Chapter 26 #2
“I can appreciate beauty,” I said, voice low now. “In more than one form.”
Gideon elbowed Jeremy, eyes gleaming. “Look out, the Reaper’s getting sentimental.”
“Sentimental?” I laughed once, sharp and short. “Hardly.”
But it wasn’t untrue.
Because something about her—about the way she fought me even while letting me in—had rewired everything I thought I knew.
“Just don’t let it screw with your head before playoffs.” Jafar’s voice cut in again, smooth and cold.
I stood, tossing my towel into my locker, and let my eyes sweep over every single one of them.
“Persephone isn’t some game-day distraction,” I said evenly. “And she’s not a prize to win.”
They fell quiet.
“She’s the whole damn reason I’m playing like this,” I added, voice dropping like a hammer.
Because she was.
The fire in her. The storm in her spine. The way she surrendered without ever losing herself—that was the thing I’d been chasing long before I ever knew her name.
And now that I had her?
I wasn’t letting go.
The engine purred beneath my hands, smooth and obedient—unlike the chaos pulsing in my chest.
I’d just left the rink, adrenaline still in my blood, but my thoughts weren’t on the ice anymore. Not the drills. Not the goals.
They were on her.
Persephone.
Naked in my sheets, flushed and boneless, her curls spilling across my pillow like ink. Her lips parted. Her voice hoarse from screaming my name into the dark. I could still feel the drag of her nails down my back, the way she clenched around me like she didn’t want to let go.
Like she wouldn’t.
The memory gripped me harder than any opponent ever had.
God, I wanted to get back.
My fingers tightened around the wheel, every nerve ending buzzing with a need that bordered on dangerous.
I didn’t want to just take her again—I wanted to worship her.
Slowly. Intentionally. I wanted to feel her come apart piece by piece, not just from my hands…
but from trust. From knowing she was mine.
Only mine.
I turned down our street; the houses blurring past like noise. The real image lived behind my eyes: her, curled under my sheets, maybe holding that damn book I gave her. Probably smirking at the dedication I didn’t leave, because she’d know it was from me, anyway.
“She’s mine.”
I said it out loud this time.
Didn’t care how it sounded.
Because it was true.
And it wasn’t about possession anymore. Not just that.
It was about belonging.
She belonged in my bed. In my house. In my arms.
With me.
The idea of us—something real, something permanent—tightened in my chest like a vice. I’d never let myself want anything before. Not like this. Wanting meant weakness. Vulnerability. Control slipping through your fingers.
But wanting her?
It felt like power.
I pulled into the driveway, engine humming as I cut the ignition. The house stood quiet, bathed in the soft glow of dusk. I sat there for a second longer, gripping the wheel like it could anchor me.
Because once I stepped inside, I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off her.
I needed to see her face when I walked through that door.
Needed to kiss the crown of her head. Slide into bed behind her. Fill her so deep she forgot everything but my name.
I stepped out of the car, boots crunching against the driveway, keys cool in my palm.
And as I approached the door, a smile pulled at the corner of my mouth.
I’d never had anything like this before.
And for the first time in my life, I didn’t want to ruin it.
I wanted to protect it.
Protect her.
I reached for the handle, ready to walk into the only thing that had ever felt like home.
The buzz started to fade the second I walked up to the door.
The moment I stepped inside—it died completely.
The house was too quiet.
No music. No scent of vanilla drifting from the kitchen. No soft click of her footsteps or rustle of a page turning in the living room.
No her.
“Seph?”
My voice rang out—low, steady. But already threaded with something sharp. Something wrong.
Silence answered.
A beat passed. Then two.
I moved through the house like a storm brewing at sea. Every room I passed turned the knife deeper. Her hoodie wasn’t slung over the back of the chair. Her cup wasn’t in the sink. The bathroom light was off.
The bedroom door hung open, like an invitation that had already been revoked.
I stepped inside.
The bed was still rumpled—our bed—but the sheets were cold. I ran my hand across the spot where she’d lain this morning, where she’d clutched the sheets and screamed my name.
Gone.
My eyes snapped to the nightstand.
Her phone.
Still there. Plugged in.
That’s when the dread hit.
She never left her phone behind.
I stood frozen, blood roaring in my ears. Her scent still clung to the room—warm, soft, faintly sweet. But she was gone.
I pulled out my own phone, thumb flying across the screen.
No messages.
No missed calls.
No notes.
No fucking explanation.
The walls closed in like a vice. I could feel the breath punching out of my lungs as the realization took root.
She left me.
She didn’t tell me.
She said she wouldn’t do this.
My fists clenched at my sides.
“She promised,” I whispered.
I turned back to the bed. The sheets I’d tangled her in. The place where she’d come apart for me again and again. Where I thought she’d finally given herself over.
It was supposed to be ours.
Safe.
Sacred.
And now it mocked me.
“Who the fuck did she go to?” My voice dropped to a growl, rough and venomous.
My jaw locked. Rage bubbled in my throat, thick and heavy. I didn’t know if I wanted to hunt her down or burn the whole world trying.
Because this wasn’t just betrayal.
This was theft.
And whoever took her?
They were going to learn the hard way—
You didn’t touch what was mine.