All Chapters of 168 Hours in Hell: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

She knows how much this could mean. I don’t have any hope of them taking me back—I mean, not like I am. But maybe there’s a chance. Or… an opportunity to work with her in another manner. Or something.“Good morning, Violet!” Mia’s warm voice comes through my phone. “I tried your old number, but it seemed you changed it. I apologize that I had to go through your mother. How are you doing?”I had to change my number after the crash. I kept getting weird texts and calls from random numbers, making it impossible to block them all. Not to mention I lost my phone in the accident—it was smashed beyond repair. The phone company was able to transfer some of my old pictures and contacts, but I lost at least a week of data. So changing my number a week or so after that didn’t seem like that big of a deal. In the grand scheme of things.“I’m good, thank you. How are you?” I always feel formal around her, even when she told me last year to call her Mia instead of Ms. Germain—what I’d called her fo

VIOLETThe gym on campus is in the basement of one of the residence halls. After signing in, I go quietly down the stairs and into the dark room. There’s a wall of mirrors, exercise machines, and weights.It’s as familiar as it is foreign.I bypass the weights and go to the elliptical. In theory, this should be easier on my leg. Less impact. I say a quick thank you to my body that nine times out of ten, I land jumps on my right leg. It was always stronger, holding me upright through all the grueling exercises and rehearsals.Dancing again still seems like a dream. I consider that as I climb onto the machine and turn it on. I program my height and weight, then set it to a weight-loss program. It climbs in resistance quickly. Within five minutes, I’m drenched in sweat.I tear off my sweatshirt and drape it across the machine beside me. My t-shirt sticks to my skin and my lungs sear with how little exertion I’ve put them through in so long. I’m ready to quit immediately, but I don’t. I k

GREYSONI step into my hockey coach’s office with Knox at my back. Coach Roake has a newspaper folded on the edge of his desk. My face is creased on the page, my eyes dark on the thin paper. Coach is reclined with his arms folded behind his head. His face is perfectly stoic.“Sit,” he orders.Knox, as captain, took it upon himself to come with me. But he must see something in our coach’s face that I miss because he hesitates at the door.I take the chair and twist around, my eyebrow lifting at Knox. I jerk my chin, and he steps back, shutting the door on the way out. When I face forward again, Coach hasn’t moved.“I spoke to your old coach,” he says.My chest tightens, but I try not to let my expression change. So far, we’ve gotten along. I’m not one to ruffle feathers if the person is useful to me. I keep things smooth with my father, with the school administration, with the man sitting in front of me… they can all do something for me.They’re all relevant to my success.But now, I w

Jess snorts and refills my cup. “Off to a good start.”“You’ve been noticeably absent,” another girl calls.I turn my attention to the group. The one who spoke is a sophomore on the dance team. I think her name is Michelle?I shift, suddenly uncomfortable with the spotlight.I shouldn’t be. I grew up in the spotlight. I was cultivated in the spotlight. But somehow, sparring with Greyson has worn away the edges. I’ve come to learn that it hurts when I’m put to the test and don’t pass.Is that what happened? I didn’t pass his test?My cheeks burn.Willow grips my free hand. “She’s been letting Paris cool off. You know how she gets.”More girls nod, and I relax. We find seats, and the discussion moves from me to Paris. I’m not the only one who’s felt her wrath over the years, I guess. Then from Paris to Greyson—and the whole hockey team. They’re on a winning streak, demolishing the competition at an away game last weekend.I smile and drink and nod my way through the evening.I’m as plas

VIOLETHe’s going to kill me.I didn’t think about it before. When we first collided—well, not the first time—I thought I was strong enough to endure him. To outlive his anger and his ego.Now, I’m not so sure.It’s funny how things change when hope enters the picture.I sparred with him because there was a recklessness inside me that didn’t give a shit if I came out unscathed. In fact, I think I expected the barbs to sting if only to distract from my own pain. The voice in my head that said I’d never dance again. The worry that my mother was done with me. The fear of not knowing what I was going to do after college.Mia Germain infused hope back into me with one phone call.I’m less than forty-eight hours away from seeing if my dreams are still possible.And it. Fucking. Sucks.I’ve never been more stressed.We park outside the stadium, in one of the VIP spots—as if Greyson needs more ego—and go inside. It’s cool and dark here, and intensely quiet.“Do you practice here?”“Most eveni