Chapter 1
Amelia
“You’re actually wearing your hair to practice like that?” Catalina’s voice drips with venom as she eyes my reflection in the locker room mirror.
My body tenses, fingers tightening around the tote bag strap in my hand. I know what she’s doing. Her words sound innocent enough, but the connotation behind them makes me want to punch her in the face.
Catalina’s the cheer captain, and she’s practically a real-life Barbie doll—blonde, flawless skin, and I’m pretty sure she gets designer clothes before they even hit the rack. For the past month, she’s been on a mission to turn cheer practice into hell for me, as if she has some personal vendetta.
College is supposed to be my escape, the place where I can finally breathe, where I can spread my wings without my dad’s constant voice telling me I’m not good enough.
You know what? Screw this.
I’ve dealt with a bully at home for the last six years, I refuse to have one at college too. I’m not letting anyone back me into a corner ever again. And I’m sure as hell not letting her talk about my hair, a topic that hits a little too close to home.
I’ve always had a complicated relationship with my hair. It’s naturally wavy, with tighter curls at the roots. I could style it until I’m blue in the face, but somehow, the frizz always wins. Growing up, my dad had no idea how to handle it, and without a mom to teach me, I gave up on it at one point. But after years of messy buns and baseball caps, I’m finally figuring it out, finally learning to love my curls.
“Yes, actually ,” I shoot back, locking eyes with her in the mirror. “Because I don’t have to have my hair all done-up to feel good about myself. You know what, maybe I should go find your ex boyfriend—I’m sure he’d love the view of my hair while I’m down on my knees for him.”
Catalina’s eyes widen, her lips parting in shock as a small gasp escapes her lips. She struggles to find the words to respond, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. But then, her face twists with rage, and before I can react, she’s lunging at me.
Her hands are in my hair, yanking and pulling, nails scraping at my scalp. But I don’t back down. I grab her wrist with one hand and shove her back with the other, my heart pounding in my chest. All the pent-up frustration from years of being tormented by my dad bubbles to the surface, and I fight back, harder than I ever have.
I didn’t claw my way out of one hell at home just to be shoved into another at college.
Back home things were… not the best. My dad is a force of nature—overbearing, strict, and if you catch him on a bad day, just plain mean. His rules were suffocating, and his angry outbursts even more so.
If I wanted to wear a cute, albeit short, outfit like every other teenage girl, suddenly I had a two hour lecture coming my way. And by lecture, I mean him towering over me, voice raised to a roar, tearing me down inch by inch. He made me feel small, weak, powerless.
That’s why heading off to college two months ago felt like one of the best moments of my life.
The summer before I got here, I sat in my room, nervous about how things would go, and made a vow to myself—this year, I would finally break out of my shell and stop being so dang small .
Small, as in dimming my shine to make others comfortable. As in putting everyone else’s needs before my own. As in letting outside voices overshadow my own, when I should speak up for myself.
I’m slowly making progress towards the new me, and that’s fine. The turtle did win the race.
“Stop it! Both of you, stop!” Coach Dawn’s voice slices through the chaos like a knife, and in a heartbeat, she pulls us apart. Catalina stumbles back, breathing heavily, and I can see the red marks on her face from where I must’ve scratched her.
Coach Dawn glares down at us like a mother scolding her kids, her eyes narrowed and arms crossed. Probably because she’s been the closest thing I’ve had to a motherly figure—always there when I mess up or need help, or just a hug. My mom passed in a tragic car accident about six years ago, and I know no one could ever replace her, but Coach Dawn gives me that motherly guidance I’ve been missing.
My dad moved on too quickly after my mom died. One day, she was here, and then months later, he had someone new by his side. A woman half his age more interested in competing with me than being any sort of parent.
Sometimes, I wonder if he ever really loved my mom at all. How can someone move on so quickly if they truly loved someone? But then again, he must have, because after she passed, he was never the same. He was always insufferable in one way or another, but after we got back from her funeral, he just turned… evil.
“What the hell were you two thinking?” Coach Dawn’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. “This is a team. We don’t fight and tear each other down. Get out to the field. You two are late now.”
“Sorry, Coach.” I nod, and with one last secret glare at Catalina, I grab my pom-poms and head out to the field. My scalp still stings from where she yanked my hair, but I can’t help the small, satisfied smile that tugs at my lips.
I won this round, and that sets the tone for how the rest of the year will go.
I’m free from the shackles of my dad now, and that means I can start standing up for myself. It feels liberating to shed the weight of trying to please him, and I’m ready to grow into the confident person I know I can be.
This year will be all about me . And after all the nights crying, scratching off the days left until college, it feels a hell of a lot better than I imagined it would.
We move through our usual routine: stretches, jumps, cheers. Thankfully, Catalina keeps her distance after our earlier confrontation. As I make my way back to the locker room, towel draped over my shoulder for a quick water break, I stop in my tracks. Something is… off.
An overwhelming feeling of being watched washes over me. I glance around, scanning the sidelines, and my breath catches in my throat when I see him . Catalina’s ex, leaning against the fence. I really jinxed myself by bringing him up, didn’t I?
God, if this is some kind of joke you’re playing, I swear that comment about being on my knees for him was just me messing around. He never usually comes to cheer practice, and yet here he is, watching us. Watching… me. His eyes are trained right on me.
I’ve always wondered how he got his name, Blade. The only reason I know it is because I asked my best friend Skye about him when I started seeing him everywhere.
No, really, everywhere.
For the past month or so, he’s been a constant presence in my life, but he’s always kept just enough distance away. Still, that doesn’t stop me from noticing him almost every time I leave my dorm room.
He’s tall. Easily over six feet because he always towers over the people near him, even now with the football players. Not that I’ve noticed… or anything. Okay, maybe I have noticed, but don’t say anything because who wouldn’t notice a tall, sculpted man walking into the room? It’s just biology.
What strikes me the most is the way people seem to linger around him. A few admirers always hover close, trying to draw his attention, and I can see the way they hang on his every word.
I think I’d combust if I had that kind of audience. I hate being social, and I especially hate being the center of attention. I’d much rather hide out in my dorm room with Skye and binge watch The Vampire Diaries for the hundredth time.
Which is why my skin is crawling as he stares at me like I’m the only person in the world. Like I’m the center of his attention.
His expression darkens, like fire and ice all at once. He’s looking at me with an intensity that feels like he’s reading me, all of me. My soul included. At first, I can’t seem to tear my eyes away, but I force myself to refocus on the girls still practicing.
That’s when the realization hits me—I’m wearing the cheerleading uniform, and I can’t help but curse the skimpy pieces of fabric. I suddenly feel naked. The uniform is a navy blue, gold, and white two-piece that leaves little to the imagination. I hate it. I even complained to Coach Dawn once, but she just brushed it off, muttering something about the budget. Apparently, most of the athletics budget goes to their precious football and lacrosse teams, leaving us with nothing.
Being as subtle as I can, I pull down the skirt, but that only manages to expose more of my midriff. Damnit.
I huff. It’s not my job to cover up more, it’s his job to stop freaking staring at me. I roll my eyes, a spark of annoyance igniting. The football players do the same thing, undress me with their eyes, and it makes me sick.
You know what? If I can stand up to Catalina, I can surely deal with her ex and his creepy staring. Before I can talk myself out of it, I straighten my shoulders and march over to him. During the walk, his eyes still never leave me, not even for a second.
“Why are you staring at me—”
Holy hell, he’s even more gorgeous up close. Shockingly beautiful, to the point I’m momentarily stunned into silence.
I know, I know—I just called him shockingly beautiful. But I mean, I have eyes, and I’m sure not blind. All I can say is Jesus took his time with this one.
His velvet-black hair is the perfect kind of messy, tousled yet styled in an effortless way. A few rebel strands frame his face and fall just before his eyes—eyes that are the color of storm clouds, a blend of blue and grey that’s uniquely him. A raw, primal energy rolls off of him in waves.
The confidence I had fizzles out, and I’ve even forgotten what I was supposed to say. I had a whole speech planned in my head, but his presence makes my mind feel all… fuzzy.
He doesn’t say anything. Just stares, his gaze locked on my cheek like he’s angry about something. But why? His finger taps in a steady rhythm against his pants leg, and the more he looks, the more uncomfortable I get. It’s like his eyes are burning into me.
“I asked a question,” I manage, my voice less steady than I’d hoped.
Maybe coming over here was a bad idea. The tension is almost burning me alive, so I turn to leave.
“Come back.”
I freeze. His voice is deep, one of the deepest voices I’ve ever heard. Smooth like silk, but with this rugged edge. There’s something in his tone that feels almost hypnotizing because it makes me want to do whatever he’s telling me to.
I turn back around slowly, my heart thudding against my ribs by the time I face him again. Before I can say a word, he steps closer and grabs my jaw, tilting it up towards him. My breath hitches, and I feel the heat radiating from his touch. His scent hits me, the kind of smell that invades every corner of my brain—a hint of mint and something earthy, like cedarwood.
His voice drops lower, rougher. “Who did this to you?”
I almost forgot. After the fight with Catalina, I never checked my face in the mirror. I must have scratches like she does. Is that why he was staring at my cheek and getting angry?
“I tripped and fell,” I lie.
He clicks his tongue, giving a subtle shake of his head. “Now tell me the truth.”
“I-I am telling the truth.”
Get it together, Amelia. Stuttering?
“Then why did you just crinkle your nose?”
“How did you—” I cut myself off with a half-hearted sigh. How does he know I crinkle my nose when I’m lying? It’s a stupid reflex that I picked up from my childhood. “It was one of the cheerleaders,” I admit, catching the way a muscle in his jaw twitches. “But I’m not telling you which one.”
Why is it such a big deal to him, anyway? This is my first time even talking to the guy.
His eyes shift past me, narrowing as they fix on something—or someone—just behind me. The look in them sharpens into a glare so intense, I almost turn to see the culprit. But before I can, Coach Dawn’s voice rings in the air. “Alright, ladies! Halftime break!”
Thank God.
“If you’ll excuse me.” In the blink of an eye, I turn on my heel and rush down the field, eager to escape whatever that was.
Of course, Catalina struts over to him, hips swaying more than usual. I roll my eyes as she passes me, practically tripping over herself to get to him. It figures he would be here waiting for her, even after their messy breakup.
Why do I care? I don’t.
I don’t .
I try to block them out, and that becomes easier when I spot Skye waving at me from behind the football field fence.
She opens the gate and barrels my way. “Did they give you a hard time today? I swear, I’ll punch all three of them if they did.” She’s talking about the two groupies Catalina usually has with her.
I laugh at her tough-girl act. Skye couldn’t hurt a fly even if it landed right on her face. “No, she was alone and I handled her today. Got the marks to prove it.”
Skye and I are inseparable, practically joined at the hip. We spend so much time together that it’s almost like we’re lovers—minus the sex, of course.
I met her over the summer at the public library, and that’s when we found out we’d be attending the same nearby college—her returning as a junior, me as a freshman. She was a lifesaver during my first few weeks. Adjusting to a new school and living away from my dad for the first time would’ve been a nightmare without her.
As we stand here laughing, Skye gossips about what happened in her last lecture, but my mind drifts elsewhere. I know he’s still watching. I can feel it, even with my back turned.
There’s something about him—an unsettling intensity, a magnetic pull that draws me in while simultaneously warning me to stay the hell away.
I don’t know who this man is or what he wants, but some part of me is already bracing for impact. I can’t shake the feeling that this is only the beginning of him barging his way into my life.