Chapter 18
Eighteen
Kane
Ishouldn’t be walking this way. My class is on the other side of campus, but I haven’t cared about logistics since the moment she walked out of my apartment wearing my jersey and kissed me like it meant something. Because it did. And now I still can’t stop watching her.
She doesn’t know I’m here. Not really. She’s got her earbuds in, head down, curls bouncing as she walks away from the dorms. Her backpack’s slung low, her steps quick like she’s trying to outrun something. I follow from a distance. Not close enough to spook her. Just close enough to see.
Then I hear it.
Laughter. Sharp. Cruel. Three cheerleaders are leaning against the railing near the quad, ponytails high, eyes locked on Blair like she’s a target. Their voices slice through the morning air.
“Guess sleeping with the captain gets you a jersey now,” one sneers.
“Or maybe she just begged hard enough,” another adds, voice syrupy and mean.
The third one laughs. “Slut tax must’ve been high Saturday night.”
My fist clenches.
I stop walking. I don’t move. Don’t speak. Just watch.
Blair doesn’t look up. Doesn’t flinch. But I see it, the way her shoulders stiffen, the way her fingers tighten around the strap of her bag. She heard them. And she’s pretending she didn’t.
I take a slow breath, jaw tight, blood thrumming. Not now. Not here. But I’ll take care of it. Later.
Because no one talks about her like that.
No one touches her name like that and gets away with it.
I memorized her schedule. Not because she told me. Because I watched. Monday, Wednesday, Friday—Lit Theory at ten, Psych at two. She cuts through the quad, always takes the east stairs, always tugs her sleeves down when she’s anxious. I see everything. I catalogue everything.
She thinks she’s alone when she walks to class, when she eats lunch on the steps, and when she curls up in the library with her cute anime phone case and her highlighters that match her mood. But I’m always close. Always watching.
Because I have to be.
After Saturday night, after her body curled into mine like it belonged there, after she whispered my name like it was a prayer, I can’t not watch her. I can’t not own the air around her.
She’s mine.
And if anyone touches her, looks at her like she’s anything less than sacred, I’ll break them. Quietly. Thoroughly. Without hesitation.
Those cheerleaders? Laughing like they know her? Like they’ve earned the right to speak her name?
I’ll handle them.
Not now. Not in front of her. But later. When it’s dark. When it’s quiet. When they think they’re safe.
Because she’s not just a girl with my jersey.
She’s the axis I rotate around.
The gravity that holds me together.
And I’ll burn down every hallway, every whisper, every threat just to keep her untouched.
She doesn’t have to know.
She just has to stay mine, because I don’t know what will happen to me if she slips through my fingers.
My phone buzzing in my pocket takes me out of my reverie. A sinking pit forms in my stomach when I see who’s calling. My father. I’ve been expecting this call since the game ended Saturday.
I stare at the name on the screen like it’s a ghost. I haven’t heard from him in weeks. Not since the last fight. Not since I told him I wasn’t interested in being his legacy. Not since I stopped pretending I cared about his version of control.
I answer, jaw tight. “Yeah.”
There’s a pause. Always a pause. Like he’s deciding whether I’m worth speaking to.
“You looked good Saturday,” he says finally. “Strong. Focused.”
I don’t respond.
“You’ve got the whole campus watching you now. Even the girl.”
My grip tightens around the phone. “Don’t talk about her.”
“She wore your jersey. That’s not nothing.”
“She’s not yours to comment on.”
He laughs, low and sharp. “You think I don’t know what this is? You think I don’t see the way you look at her?”
“I didn’t ask you to see anything.”
“You’re slipping, Kane. Getting soft. Getting attached. That’s not where your head needs to be right now.”
I glance back toward the dorm, even though she’s long gone. “You don’t know anything about her.”
“I know enough. And I know you,” he says, voice sharp with that old, familiar venom. “You’re going to fuck up this whole season for some pussy that’ll still be there in the off-season. They’re still saying you’ll be a first-round pick.”
I don’t speak.
Because if I do, I’ll say something I can’t take back.
My jaw locks. My grip on the phone tightens until the plastic creaks. I stare at the sidewalk like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded, like if I look up, I’ll see Blair and forget how to breathe.
He keeps talking. Of course he does.
“You think scouts care about your little distraction? You think they’ll overlook it when you start slipping? Because you will slip, Kane. You always do.”
I close my eyes.
He doesn’t understand. He never has.
This isn’t about distraction. This isn’t about weakness. Blair isn’t noise in the system; she’s the only thing that’s ever made it quiet.
“She’s not a phase,” I say finally, voice low. “She’s not a mistake.”
“She’s not a priority,” he snaps. “Not if you want the life we built for you.”
I hang up.
Not because he’s wrong.
But because he’s watching, too.
And Blair doesn’t need two men tracking her every move.
She only needs one.