Page 51 of Top Shelf

He doesn’t look at me while he traces it again. Over and over.

A symbol of grounding. Of safety. Of not drifting away.

I want to ask what it means. Why he chose it. But I don’t think I’m ready for the answer. Not sure he’d even tell me even if I asked.

So I don’t speak.

I just stand there, rain soaking through my shirt, my chestcracking open one slow inch at a time. And when he finally lets go of my hand, the imprint of that anchor still burns across my skin.

Without a word, Silas steps back toward the darkness.

And this time…

I let him go.

13

LUCIAN

On a rehydration break between drills,I’m standing on the ice by the bench with Ronan when Carver’s voice snaps across the rink like a whip.

“Winslow! Are you even listening? Do it again. And try not to screw it up this time.”

Every head on the ice shifts toward the tunnel.

Wren stands there, clipboard clasped to her chest, shoulders tucked in tight like she’s trying to make herself smaller. And Carver…that smug, self-important asshole is looming over her, waving a stack of papers one inch from her nose like she’s a disobedient dog he’s about to smack.

My fists tighten on my stick.

Around me, the familiar sounds of practice fade. The scrape of blades, the thump of pucks, the echo of drills are all drowned out by that single, raised voice tearing into her as though she’s not another human being.

He talks to her like she’s nothing. A nobody.Worthless.

And a dark, broken, violent part of me wants to teach him exactly how wrong he is.

Without giving a second thought to the repercussions ofwhat I’m about to do—thinking things through has never really been my strong suit, anyway—I push off the boards, ready to skate straight for him.

A gloved hand clamps down on my shoulder, stopping my forward momentum. Whipping my head to the side, I glare at my best friend. How fucking dare he interfere when I’m about to dole out sweet, sweet justice.

“Not the time or the place,” Ronan clips under his breath.

I grind my teeth. His calm command pisses me off almost as much as Carver’s mouth does. I shrug him off, gesturing in her direction.

“Don’t you see what he’s doing?! She’s going to be two feet tall by the time he’s done with her. She’s already tiny enough; she doesn’t need him taking more inches off of her.”

Before he can attempt to talk me down again, Silas glides up on my other side. Ever the silent shadow. He doesn’t need words to indicate he’s as furious with Carver as I am. The look he gives him is enough to freeze hell.At least someone agrees with me.

Silas’s jaw ticks once, and I know he’s thinking the same thing I am: Carver is a dead man walking. I always knew Silas had that same violent streak in him that I have. The only difference is that he buries his while I embrace mine.

Looks like I’ve found the one woman capable of dragging the beast out of him. Gwendolyn Winslow.

On the other side of the glass, Wren nods tightly, accepting every blow like she deserves it. Like she’s used to being talked down to like that. That pisses me off even more. I know for a fact that this girl has already had to deal with more than any person should have to in one lifetime. The last thing she deserves is shitheads like Dean Carver, whose arrogance is misplaced compensation for his micropenis, using her to inflate their fragile egos.

She swallows whatever she wants to say before rushingoff to fix whatever issue Carver was reaming her out over. However, before she disappears from view, when she’s certain no one is watching, I catch the way her shoulders tremble when she releases a shaky breath. Her eyes blaze with fire, but her body betrays the vulnerability she works her ass off daily to hide.

My rage spikes, hot and poisonous.

“If he keeps talking to her like that,” I mutter, voice low enough for only Ronan and Silas to hear, “I’m gonna permanently rearrange his face.”