Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
On cue, I did my part. Walked a mock donor from the “entrance” at the double doors to the check-in table, handed them an imaginary packet, sent them toward the VIP section.
Smile. Thank you. Next. I didn’t think about the office.
I thought about the folder in Luke’s bag and the proof waiting to blow back in Elise’s face.
She drifted between groups as if assigned to float. When she reached the mic for her scripted thank-you, she didn’t glance at her cards. Elise knew how to make her voice bend into whatever shape the room wanted.
“On behalf of the student committee,” she began, posture perfect, “thank you to our sponsors and families for making this possible. It’s an honor to be part of a school that believes in legacy.”
Legacy. The word lodged.
Her gaze slid across the gym and brushed mine, not a touch so much as a mark. “And thank you for trusting us.”
The last two words tasted poisoned.
During the run-through, she lifted the mic, casual as breathing, and smiled out at the rows of students.
“Events like these,” she said, “take commitment. Hours behind the scenes. Trust. And it only works if everyone is… honest.” Her pause was deliberate.
Long enough for heads to turn, short enough she could claim she hadn’t meant anything by it.
I felt the shift ripple through the space. Theo’s shoulders went a fraction tighter. Chase’s jaw flexed. Jax leaned forward in his seat, expression flat as steel. A whisper skated down the bleachers, quick and sly. Heads bent together, phones angled low.
Elise only smiled brighter, as if she hadn’t just lobbed a grenade into the middle of the room.
Luke stepped forward from the shadows at the edge of the bleachers and walked, not rushed, across the gym floor.
He didn’t take the stairs to the stage. He took the short leap up, smooth, faced the mic, and put his hand over it so his voice wouldn’t boom.
He didn’t look at Elise. He looked at Principal Miller. “We need to pause.”
Heads turned at once. Teachers straightened. One of the sponsors frowned.
Elise’s smile barely flickered. “We’re on a schedule, Luke.”
“We’re not.” He took Elise’s phone off the podium and locked the screen.
Small enough to look petty. “You wanted honesty?” His voice carried, flat and even.
“Here it is.” He held the phone up then passed it to Principal Miller.
“There’s a doctored thread on this device that frames a student for leaking sponsor information.
The originals are already with administration. This is a formality.”
His voice carried without effort, tempered steel instead of heat. The gym heard every syllable. He didn’t hide behind his last name. He didn’t have to. He stood in its center and used it as a shield for me.
Principal Miller scanned the lock screen as if it might bite. The gala adviser reached for it then pulled her hand back. The vice principal had materialized at the edge of the stage without footsteps, pulled by the gravity of crisis.
Elise laughed under her breath, a small, dismissive exhale. “You think you can take my personal device and—”
“Enter it into review?” Luke kept his tone even. “Yes.”
Her gaze cut to me and sharpened. For a breath, I saw the razor-sharp edge underneath the gloss. Then the mask slid back into place. “If my phone gets reviewed, so does hers.”
“That was already the plan.” Luke didn’t look away. “But the originals came from your device. And before you argue metadata, those logs are printed too.”
Murmurs rolled through the bleachers—not the messy kind Elise spread but contained by the Luke’s authority and the weight he carried.
Principal Miller cleared his throat into the mic. “We’re going to pause the run-through. Advisers and committee leads, please step into the auxiliary room. Students, remain seated.”
The gym loosened in an instant, and at the same time, a different tension sparked everywhere at once. Clusters formed and re-formed. Eyes slid to me then away.
I watched Elise step down from the stage, every movement measured. Her attention landed on me as she passed, lingering long enough for the room to notice.
Luke’s shoulders squared, his stare locked on hers. Theo’s gaze tracked her, cold and steady. Chase’s expression hardened, warning clear in every line of him.
I didn’t flinch. I kept my face still.
I felt a pull backward in my ribs, the old urge to run when rooms turned.
I took one step toward the door before Jax appeared in my path, not blocking but present.
The look he gave me said “Stay” without moving his mouth.
Theo took the other side. Two quiet bookends.
Close enough to be seen. Far enough not to crowd.
I held. My knees locked and then eased. Luke hopped down from the stage and cut across the floor through a path that opened for him without anyone admitting they had moved. He reached me and stopped so we were chest to chest, and the rest of the gym fell away.
“You okay?” His voice dropped, meant for me alone.
“Trying to be.”
His knuckles brushed my shoulder, a brief tap that buzzed through my nerves. “You’re not on your own in this.”
“Thank you.” Two words that carried more than they should.
His mouth crooked, a flash of warmth breaking through the control. “Always.”
The vice principal called his name, and he stepped away with a mix of reluctance and purpose.
I watched him disappear into the knot of adults by the exit.
They closed ranks, voices low. Every so often, I caught a glimpse of him through the doorway—his shoulders squared, his head bent as he spoke, the adults listening harder than they wanted to.
Near the bleachers, I felt someone come to my side before he touched me. Theo’s hand brushed mine—just a quick clasp, warm, steady, enough to ground me. He didn’t speak.
Jax’s gaze caught on it then rose to my face. A nod, no more.
Chase hovered a step away, conflict written in the set of his mouth.
His eyes raked the gym—Elise’s orbit, the administrators’ knot, the cluster of girls already trading whispers—and came back to me.
He looked at Theo’s hand. He looked at Luke.
“We’re not losing each other over this,” he muttered finally, more to himself than anyone. A declaration. A dare.
Theo gave my hand one more squeeze before letting go.
The exit door shut. The gym’s noise rose then flattened as if we’d all agreed to hover in place.
Time stretched. When the door opened, the principal entered with the vice principal, Luke a step behind.
The gala adviser’s face had lost all its color.
The principal returned to the mic and didn’t bother with “testing, testing.” His voice changed slightly this time.
“We will reschedule this run-through,” he announced. “Committee leads, check your email for new times. We’ll be in touch. Students, you are dismissed.”
Elise didn’t get her moment under the lights. Not today.
People crowded the aisles and exits in a rush to leave. Luke rejoined me. The look we traded said it all: the office would investigate, the phone would be reviewed, the fallout would come later. The public explosion was over.
We moved as a unit to the doors—Jax, Theo, Chase a half-step behind, Luke and me in the center. Students watched without getting caught. Elise stood near the stage, smile gone tight, fury bleeding through the cracks she tried to keep in place. She didn’t come after us. Not here. Not yet.
We cleared the gym, and the sound shifted to the usual din of the hall.
Locker doors clanged. Someone called for a ride.
Luke walked me to the end of the corridor and paused where the wall met the glass doors.
The sun threw sheets of brightness across the floor.
He set his bag down and leaned in, not enough to make a scene but enough to breathe air that hadn’t been in a gym.
“Expulsion’s off the table,” he murmured. “They won’t admit it yet, but it is.”
“What about her?”
“She’ll fight it.” His jaw worked once. “But this time, there’s a trail.”
My throat tightened. “You stood up there and put your name between me and her.”
“It belongs there.”
He moved into the space between us, and I saw the cost in his eyes—the shadow of his father, the weight of the name he’d just turned into a weapon. Protecting me meant crossing them, and I wasn’t going to let him carry that alone. “Does your family know that?”
His eyes cooled then warmed back. “They will.”
I didn’t kiss him. We couldn’t officially be a couple yet, not publicly. I squeezed his hand for a second then let it go. “Thank you.”
“You know I’ve got you.”
“Take me outside,” I murmured. “In five minutes.”
He glanced to the guys, letting them know to go ahead to practice without him; he’d catch up soon. Jax, Chase, and Theo turned as one and headed off in the direction of the arena.
We slipped into the courtyard behind the fine arts building, where the wind cut the heat, and palms brushed against each other. He stood close without touching, heat from his arm bleeding through the breeze. I tipped my head back and closed my eyes until the pressure eased a notch.
“When do they review her phone?” I asked, opening them again.
“Tonight,” he answered. “The IT lead doesn’t sleep when the principal and review board toss him a bone.”
“Elise will spin things before they can act.”
“She’s already spinning.” He nodded toward the campus, toward the networks we couldn’t see but felt. “But Tori moved out from under her. That matters.”
“Elise is scared.”
“She should be.”
The breeze shifted. A bell pealed from somewhere off campus—church or clock, I couldn’t tell. For a second, everything quieted. It didn’t last. “Thank you for today,” I murmured again.
He took my hand and folded it into his. “Thank you for yesterday.”
“Yesterday?”
“For trusting me with the information you’ve shared. About what your mom learned while working for Dunn. About the drive she destroyed.” His grip tightened. “We’re going to figure everything out.”
A chime vibrated in my pocket. I pulled my phone out. A new email pinged at the top. From the vice principal. Subject line: Next steps.
I didn’t open it yet. I handed the phone to Luke. “You read it.”
He scanned fast. His shoulders dropped half an inch. “They’re officially clearing the threat to your scholarship and right to stay on campus.” He passed the screen back. “The email is just a formality.”
“Okay. Good.”
He glanced toward the parking lot. “Go home. There’s nothing more to do right now.”
“And you?”
“Practice.” His mouth flattened. “Then home. Then… a conversation.”
“With your father.”
“With Drew too.” His eyes found mine, steady.
I rose on my toes without thinking. He met me halfway. The brush of his mouth was quick. Anchoring. Enough to hold, not enough to feed the rumor mill another meal.
We broke apart. He touched my cheekbone with his thumb, gentle, then lowered his hand.
“Text me when you’re home,” he murmured.
“I will.”
He let me go, and I let him. He turned toward the rink. I turned toward the lot. I pulled up Avery’s contact info and pressed the call button.
She answered immediately. “You good?”
“Getting there.” I climbed into my car and pulled the belt over my shoulder. “Are you feeling better?”
“Better than last night.” She exhaled. “Still not great.”
I connected my phone so the audio spilled through the car’s speakers and then pulled away from the curb. The school slid by in a rush of brick and glass and banners advertising the donor gala.
“Tell me everything.” Avery sounded more like herself.
“I swear this day tried to break me,” I started. “Elise—”
“Of course it was Elise,” Avery cut in, voice edged with annoyance.
“She nearly had them expel me with doctored screenshots. The system wanted the easy answer, of course, my name on it.”
Avery swore under her breath. “And?”
“It didn’t stick, thanks to Luke and Tori.”
Avery was quiet for a beat, just the sound of her breathing filling the car. “Good. Make her choke on that.” Her voice was raw, but there was steel under it. “She doesn’t get to win.”
Relief caught me off guard. “We’ll hold, Avery. No matter what she throws.”
“We have to.” She blew out a breath. “Because I’m not letting her harm you, too.”
The line went quiet again—not heavy this time but shared.
I turned onto the road where the houses clung to the hills and the ocean flashed between rooftops. For the first time all day, the silence didn’t feel like an enemy.