Damaged Elite (The Darlington Elite Book 2)

by Waverly Alexander

  “It makes no sense. She hates Tommy, all of you guys…us.” I would have continued, but Zach and Patrick chose that exact moment to try to shoulder out the back door at the same time, like gangbusters coming to scold us for being outside alone in the dark.

  “I just searched the house top to bottom looking for the two of you,” Patrick says, hands on his hips as they approach us.

  “That sounds so strenuous,” I say, grinning at him because Patrick freaking out and reprimanding us is the only thing that feels normal, and I don’t want to deal with the problems we’re all facing. I carefully avoid making eye contact with Zach, because I already know he got worried and is going to be all broody because of it. Everyone in this damn house knows about the fox, and it baffles me that the back yard wouldn’t have been the first place they checked if they couldn’t find me.

  “Whatever, Kendra,” Patrick barks, but the fact that he chooses to think up an alternate name tells me he’s not as pissy as he’d like everyone to believe. His eyes are trained on Everly when he says, “I’m not trying to play the possessive asshole 24/7, but I don’t want the two of you out here without one of us. Too much shit is going on…”

  “You? Possessive? Never.” I snort, and Patrick narrows his eyes as he tilts his head to look at me.

  “Patrick,” Everly says, using that sweet tone that she saves just for him because it softens him no matter how annoyed he is. She moves toward him, wrapping her arms around his back and resting her head on his chest. “Sorry, it’s a habit, we’ll be more careful. You’re right. It’s too dangerous.”

  Patrick’s palm goes to the back of her head, his fingers stroking her hair as he looks down at her like he’s got the whole fucking world in his arms. I don’t mean to stare at them, but I’ve never seen anything quite like it, the way they are with each other. It’s not contrived, they actually need each other in a way that I didn’t know existed. I want that all-encompassing, passionate, fuck-everybody-else love. But every time I let my walls down with Zach, I seem to get my feelings hurt. I’m surprised when Zach wraps an arm around me because we’ve been really awkward about affection lately, but I lean into him, seeking the warmth of his tall, muscular frame.

  He tips my chin up and speaks quietly, his eyes intense. “I’ll come out here and check the fox as many times as you want, but you’ve gotta promise me you’ll wait for me, or one of the guys, before you go anywhere.”

  I can see the worry in his gaze, and guilt washes over me because even if we’re not in a romantic relationship, he’s still my best friend, and we’re in a seriously compromised situation. I need to be more careful, more cautious.

  I hear Patrick and Everly speaking to one another, their voices fading, but I don’t look to see them walking back to the house. I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from Zach’s. He’s so much more than a friend or a lover, I feel him in my soul. And sometimes, in moments like this, I think he can feel it too.

  “I promise.” It’s all I can say, and he breathes out in relief, craning his neck to press his forehead against mine.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He breathes the words, and his hands slide down my back, pulling me close to him.

  “Oh my God, what the fuck are you doing?” Tommy asks in shock as he nearly walks past the open bathroom door, but catches his large hand on the door frame to halt his steps and get a good look inside. Everly is sitting on the counter near the sink with her clear-complexion face mask already on, and I have one of my fake eyelashes pinched between my fingers, still half adhered to my lashline. We’re in the middle of doing our nighttime routine, needing some sort of normalcy after everything that happened today.

  I try to hide the grin that wants to spread across my face because I need this, whatever this weird friendship is I have with Tommy, to get me through all the chaos.

  Everly snorts back a laugh when I feign panic. “Ouch. Something’s wrong with my eyelash. Does it look weird? My eyes were burning, but I thought it was from crying.”

  “Holy shit.” The genuine worry in Tommy’s tone almost makes me feel bad for doing this. Almost. He’s holding my face roughly in his hands, and he looks horrified at the state of my lashes, which are now drooping down to the bottom of my eye. “Your eyelashes are falling off.” He jerks his head over to Everly. “Help.” His clipped tone makes both of us lose it, and we begin laughing, the wheezing kind that’s hard to sober up from.

  Zach walks in, finding a confused Tommy still holding my head in his large hands, and I’m giggling so hard at this point I feel like I’d fall to the floor if his grip wasn’t so tight.

  “What’s going on?” Even through my laughter, I see the way Zach appraises Tommy, and it kills my buzz. He’s jealous, but as usual, won’t do anything about it.

  “Her fucking eye is melting off, and—” Tommy is cut off by Patrick popping his head in the door, his eyes zeroing in on Everly.

  “I heard yelling,” he growls, his eyes never leaving her, and he blatantly ignores that I’m practically in a fucking chokehold while Tommy freaks out over my eye.

  “We’re fine,” Everly says from somewhere behind me. “Kennedy was messing with Tommy and took it too far.” She moves up beside me, and without warning, swipes the offending eyelash all the way off, causing Tommy to gag and let go of me as he recoils in horror. Zach reaches out and catches me just in time, so I don’t fall to the tile floor.

  “I’m gonna throw up. Is she bleeding? I can’t do eye stuff. You guys know eyes freak me out.” Tommy is leaning over the sink, gagging like he might actually throw up, and Patrick’s brows are knitted together as he watches the scene. I honestly can’t tell if he’s annoyed or if that’s just his face.

  “She got me with that too when we first met,” Zach says, clapping Tommy on the back in solidarity. Tommy pushes Everly away from the faucet where she was washing her face mask off, splashes water in his face, and then turns to glare at me.

  “Sorry, Tommy,” I say, moving up next to him. I figured it would freak him out, but I didn’t realize he had such a weak stomach considering he spends ninety percent of his ice time in the penalty box for making other guys bleed.

  Tommy points to Zach. “I’m this close to taking you outside and wrecking your shit in her place.” Tommy holds his pointer and thumb together in a pinching motion, indicating how close he is to snapping.

  Zach chuckles, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as Tommy narrows his eyes at me then turns to stomp out like the child he is. “Wait, where are you going?” I ask. As hard as I try, I can’t get my laughter under control, and it only gets worse when he turns back to look at me. He’s so pissed.

  “Just wait, I’ll get you back. I’m going downstairs to make a scoreboard.” He uses his thumb to gesture toward himself and then to the other boys. “Us versus you.”

  “Go ahead, and put me down for two points then.” I can’t help it, I’m already reaching up and pulling off my other fake lash while I stare him dead in the eyes. I see him visibly cringe as he pushes past Patrick and rushes out of the bathroom.

  I feel Zach’s face drop to the nape of my neck, and his laughter reverberates against my back as his arms tighten around me. I lean back against him because even bad bitches have weaknesses, and Zach’s embrace is my fucking kryptonite.

  “If he kills you, we’re obligated to help him cover it up,” Patrick says without a trace of humor, and Everly slaps his arm. “I’m kidding,” he assures her, hugging her close to his chest, raising his eyebrows and shaking his head in the negative to me when she can’t see. I grin at him and only then does a smirk break out on his face.

  “We’re headed to bed,” Everly says, taking Patrick’s hand, but directing her words to me. “Wake me up if you need anything, okay?” I think she feels obligated to look out for me because when she and Patrick were having problems, I stayed with her and looked after her.

  “Thanks, Ever. Goodnight,” I say with a grateful smile, moving away from Zach and u
p to the sink to wash off the rest of my makeup.

  When I look up from scrubbing my face, I notice Zach has the shower running. He’s slipped his shirt off, and he’s standing there with his navy sweatpants slung low on his hips, Darlington Ice Hockey printed in gold on the thigh.

  Heat wells in my stomach then spreads rapidly throughout my body as I watch him lean over the counter. I know him so well that it’s clear he’s checking his five o’clock shadow, trying to decide if he needs to shave. He doesn’t, it’s perfect just like that. Short enough that it isn’t itchy for him, and just long enough that it feels delicious against my neck. I shake the thoughts away. We don’t do that anymore. We don’t cuddle, we don’t hold each other intimately.

  His hand rests on his chest and slides subconsciously down his stomach, and I feel my mouth water at the thought of sliding my own fingers down the taught, tan skin. My face blushes with embarrassment when he clears his throat, and before my eyes meet his, I already know he’s caught me ogling him like one of the puck bunnies I swore I’d never be. I expect his eyes to be dancing with humor, but instead, all I see is desire mixed with something else I can’t quite place.

  I should leave, keep the lines between us firmly drawn, and I could do that if I was just attracted to him physically. But I crave his soul and his heart as much as I desire to learn his body in a way I’ve never known another man’s.

  He moves toward me, backing me up until my butt is against the counter, his hands resting on either side of me. I place my hands on top of his in an effort to keep from reaching out and running my hands across his bare chest like I’m aching to.

  He dips his head, moving closer, and his cheek brushes against mine, making me shiver in anticipation of what he might do. We’ve only kissed one time, quite a while ago, and I’m probably naive to think he might let his guard down long enough to let things go that far again. He’s friend-zoned me, and despite the heated stares and the way his body reacts to mine, he’s made it clear he doesn’t want our dynamic to change.

  “I’ve missed sleeping next to you,” he says, his voice is raspy, and the bathroom is filling with steam, and I’m not sure which one is making me lightheaded. “I wake up reaching for you, and you’re not there.” He shifts closer, and I feel his hands flex under mine, gripping the counter so tightly I think he might shatter it.

  I give in, wrapping my arms around his neck and as if on cue he’s enveloped me, pulling me into him and sighing against my neck.

  I press my lips to his shoulder, and I feel him stiffen, pulling away from me. This is what happens every time we get close, this is exactly why I set the boundaries. I won’t let him pull away from me this time. I’ll have the upper hand because if I let him push me away one more time, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to show him my feelings again.

  I push him back softly, not letting my fingers linger on his skin for too long, and I duck under his arm. I meet his eyes as I turn the doorknob, my head held high when I say, “Enjoy your shower, Zach,” before I head back to my room.

  Alone.

  4

  Zach

  Several days later, we’re on the ice, in the middle of a home game against Salisbury, and I’m still wound so fucking tight from the other night in the bathroom with Kennedy. I lost my cool and nearly pounced on her, but she must have felt me second-guessing myself because she pulled away from me first. In the shower, I thought about taking her in every possible position, how I knew she would taste, how I knew she would sound moaning my name. Nothing sated the urge I had to kick her door in and drag her back to my room. The feelings I have for her are overwhelming, possessive, and they scare the shit out of me. I could hold it together before, but with the Learys trying to sabotage us and Cassandra being hurt, I’m letting my resolve slip around Kennedy. I can’t let that happen for her sake or my own. It was so much easier when she was living in her dorm, and none of this crazy shit was going on. I could distance myself when my emotions were getting too strong, but now she’s around me 24/7, and it’s hard to see past how much I want her.

  Henry makes a slapshot goal, and I pivot on my skates, looking out into the arena as the crowd cheers. I expect to see Kennedy sitting next to Everly in the front row, and she’s front row alright, but she’s not standing and cheering like Everly is. Instead, her attention is on some douchebag in a grey sports jacket with fucking elbow patches. I recognize him enough to know that he’s a professor, but I don’t know his name or what he teaches. What I do know is that I don’t like the way he’s looking at my girl. I grip my hockey stick so hard I think I might snap it in half out of sheer frustration.

  This reaction, this rage I feel at the thought of another guy near her, touching her, is the very same reason I can’t be with her the way I want to be. I feel like I’m ready to rip the plexiglass down, hop over the wall, and beat him to death just for looking at her that way. I feel obsessed, possessive, like the way Patrick becomes unhinged over Everly. Like the way my mother tells me my father was with her. But he took it too far. When he snapped, he’d take it out on her, then on me when I was old enough to try and protect her.

  The jealousy I feel over Kennedy is something I’ve never experienced before, and I’m certain I’ll never feel it about anyone else. But I care enough for her that I need to protect her from the pain I’ll inevitably cause her. I’m my father’s son, and I won’t put her in the position my mother was in. If I ever snapped and hurt Kennedy, I’d never forgive myself, and she’d never forgive me either. I wouldn’t want her to. She knows her worth, and she deserves better than I could ever give her. She thinks she wants me, but she doesn’t know what I could do to her, or how bad of a decision it would be to fall in love with me. My father didn’t just physically abuse my mother in his jealous, possessive rage, he broke her spirit and ultimately changed who she was.

  Patrick skates up next to me, shouldering me out of my daze, and I realize I’ve been so focused on Kennedy that I’ve lost time in the game. I need to hit something, get some of this anger out of me. Miles has the puck, but a Salisbury player cuts him off, nearly swiping it away from him. I take the opportunity to skate full speed toward the guy, crashing us both into the sidewall, conveniently right where Kennedy is sitting.

  When we’re back on our feet, I wait to see if he’s going to swing on me because I’ll take any excuse to brawl right now. He glares at me for a few seconds but ultimately decides he doesn’t want his ass kicked in a packed arena. When he skates off, I see Miles score, and the crowd is cheering again. I glance at Kennedy, and her big brown eyes are locked on me like I’m the only guy in this arena, like she’s proud of me. The professor is nowhere to be seen. She makes me feel like a fucking king, and I’d beat the shit out of every fucker on this ice if she’d only keep looking at me that way.

  It’s only when I hear the ref’s whistle that I tear my eyes away from her and see Miles on top of a Salisbury player, punching him in the jaw. Patrick and Tommy are already there, and they let him get a few more hits in before they pull him off. This is the third time he’s jumped someone unprovoked just this period. He’s been a grenade, ready to go off at the slightest provocation since Cassandra was shot, and I can’t blame him. I’d have killed someone already if Kennedy were in Cassandra’s place, and they would have had to physically remove me from the hospital to make me leave her side.

  “Off the ice, O’Conner!” Coach Leary screams, and I’m surprised because he’s benching him for the rest of the game. Uncharacteristically, Miles flips off Coach and storms off the ice. We all hate the fucker with a passion, and we’re just biding our time until we can expose what he and his sons are doing. But Miles has taken it to the next level—he wants a piece of him for Cassandra. I look over at Henry, the most even-tempered of us all, and he jerks his head in a nod toward Tommy, who seems to understand what he wants. I get into position and wait for the ref to signal the game can resume, but we’re only a few seconds in before Tommy’s throwing his gloves off and purpo
sely tripping a Salisbury player. A few beats pass and they’re in a full-on brawl, while Henry scores again before the ref can even stop the fight or pause the game.

  “You too, Moretti!” Coach’s face is as red as his hair, and Tommy grins, huffing in air from the exertion of the fight. He takes a dramatic bow before skating off the ice, and I realize that Henry signaled him to get kicked out of the game in order to check on Miles because that’s what’s important now. Hockey used to be our priority, but lately each other—the five of us and the girls—are the only thing that matters.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Patrick booms when we walk into the locker room and hear two dumbass sophomores talking about how Andre is missing from the game because the police are after him. The two dipshits are certain he attacked Cassandra and Beth because they found out he killed Dalton.

  “Hey, man,” the smaller of the two guys says, holding his hands up defensively. “We didn’t think you liked him anyway, not after what happened to…”

  “Oh, you really are fucking stupid,” I say, putting myself between them and Patrick because if his sister’s name comes out of their mouths, I’m not sure even an act of God could save them. Apparently, clean-up duty is assigned to me today, because it’s Henry’s turn to wait with the girls while the rest of us get cleaned up from the game, so he’s not here to diffuse Patrick’s temper.