Iced Out (Leighton U Book 1)

My stomach rolls as I read over the label on the bottle once, twice, fifty fucking times. And each time I read the word, the gut-wrenching fear shifts more and more into anger. Swirling and rolling until finally, I can’t keep quiet anymore.

“What the fuck are these?”

Oakley spins around, brows furrowed in confusion when he sees me holding the bottle of pills. And then, for the briefest moment, his face falls. He rights it quickly, almost fast enough for me to not notice the falter in his expression at all. Hell, if I didn’t know him as well as I do now, I probably would’ve missed it.

But I caught it.

I caught him.

“What the fuck are these?” I ask again, more forcefully this time. My grip around the bottle causes the plastic cap to dig into my skin painfully, the same way this discovery is embedding a knife in my heart.

Or in this case, my back.

He crosses the room to where I’m standing and grabs the bottle from my grasp. Swallowing, he reads the label before meeting my gaze. “They’re from when I broke my collarbone. Remember? In the game against Waylon last season?”

Ignoring his question, I ask one of my own. “Why do you still have them?”

“I guess I just never threw them away.”

I guess I just never threw them away.

How fucking convenient.

“Or maybe you’re still using them.” I murmur, the pieces of the puzzle coming together in my head. “And the day of the drug test, you swapped the samples. Yours for mine, so you’d pass and I wouldn’t.”

“What are you talking about?” he asks, his head tilting to the side. “You didn’t even test positive for narcotics. It was steroids.”

“No,” I growl, my teeth grinding as I grab the bottle from him again. “I just let you think it was because I didn’t see the point in arguing with you about something like which drug they popped me for.” I hold the bottle up between us, showing him the label. “This drug. Which I didn’t fucking use, by the way. I was always clean, always fucking will be.”

Oakley’s mouth drops open slightly as his brows furrow, and I can see the wheels spinning in his head. “So wait…you tested positive for narcotics instead?”

“Stop acting like you didn’t know!” I shout and throw the bottle across the room, where it hits the wall before clattering to the floor. “I saw the look on your face when I found those. You fucking knew. You had to have known.”

He stares at me like he’s seen a ghost, his head shaking back and forth at a snail’s pace. I don’t know if it’s part of his denial, or maybe he’s trying to process what’s happening, but either way, it does nothing for me. It gives me no answers.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t know,” I demand slowly. “If you’re gonna lie, then you can lie to my fucking face.”

“Quinn, please—”

“Just answer the question,” I snarl, cutting off whatever plea he was about to make. “Did you know? That’s the only information I want.”

Oakley’s eyes sink closed, and there’s a faint crack in my chest. Because the look on his face…it’s answer enough. To the point where I could just leave and save myself the trouble.

But even if the words aren’t necessary to know, I still need to hear them.

From his lying fucking mouth, I need the truth.

“I knew something was up. Braxton was talking all weird, and I asked him straight up if he did something, but all he said was I was looking out for you or some shit. I didn’t…” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck as he shakes his head. “I had no idea he actually did it.”

“But you had suspicions.”

“Yeah, but—”

“But nothing!” I shout. “What the actual fuck were you thinking, Oakley? How could you not say something if you thought he—”

“Because he’s one of my best friends, and I didn’t know anything for sure!”

And then it all falls into place. It makes sense. And more than anything, I’m pissed at myself for not seeing it sooner.

Not realizing I was being played for a fucking fool this entire time.

“He’s your best friend…and I’m your rival. Your enemy. The only thing standing in your way of being captain. The pain in your ass teammate you can’t stand to be around.”

I roll my tongue along the inside of my cheek and silently beg my temper to stay under control. Beg for a break in the anger so I can breathe through the pain shattering my entire body from his betrayal.

But that’s the thing. It wasn’t a betrayal to him.

It was all part of a plan.

“What, was he in on all of it?” I ask, allowing the lies and deceit to sink in deeper. “Is he the reason you changed your mind about this whole fucking thing—you, me, the hook-ups?”

Is he the reason I made the mistake of falling in love with you?

“No, Quinn. I wouldn’t ever…” He trails off, shaking his head frantically. “Just no. I kept my word with the rules. No one knows.”

“Kept your word,” I repeat with a scoff. “Well, I’m glad to know some things are sacred at least. Just not hockey, apparently. Which is hilarious, all things considered.”

I bare my teeth at him, the agony ripping me apart from the inside out. It cuts and slices through me, making it nearly impossible to breathe, until I’m left suffocating and bleeding out on the floor at his feet.

“But then again, you wanted to set yourself apart from Coach and your dad, right? Well, congratulations. You did it, Oak,” I snarl, ice dripping from my words. “Because neither of them would’ve ever dreamed of pulling the shit you have. You should be proud of yourself.”

The words crack and shatter as they leave my lips right along with my heart while I spew venom and hatred at him, desperately trying to hurt him the same way he’s hurt me. Dig blades into his heart, knives into his soul, and watch him bleed like I am.

But the problem about loving the very thing you hate is it destroys you to hurt it in return.

And as my words sink in past his armor, I feel every slash and wound like it’s my own skin they’re seeping into.

“I can’t believe I was actually allowing myself to fa—” I cut the words off when they start to crack with more truths. Ones he doesn’t deserve to hear.

Calamity stains my voice until it no longer sounds like my own, and the words rip from my throat with palpable amounts of anguish.

“But that’s just it, right? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

His eyes sink closed. “I’m sorry, Quinn. Please, just hear me out. I’m so sorry.”

That’s all he keeps saying. Those two words—I’m sorry—like they have any fucking meaning anymore.

My teeth sink into the fleshy inside of my cheek until I taste copper, all the while counting backward from ten.

Then twenty.

Then fifty.

Because as pissed as I am right now, I have no interest in decking him for this. I’d rather him have to live with the repercussions, wishing I’d beat him to a pulp for it instead.

And it works. A cool, calm wave washes over me, if only for the briefest moment. Enough for self-preservation to kick in, forcing my body to move on autopilot. I turn my back to him, grabbing my jeans where they lay on the floor and shoving my legs through them.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” I bite back at him, finding my socks and shirt next. But it’s damn hard when my heart is struggling to beat in my chest, thanks to him shredding it to pieces.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

A sardonic laugh slips past my lips as I slip into my shoes and socks. “What you want isn’t really high on my priority list right now, Oak. Not anymore.”

He remains silent, thank God, as he watches me continue to redress, throwing my shirt and hoodie over my head. His eyes burn me, even through the clothes, it takes everything in me not to look at him. Because I know the moment I do, there’s a very real possibility my resolve might slip, and I might hear him out.

But I’m not in the mood to listen to any more of his lies.

“You know, I thought the golden boy was supposed to be perfect. Never do anything wrong,” I tell him through gritted teeth. “It’s about time your true colors show.”

“Quinton, please—”

“No. Fuck you.” I seethe, crossing the room until I’m standing right in front of him. My nose brushes his, and those two lying, deceitful lips are a hair’s breadth away. “I trusted you. I handed over pieces of who I am on a silver fucking platter to you, and this is what I have to show for it. A knife in the fucking back and lies piled higher than that fucking Ferris wheel.”

The sorrow in his brown eyes should be enough to stop me, but I can’t hear anymore. I can’t look at him, because all I see when I do is everything I’ve been missing in my life being snatched away from me with one, thoughtless choice.

I move to push away, to garner the space I so desperately need, when Oakley does the one thing we both know he shouldn’t, even when it’s the very thing we both crave.

He wraps his palm around the back of my neck and slams his mouth to mine.

His tongue seeks mine, coaxing it to life as he spins us, backing me up until we crash against the closest surface. A desk he lifts me onto before crushing the entire length of his body to mine. As if that’s all it will take to keep me here.

Every emotion rippling through my body seeps into this kiss.

Anger, hurt, betrayal.

Hope, love.

Hate.

Each one of them flows from me as his mouth devours mine, once again taking things that don’t belong to him. Pleading with me to stop and think and listen to the things his heart speaks to mine.

But it’s not enough.

It’ll never be enough.

And so I break my mouth from his and shove him away. I’m off the desk, wheeling around it to grab my bag from where I’d tossed it on the floor. Bolting for an escape before he can speak. Or worse, try to stop me once again.

But I failed to consider one thing as I let the door to his room crash open against the wall. Something that’s now glaringly obvious as I’m greeted with four sets of wide, but sleepy, eyes on the other side.

We’re not alone.

And from the looks on his roommates’ faces, they heard more than enough of what just happened behind that door.

“Fucking fantastic,” I mutter under my breath before glancing over my shoulder at Oakley. He looks like a deer caught in headlights, eyes darting between me and his roommates on the other side of the threshold.

Part of me almost feels bad for him—that his friends found out this way—but honestly, I’m too fucking pissed off to grant any sympathy right now.

My attention drifts back to the crowd gathered in the hallway, effectively blocking my escape route.

“Show’s over, guys. Don’t bother sticking around for an encore. There won’t be one.”

I expect them to move, scatter, do fucking something other than stay perfectly still, just…staring at me. Like some kind of caged animal at a zoo, ready to lunge at anyone who gets too close to the glass.

Doesn’t matter.

They want to gawk? Fine.

I’ll just plow my way through them.

The same way their roommate did my heart.