Chapter 5
Chapter Five
LEO
“Yo, Holt, you in for tryouts next week or you gonna coast off legacy again?”
Tristan lobbed the volleyball lazily across the net, grinning like he already knew the answer.
I caught it one-handed and gave him a look. “Tryouts? Bro, I’m the team.”
Xavier laughed from the sidelines, towel draped around his neck. “Man really said ‘tryouts’ like we don’t already have his jersey dry-cleaned and monogrammed.”
“They should just rename the gym,” I said, tossing the ball into the air and slamming it over the net. “Holt Hall. Got a ring to it.”
Tristan groaned. “Ugh. Your ego’s disgusting.”
“My stats speak for themselves,” I called back, but I wasn’t even paying attention anymore.
Because I saw her.
Out of the corner of my eye, like a slow burn on the horizon. Bare feet in the sand. Cutoffs, tied-up white T-shirt, sunglasses perched in her hair. Skin golden from the sun, no makeup, no filter.
Jade.
Shani beside her like a bodyguard, both of them looking completely unbothered by the existence of royalty five feet away.
She dropped her towel near the dunes like she belonged here.
Like she didn’t give a shit about the yacht, or the crowd, or the trust fund circus playing out on the sand.
And then she did the most infuriating thing of all.
She ignored me.
Didn’t look. Didn’t glance. Didn’t flinch.
Meanwhile, the rest of the girls were practically dripping in desperation. I couldn’t move without one of them trying to get into frame, trying to get a story or a kiss or a quote. Bianca had been hovering since we got here, all glossy lips and fake laughter. I let it ride—background noise.
But Jade? She didn’t even acknowledge me.
And that did something to me.
Tristan noticed. He always does. He jogged over and slapped my shoulder. “You good?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I shrugged.
“You’re staring like you saw a ghost.”
I scoffed. “Please. She’s just new.”
“New with teeth.” He smirked. “Scholarship girl’s got attitude.”
“She’ll burn out,” I said automatically. “They always do.”
He gave me a look. “Or maybe you just finally met someone who doesn’t care you can dunk.”
I didn’t answer.
Instead, I walked back toward the cooler, letting the ball drop behind me.
Bianca pounced. “Want another drink?”
“No,” I said, even though she handed me one anyway.
She pressed in close. “You staying on the boat tonight?”
“Probably.”
She smiled, leaning up like she was trying to pose for a camera that wasn’t there. And before I could stop it—maybe because I didn’t want to—she kissed me. Fast. Light. Right there in the open.
It was calculated.
I let it happen anyway.
When I opened my eyes, Jade was still laughing with Shani. Still not looking.
But her grip on her drink had changed. A small shift. Barely noticeable.
But I noticed.
And yeah—I hated how much that made my chest tighten.
Tristan let out a low whistle behind me. “Messy, Holt.”
I turned away from Bianca, done with the performance. “Let them stay,” I said, half to no one. “It’s a free beach.”
But my eyes drifted back to her anyway.
Jade Bryan.
Unimpressed. Unreachable.
And slowly, definitely, becoming the only thing I wanted.
She practically ran out of class after I said it.
You’re not really my type.
The second the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Not because they weren’t true. Hell, maybe they were. Maybe I didn’t even know what my type was anymore. But because the look in her eyes before she bolted stuck with me for hours.
Pride. Wounded but unbroken.
I should’ve just let her walk away after the kiss at the bonfire. Should’ve left it a moment. But no. I had to go digging.
I told the guys I couldn’t find her on social. Said she vanished.
The truth?
I did try.
And when that turned up nothing, I got creative.
It started with a casual comment to Marta, our housekeeper, while she folded sheets in the linen hall.
“Hey, you still go to that book club with the old ladies in Brenton Bay?”
She raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a retirement home, Leo. We read actual literature.”
“Right, sorry. I just… thought I heard someone mention a new girl in town. Teenager. Maybe moved in with her aunt?”
Her pause was all I needed.
“You mean Susan Bryan’s niece?”
Bingo.
I played it cool. Acted like I maybe met her through someone—name slipped my mind. I didn't press too hard. Just enough to plant the idea that I was curious. Interested, but not creepy.
Marta loved gossip more than espresso. And her loyalty could always be… softened. I made a mental note to pick up that imported dark roast she loved next time I was at the marina café.
By the end of the week, I had an address.
She lived on the edge of the bay. Old cottage near the cliffs. Not exactly beachfront luxury, but with a view to kill for. The kind of place no one from Royal Oaks ever talked about, because it didn’t have a gate or a valet or an HOA-approved landscaping plan.
Still. It had something better.
Her.
So I made a move.
Called Tristan, told him I wanted to take the boat out that afternoon. “Invite the usual crew. Tell them we’ll drop anchor near Drift Point. Good volleyball stretch, decent sand, no lifeguards to call us out.”
He didn’t ask why.
Xavier brought the girls. The drinks. The speakers.
I brought the plan.
We set up the net. The coolers. The full-on scene.
And I waited.
Hoped.
Bet.
And then she showed.
Like gravity obeyed me.
Hair up, skin glowing, zero makeup, just that damn knot in her shirt and the don’t-give-a-shit energy that made every other girl there look like a rehearsal.
She didn’t even look surprised.
She saw us, clocked the yacht, the setup, the volleyball court—and walked across the sand like we weren’t royalty.
And me?
I didn’t move.
Didn’t wave.
Didn’t say her name.
But I watched every step she took.
Because my plan worked.
And I wasn’t done yet.
I was losing it.
She wasn’t even doing anything—just sitting there, tanned legs stretched out on her towel, laughing with Shani, sipping her sad little can of sparkling whatever.
Not looking at me. Not reacting.
Not giving a damn.
And that? That flipped something in me.
I spiked the volleyball hard—too hard. It hit sand like a damn missile, bounced once, and nailed Garrett right in the chest. His drink exploded all over his brand-new club tee, white claws and lime and ego dripping down.
He looked up slowly.
Garrett Bishop. Six-foot-three, brick wall with a lacrosse stick. Legacy. Mean as hell when he felt disrespected.
“Watch it, Holt.”
I smirked. “That wasn’t for you. Ball had better aim than you do.”
He stood up.
The air around us shifted. Conversations dropped. A few girls gasped and clutched their phones like it was finally getting interesting.
“You got something to prove?” Garrett asked, stepping forward.
I didn’t flinch. “You challenging me, Bishop?”
Tristan moved closer, already ready to intervene.
But I wasn’t done.
I took one step closer. “You wanna go head-to-head for top dog of Oakwood Prep? Go ahead. Step up.”
He did.
And I didn’t wait.
Fist, jaw, crack.
One punch.
Garrett went down like a sack of bricks.
Gasps all around. Shuffling. A few phones came up—big mistake.
“Delete it,” X said coldly, scanning the group. “Now.”
Tristan was already grabbing someone’s phone. “We see a single frame of this online, you’ll wish you never applied to this school.”
A heavy silence settled on the beach like ash.
But my eyes were on one person.
Her.
Jade had stood up. Towel slung over her arm. Face blank.
She didn’t look shocked. Or scared.
She looked disappointed.
And that hit harder than Garrett ever could.
She turned, started walking. No flinch. No goodbye. Just left.
And I watched her go.
Watched the swing of her hips, the defiance in her back, the judgment in every step.
And damn if it didn’t make my pulse spike even more.
I was a storm trying to impress lightning.
And she wanted nothing to do with it.
Which only made me want her more.