Chapter 31
As soon as I come off of the ice, a phone is thrust at me. Before I even get out a greeting, Mr. Brisae, who has been in charge of the investigation since day one, starts asking questions. He asks what was said, what started the scrum with Mario and then Johan. I recount the events as best I can, forcing my voice to remain steady, despite the lump in my throat. When they're satisfied with my answers, they ask to speak with Kirk and Curtis, to get their statements about the incident.
Steve is waiting for us, and takes us aside before going into the locker room. "While that stunt wasn't exactly wise, and I don't encourage it on a regular basis, it may prove to be a turning point. Lemieux all but admitted what he's done, so things should start moving along much faster."
Unfortunately, Johan wasn't quite finished yet.
After the game, I take the drive back to my old house. I need to pick up the last few boxes and double check that I haven't forgotten anything there. I race up the stairs two at a time, up and down, trying to work too fast for my mind to dwell on the fear growing in the pit of my stomach.
"It's wonderful to see how predictable you still are."
The voice chills me from head to toe, effectively freezing me halfway down the steps.
"I thought that maybe you'd grown a brain up there in Detroit," Johan says coldly, "but apparently not. Did you think I didn't know you would come back here?"
"Go, Johan," I try to sound forceful, but the words are soft, empty.
"Of course you knew I'd find you," he continues, as if I never said a word, "You realize you need me; you need what I can give you. And I'll be more than happy to help." He walks towards me, and I instinctively move up one step away from him. He lets out a frustrated breath. "Jesus, don't tell me you're going to try to resist."
I clench my teeth and stand my ground as he takes the stairs slowly up to meet me. "No one to fight this for you," he sneers. "No one to threaten and battle for your honor." He stops one step below me and lets his words trail off.
"Don't touch me, Johan," I say quietly, though I somehow keep my voice from shaking.
He slaps me once, hard across one cheek, "Don't speak, you'll ruin the pretty fucking reunion scene." He pulls hard on my arm until I stumble, barely catching my footing in time to avoid falling down teh stairs. I try to resist, but at the last step he hooks a foot around my ankle and I trip forward, groaning when my shoulder smashes against the wall.
"Stop," I whisper hoarsely, pushing myself slowly up from the ground. He laughs and kicks me in the ribs, making me gasp and leaving me still on the floor.
"Stop? Fuck no, Andrew. You've got MONTHS to catch up on. God knows you need it; your discipline has gone to shit." He grabs me by the collar and lifts me a few inches, punching once in the stomach and again directly in the face. I run my tongue over my lip, now swollen and split, and I can feel blood leaking from my possibly broken nose.
I blink away tears and push myself into a sitting position. Though I can hear Johan's taunts, I'm blocking him out. His voice is drowned out by the echoes of Kirk and Steve and Curtis, powering me to move despite the intense pain. Out of the chaos in my head, one word, clear and strong and spoken in no voice other than my own, stands out from the rest of the static.
"No," I growl it out, glaring at Johan.
"No? NO?" he replies incredulously, raising his fist again. As he throws the punch, I grab his hand and squeeze it as hard as I can.
"No," I repeat, standing slowly, forcing myself not to wince when my ribs protest the movement.
"Bad fucking idea," he spits, wrenching his hand away. He tries to punch me again, but I block it and land one of my own in his midsection, disabling him momentarily while he's doubled over.
I take the chance to run up to my room, locking the door behind me and slumping against it, sliding slowly to the floor, fighting off hysterical tears. I know the lock might not hold for very long, but it'll give me enough time to get help.
I crawl over to the phone, dialing Curtis' number, and before he can even say anything, I speak up. "Curtis, I need you..."
And I convince myself that begging for help isn't weak. It's necessary.
