"Reece," Bas wheezes past the blood in his mouth.

The fight abandons him in a sudden rush, leaving him stunned. Russo and Bower lose their hold on him. Spencer keeps him pinned by the chest, dark eyes leering where Asher struggles to his feet.

"Get the fuck out of here," Spencer growls. "Or you'll wish I let him keep going."

Asher scowls, wipes the blood from his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, and stumbles unsteadily toward me. I lurch back, hit the brick wall as terror stirs in my veins.

"This ain't over, you little—"

"Actually," Johnson snaps, getting in his path. Asher swings out wildly, seemingly undeterred by the beating Bas just gave him. Johnson avoids the hit, catches his arm and cranks it behind his back, elbow locked around Asher's throat. Asher gives a surprised grunt, tries to wiggle out of the goalie's hold, but he's weakened, bloody, and feeling the burn from Bas's fists. "It is over."

Behind him, Bas fights Spencer, eager to continue where he left off. Spencer shoves him back, barks an order to Bower and Russo, who put hands on Bas when he starts struggling. Spencer mutters a curse, strides toward Johnson and Asher with a deadly gleam in his eyes.

"You stupid son of a bitch," Spencer growls, gripping the front of Asher's sweatshirt. "Let me tell you what happens next," he continues, jabbing a finger down the darkened alley. "You're going to get your sorry ass out of here, lick your wounds, and get on the first plane back to whatever hole you crawled out of. You're going to forget to ever met her," Spencer points at me, his voice dropping an octave, "because if I see your face again, I'll kill you and make it look like an accident."

"I'll help." Johnson adds, tightening his choke hold.

"Us too," Bower adds where he holds Bas. "My sister's a cop and knows all the best ways to bury a body."

Asher grunts, eyes flashing with fury. "Vete a la mierda—"

Spencer's palm comes down over Asher's mouth. He leans in close, meeting the bloodied man's eyes with equal rage. "Do you really think you can fight off an entire hockey team? Because if you try and fuck with her again, we'll all fuck with you. Do I make myself clear?"

Asher's gaze flicks around the alley, which, to my surprise is brimming with wound up Cyclones players. They're all tense, caught in different stages of attack. I hadn't realized we'd drawn such a crowd, hadn't noticed Bas's teammates make a defensive ring around us, blocking onlookers from seeing or hearing Spencer's threats. I hadn't even registered Kaila standing at my side, her blue hair a splash of light in this dark alley, her hands in fists at her sides like she too would land a blow to Asher if the situation allowed.

Until this moment, I'd figured my relationship with Bastien was of no consequence to his team. Now, I realize the truth behind Spencer's threat. Asher didn't just mess with Bastien when he came for me; he drew the wrath of a brotherhood.

Asher gulps, nods around Johnson's arm. Spencer backs off with a sharp gesture at his teammate. The goalie lets Asher go, practically shoving him to the ground. Asher coughs, spits a mouthful of blood onto the pavement. He gives me one more baleful look.

I've never seen his pretty face so bloodied, his resolve so shaken. When he turns away, it's resigned. He won't be coming back. Ever.

Only when Asher's out of sight does Bower and Russo let Bas stumble toward me. He looks so broken, his face and nose bleeding, his knuckles bruised and red. That scares me more than anything.

He slammed me against the wall, took Asher's hit. Then when I tried to stop him, his elbow clocked me straight in the nose. The metallic taste on my upper lip was enough. I was back in that house, back to cowering, back to fearing a man full of violence.

Around us, Cyclones players back down and spread out, recognizing the tension building between their Co-Captain and me. Kaila braces beside me as I push off the wall, walk a few feet into the alley. Johnson's still holding his ground when Bas stumbles a bit too close and I step back.

The goalie's massive hand in the middle of his chest halts any progress. "Leave it, Killfeather."

He blinks past the sticky red clot in his eyelashes. "Reece."

The pain on his face makes my hands shake so I clasp them together, cast my gaze to the ground. Bas slumps before me, knees hitting the pavement. He doesn't even care about the broken glass.

"Reece." Bas tries again, the crack in his voice mirrors the crack in my heart.

"Don't –" I shudder, hate the thread of hope that lights when he says my name. "Don't you dare."

"Reece."

"You hurt me." I grit, wiping blood from my nose on the back of my wrist.

Bas's face is pure agony, eyes bright with unshed tears. Bloodied knuckles and stained fingers open at his side, imploring. "Please..."

"No!" I shriek. Heat burns in my chest, spreads out to warm my frozen skin like a brand. It flares up, a match to gasoline.

And this time, when he says my name, I stop feeling sorry for myself.

"Reece, I – "

I advance, shocking him into silence as I plant my feet by his knees and bend down. Hazel eyes watch me with a mix of emotion; despair, wonder, and something I know but refuse to name.

Something I feel too.

"You're just like him."

Bas sways under the words, like they've delt him a physical blow. I know I'm hurting him, and yet, I can't stop myself from digging the blade in deeper. "Violent. Uncontrollable. Insatiable."

I don't think I'm even talking to Bastien anymore, talking about him anymore. But he's the only one here, the only one I can take my temper out on.

He shudders under a jagged breath, wipes the blood from his face with bloodier hands.

"No." The word fogs in the night air. "Reece, please, I didn't mean – "

"To hit me?" I finish for him, Bas flounders under my glare. "They never mean to do it."

Bas leans back on his calves, hands dropping to his lap. "It's the truth." He whispers, lips barely moving. My fingers flex, heart dripping with tears in my chest. His eyes captivate me, and I nearly crack, feel myself reach for him.

Beside me, Johnson shifts, and the movement snaps me back to the present. I drop my hand and step back, breathing in the cold winter air. I will not break. Not even when he's looking at me with the world in his eyes and his heart shattering.

I start to turn away, prepare to leave him and this night behind.

"No," Bas says, suddenly scrambling upright. "I was just trying to protect you!" His big body quivers, though I know the cold isn't touching him. "That's what you do when you love someone. You'd rather die than see them – "

He chokes back the words too late.

Because now, all I can see is Asher. Bruising me, breaking me, scarring me, and promising me that he loved me through it all. I hate the tears falling down my face, hate that he's shattering me without touching me. I gave him more power than I ever gave Asher.

"You're lying."

Bas tries to start for me again, but Johnson shoves him away. I step closer to Kaila, dimly aware of our continued audience. I just want to go home, be warm, stop the crumpling feeling in my chest and lungs.

"I love you." Bas declares loudly. "I have for a long time."

I take one deep breath, just like I did that night in the mirror. Then another. I have no idea where I find the strength for the words, but I still speak them, "Goodbye, Bastien."

Bas withers even further. Visceral pain alights his features and he seems to have trouble keeping upright. "Don't leave me like this."

"C'mon, Reecie," Kaila murmurs, tossing a glance to Spencer. "Let's get you home."

I nod numbly, feeling her hand on my shoulder. Across the way, Spencer starts toward us, passing Bas, whose head is ducked, not speaking.

He pauses by Johnson. "Get him checked out," Spencer mutters. "That cut needs stitching."

Johnson sighs and reaches for Bas. He offers no resistance as they stumble toward the street.

Kaila tugs me, forcing my eyes away from Bastien. There's sorrow on her face as she regards me. The sight makes me squirm as Spencer comes up behind us, one hand on each of us as he leads us to his car.

**

The first few days lag by, the next blur. One minute I'm fine, the next I can't stop crying, then there's just nothing. Kaila tiptoes around me like I'm a china cup that might spontaneously combust, Spencer close on her heels.

It's strange how breaking up with Bastien didn't actually make his team stop caring. The number of calls Spencer fields is almost funny, the number of times he repeats 'she's fine' to a muffled voice brings me minute amusement. Except when he's grumbling about Bas getting repeatedly shitfaced in a different bar each night or arguing with Kaila over the possibility of us working things out.

Like Bastien and I are a vase they can glue back together.

Kaila's argues I need time to heal, process. Spencer thinks I need to talk with Bas, get to the bottom of that night. I listen to them go back and forth, deciding that it's less painful than replaying that night in my head.

Seeing Bas on the ground, watching his heart shatter at my feet. Wondering if I overreacted, then feeling the shock of his elbow against my nose, the sour taste of blood. Wishing I could go back and make it never happen.

The video of him and Asher's brawl has gone viral. Fans comment on how Asher must've deserved it, others bash Bas for letting his temper control his actions.

My phone blows up with texts and calls, most of them from people I barely know. Professors, random students from my classes, friends I haven't talked to in years. It seems everyone knows who I am now. They all want to be involved.

The only people whose names I recognize end in Killfeather. Leo, Mia, Sacha, Claude, Mitch, Odette, and Noelle. Jack, even. I think they've all been taking turns trying to talk with me. I know they're just worried, probably confused too. They didn't know my past. Now it seems the whole world does.

I wonder if they've talked to Bastien.

But I can't bring myself to talk to any of them. Not even Claude.

My dad was on a trip when the whole thing went down. Surprisingly, he followed my mother. I guess she finally got put in her place by a handsy client. Can't say I'm not slightly satisfied to know she felt a fraction of what I went through, as bad as that sounds.

Doubt it'll change her though.

According to his texts, he should be home soon, with Natalia in tow. Not sure how I feel about that, or what I'm going to say. Good thing I can't feel much of anything right now.

Someone leaked my address. There have been reporters lined up on the street for days, wanting to know how I fit into everything. Most of them didn't even know I had a relationship with Bas. Now they're connecting the dots, filling in holes and gaps that I would've preferred to stay empty. They hound me with questions, online and by shouting from the streets.

How is Asher connected to you?

Why did Bastien get into a fight with him?

How are you feeling about all this?

Why hasn't Bastien been seen with you since the incident?

Is it true you were abused by Asher Bryce?

Why are there no pictures of you and Bastien together?

And on, and on, and on.

I really hate the spotlight. I hate it more when gossip outlets think it's okay to dig through my personal life. Of course, I give them nothing, but that only makes them want more.

Bas makes an appearance on TV in the following days, face bruised and eyes bloodshot. He offers a PC apology for his reckless actions on that night. His team hovers at his back, Spencer included, as he berates the point of violence, how it achieves nothing.

The whole time, his eyes are vacant, mouth moving but not really speaking. I know he's reading from a teleprompter because his gaze never shifts from the camera. He looks haggard, worn and sleepless. Seeing him in such a poor state should make me crack in two, send my chest into a fit of agony. But the place where my heart was is still and numb, like the world can't touch me. It's worse than when I escaped Asher because then it was my body in pain.

Now it's my heart, my being, and I can't make it stop.

So, instead, I bury it under emptiness.