How has no one walked by? How has no one heard my mental cries? How is this happening?
Why?
Why me?
Pain lights up in my throat as the blade draws deeper into my skin.
I’m going to die here. At the hand of a man who decides my fate because I’m too weak to fight back. This will be my legacy. The girl found in an alley who bled out after being assaulted. That’s what my life will be summed up as—what happened to me, not who I am.
His moans claw beneath my skin, burning into my mind, and I know if I survive by some miracle, his sounds will haunt me for the rest of my life.
An alarm rings around us, thumping in rhythm to his assault, and for a brief second, I feel as if I’m floating.
No agony. No sensations. Nothing.
In the next gasp of air, reality slams into me, and my eyes fly open, my gaze locking on to the ceiling above me. It takes me a moment to process that it’s not the dark night sky above me anymore and I’m not in that alley. I’m in my bedroom.
It was a nightmare … but not one conjured from my imagination. It was a flashback to that fateful day last year. With every breath, my body relaxes more and more, my left hand loosening from its tight grip in the sheets, my right hand’s grasp softening on my throat.
My thumb strokes the thick, jagged scar along the side of my neck—the visible mark he left behind. He might not have let many physical scars, but there are plenty that no one can see.
After a moment, my mind settles, and the sound of my alarm fills my ears, flooding out my thoughts. I roll over and grab my phone, silencing the blaring noise.
Eagerness quickly fills me as I check my email—the same thing I’ve done every second of the day since my job interview last week. All of my hard work through high school and college is so close to fruition, and I’m desperate for the moment to finally happen … even if it will throw some tension into my relationship.
My boyfriend, Cole Wilder, plays for the Vegas Venom. Of course he wants me to work closer than all the way in New York, but none of the nearby pro teams are hiring, and this has always been my dream.
I grew up playing hockey with my brother, Luca Bradford, and our best friends, Carly and Jensen. My skills weren’t nearly at the same level, not because they couldn’t be, but I found my passions and dedication guiding me elsewhere. They spent every waking minute on the ice, and I spent mine studying, nose deep in books.
For most of my life, I knew that I wanted to be a sports therapist for a pro hockey team—ideally my brother’s, as we’ve been close our entire lives.
But working for his team isn’t an option because they’re fully staffed, and that’s not looking to change anytime soon. In the meantime, I’m just looking to get my foot in the door, and I’m going to do it when I land this job with the New York Nighthawks.
My emails are empty yet again this morning, aside from the spam emails that harass everyone. Disappointment floods me instantly.
I want this job—no, Ineedthis job. It’s everything I’ve always wanted, regardless if there’s a certain someone on that team I’m desperate to avoid. But we’re adults now. There’s no reason we can’t be professional toward one another.
The bedroom door swings open, and Cole stops in the frame, annoyance on his face.
“Finally, you’re up. I need your help.” He doesn’t even give me a chance to get a word out before he continues, “My calf has been burning all morning since skate. I need you to massage it so I’m good for the game tonight.”
Sitting up, I stretch my arms above my head and gesture to the bed. Cole rubs his hands together with a smile as he stridesover and stretches across the bottom of the comforter on his stomach.
Cole and I have been together for six years. We met back in college when I was a sophomore and he was a junior. But instead of finishing his college career, he joined the professional league early, and I followed with him, changing from campus classes to online.
As I work the muscles out in his leg, guilt settles into my chest. If I get this job, then I’m leaving everything we’ve built behind, putting our life on pause. I’m torn between sacrificing my career for love or potentially sacrificing love for my career.
I do love him, and I know where his frustration is coming from. I’d be annoyed, too, if he moved across the country for a job. Well … he did, and I followed him for that. But it’s not his fault that he can’t follow me.
I just hope that we can get through this one way or another. It’s going to be tough for sure, but we’ve made it this far. We can do this. We can visit each other during game breaks and holidays. When there’s a will, there’s a way.
“Why are you so quiet?” he murmurs as I work his calf muscles out.
“Bad dream.” I sigh.
“I’m sorry, babe.” He pauses for a second before changing the subject. “Haven’t heard anything from New York?”
He pushes himself up and slides backward off the bed, apparently satisfied with his massage.
