odie,” he snapped, dismissing her.

  But isn’t that what you want? Odette wanted to yell back at him. Somehow, she managed to keep her emotions under control and ambled to her feet, nodding pleasantly.

  “I can’t wait,” she lied, before seeing herself out of the office. She had a lot of work to do and the school year hadn’t even started yet.

  To her chagrin, Temperance was home when Odette arrived back at the house on Hill Street. The area was sprinkled with student housing and had been Odette’s home since the second year, after she’d left on-campus residence.

  Well, “home” is pushing it. This has been the place I’ve used to shower and sleep—when I can manage either aspect.

  For three years, Odette felt like she hadn’t stopped, not even during the summer where she would squeeze in extra classes, not to graduate earlier but to avoid going home to Florida. Even though the house on Hill was better than the mansion in Palm Beach, it was still not what Odette would consider a home.

  Especially not with Tempy grilling her at every turn.

  “What did Marcus want?” her roommate demanded. “Is he still on your case about that story about the frat houses?”

  Odette cringed at the reminder, her mind still whirling from the meeting she’d just left behind. The last thing she wanted was to rehash it with Tempy, despite knowing her friend’s best intentions. The problem was, Temperance reminded Odette far too much of her oldest sister, Callie, a nosy, mothering type who endlessly barraged her with questions that she really had no interest in knowing for any other reason than to provide her two, useless cents.

  “I have some research to do, Tempy,” Odette sighed, pulling her knapsack off her back and heading toward the stairs. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “You have a story already?” Temperance demanded, hurrying to follow the brunette up the stairs. “What’s it about? I thought you were on probation or something.”

  Odette stifled a groan, not wanting to s
nap at her housemate but wishing Tempy would disappear all the same.

  For a twisted moment, she lapsed into a fantasy that Temperance did disappear one day and Odette would be left to report on and potentially solve the crime.

  Yeah, okay, Nancy Drew. Simmer down there.

  “Odie!”

  Sighing, Odette paused and looked down at the Amazonian blonde, wondering how someone could be so inaptly named.

  They should have named her Anxiety or Intrusive. There is nothing tempered about her.

  “I really have work to do, Tempy,” she told the woman reasonably. “I’ll tell you all about it at dinner, okay?”

  Guilt flooded through Odette as Temperance’s eyes lit up.

  “Really? You’re going to be around for dinner?”

  Odette nodded, forcing a grin on her face.

  “Sure,” she lied. “Of course.”

  The words seemed to please Temperance immensely, only accelerating Odette’s shame. She knew full well that she wasn’t going to sit around for dinner with Temperance, or, God forbid, their other roommate, Vic. But lying was a better alternative to having Tempy follow her around all day.

  “Six o’clock?” Temperance yelled out but Odette closed her bedroom door, locking it without answering. She had too much to worry about without balancing Temperance’s feelings. With a dramatic exhale of breath, she flopped onto the double bed she couldn’t wait to leave behind at the end of the year and reached for her laptop.

  She hadn’t been kidding when she said she didn’t know anything about sports. Any man she’d ever dated had been tuned out when the subject arose and her father hadn’t been around enough to share his insight about his passion for soccer and rugby.

  Inexplicably, she felt a rush of anger, thinking about her father. If he’d been around more, she wouldn’t be in that position, after all.

  A sneer formed on her face as she shook her head, pulling open her computer and punching in the Wolverines’ website.

  Yeah. It’s your daddy’s fault that you’re in this position, she thought sarcastically. Even Edward would have told you that you can’t rock the boat if he’d been around and not jet-setting around the world.

  She ignored the pang of upset forming in her gut and stared at the 2018-2019 team photo. It would need to be updated for this year but even as she stared at last year’s photo, she felt a flicker of resentment toward the group, even though she didn’t know one of them. Every one of them seemed to wear the same cocksure smile that she’d grown to know so well since childhood, a combination of arrogance and strength that only an athlete could wear.

  None of these men are your father, Odette sighed to herself, flipping screens back to Google. Don’t compare them to him.

  As she typed in “Rules for Football” into the search engine, she reminded herself that her anger had nothing to do with her daddy issues. No, these issues were all directed at her editor.

  Chapter 2

  The tackle came unexpectedly, knocking him five feet to the side, his massive frame toppling over two other teammates as he landed.

  A low groan escaped Darien’s mouth, his shoulder throbbing as he jumped to his feet with surprising gracefulness.

  “What the hell, Sawyer?” he growled as the halfback grinned through his helmet. “You’re on my team.”

  “I know,” Sawyer chuckled. “But you were wide open. I couldn’t resist.”

  “Are you two done horsing around?” Coach Wilder growled, advancing on the group. “The season is starting and you two seem to think that practice is a frat party.”

  Immediate contrition sprung from Darien’s lips but before he could respond, Sawyer quipped, “Aw, come on, Coach. Where’s your sense of fun?”

  “It’s back in ‘89, the last time the Wolverines’ won the NCAA championships,” Coach Wilder replied predictably. It was the same response he gave every time anyone called out his no-nonsense disposition.

  “Well, that’s going to change this year,” Darien said quickly, casting his friend a wary look before he pushed the coach too far. “We almost made it last year.”

  “Almost is only good in hand grenades and horseshoes,” Wilder intoned, shaking his head. “Hit the showers. You guys are useless today.”

  “Yes sir, Coach, sir!” Sawyer saluted him and Darien stifled a groan. He wished Sawyer wasn’t such a smart ass all the time.

  He can afford to be. He’s one of the elite. I, on the other hand, don’t have that luxury.

  “What are you waiting for?” Sawyer yelled, already jogging toward the locker room. “I feel beers in our future.”

  Darien wasn’t in the mood for drinks. He needed to get home but he had a feeling that Sawyer wasn’t going to let him off the hook so easily.

  It’s better to just go for one and excuse yourself, he decided, following after the sinewy built halfback. Sometimes, Darien was stunned that Sawyer was a football player at all. He didn’t seem the type and not just by the way he was built. Darien always thought that Sawyer was better suited to being a theater student than an athlete. If not for Sawyer’s superb playing abilities, Darien would have bet good money that his friend’s parents had bought his way into Michigan State.

  Talk about sour grapes, he thought wryly. You’re jealous that you’re not as good a player is all.

  Not that it was really a fair assessment. After all, Darien was at Michigan State on a full football scholarship himself. He would be selling himself short to say that he wasn’t a good player too. They didn’t just hand those things out to anyone, after all.

  Particularly not poor kids from Chicago.

  Inside the locker room, he stripped off his practice uniform, listening to the banter of the other players around him. The start of the school year was always charged with an excitement that never really went away as months slid by. Sure, it was more forceful in September and October, the promise of first games motivating the team to do their best and set their ranking for the year but even as the semesters passed, the exhilaration dulled to a constant background buzz.

  They were still on the original high of the new season and Darien tried to join into the silly chatter about women and curriculum but as always, his heart wasn’t into it. He had other things on his mind, things that always seemed to overwhelm him when he wasn’t giving it his all on the field.

  He forsook the shower, deciding to save himself for a proper soak in his tub at home after drinks with Sawyer. His shoulder was aching and he knew he could use an Epsom salt-infused bath to make it better. Instead, he splashed cold water on his face and soaped his chest and underarms before drying himself and peering at his reflection in the mirror.

  His dark blonde hair, still wet from the run through of his comb, was close-cropped around his head. A pair of bright green eyes peered back at him, unblinking and eerily intense for someone who, in his opinion, was mostly easy-going.

  He wasn’t sure what he saw when he looked at himself some days. On one hand, he would always be the white kid from the projects who had somehow defied the odds, odds that others had not been so lucky to escape. On the other hand, the last four years had turned him into a completely new person, someone he hadn’t even realized existed underneath.

  Which one of those men am I?

  “Hey, Adonis. You done checking yourself out?” Sawyer demanded from behind him and Darien smirked slightly.

  “You mean Narcissus,” he corrected, turning away from the glass to grab for a towel before sauntering back toward his locker. “One drink. Then I gotta go.”

  “Right,” Sawyer snickered. “I forgot you turn into a pumpkin after one drink.”

  Darien didn’t reply, knowing that his friend was dying to know where he went after practice every night.

  It’s no one’s damn business.

  A smidgen of guilt shot through him, knowing that he shouldn’t even bother with one beverage but if he didn’t, he had no doubt that it would only cause more problems.

  Quickly, he began to dress
, throwing a black t-shirt over his broad chest and yanking up a worn pair of his favorite Levi’s. He frowned slightly, looking down at the pants, remembering where they’d come from.

  I shouldn’t wear these anymore. It doesn’t feel right.

  “You know, you sure do scowl a lot for someone who has life by the balls,” Sawyer chirped, catching Darien’s expression. “Pray tell, what does a guy like you have to be so distracted about all the damned time?”

  Before he could retort, a low stream of whistles and hoots filled the locker room, causing Darien and Sawyer to turn.

  “Hey, babe!”

  “Goddamn, the janitors are hot!”

  “Baby, over here!”

  A prickle of annoyance shot through Darien as his teammates’ words filled his ears. A second later, his eyes fell on the subject of their catcalling.

  “Well, well, well,” Sawyer sighed, also seeing the attractive brunette in their midst. “That’s something you don’t see every day.”

  The woman sauntered through the locker room, her uncertainty etched clearly on her face and for a minute, Darien wondered if she had wandered into the wrong locker room. Before he could step forward, she held up a hand, a bemused smile falling on her lips.

  “What?” she demanded. “Haven’t you guys ever seen a chick in the locker room before?”

  I guess she’s not lost, Darien thought, his eyes narrowing as he studied her face. Inexplicably, he felt a rush of heat course through his body as he stared at her, realizing that she was very beautiful. There was something soulful about her dark eyes, like she held some great, ancient pain beneath the casual smile on her face.

  “Good God, she’s hot,” Sawyer sighed. “Why am I happily engaged?”

  “There is nothing happy about your engagement,” Darien reminded him but his eyes were still fixed on the woman and her lithe form as she demanded the attention of everyone in the room. It was only then that he noticed her press pass dangling from around her neck.