Chapter Six
A light tap touches my shoulder, Addy giving me another nudge to get up.
I swat her away, putting my roommate back on snooze for another ten minutes.
True, it’s already past lunchtime but I’m still adjusting to a steady routine.
Luckily, everyone was gifted free periods this morning for some ball game which has put education on hold for a day.
Art students are decorating, the marching band is performing alongside the cheerleaders and other dance majors, and anyone who doesn’t like sport can use the time to study in peace.
Another tap on my shoulder becomes a full shake and the covers are whipped off me. Uh oh, I’ve triggered Addy’s domineering side. Hiding my grin, I grab some clothes and head for the shared bathrooms down the hall, leaving her to fuss over my unmade bed.
Over the past few nights, I’ve spent more quality time with Addy than any other person in years, and it feels amazing.
Addy has told me about her childhood, family, hobbies and her love for musical theatre while I soaked in her vibrant personality.
She also warned me she won’t be around much due to her busy timetable, but to message if I need anything.
Technically she’s only studying drama, but has taken on various extra classes in singing, dancing and set design to boost her resumé.
I shower and change, stretching my arms and back several ways for a ripple of satisfying cracks to pop along my spine.
After throwing on a quick layer of make-up and mascara, I emerge in my ‘I don’t listen to assholes’ t-shirt and ripped black jeans, my stomach growling on cue.
I take the time to push my aids over my ears, the receivers snapping onto my scalp softly before I cover them with my hair.
I’ve made the decision that I will experience campus life the way everyone else does.
Even if only for today. Sharing pizza and laughing with Addy has given me a glimpse of the life I could have had if it wasn’t for the accident.
But more than that, it has made me wonder if instead of being strong like I thought, I may have been shutting the world out.
In convincing myself I don’t need emotional connections, I might have been holding myself back from being happy.
“Ready?” Addy asks, her body language much more impatient than her tone. I smile guiltily and nod, taking her arm after she’s locked our dorm room door.
The sun is shining brightly outside, penetrating the clouds to brighten the pathway and mirror my mood.
A glistening layer of frost coats the central fountain like thousands of tiny diamonds forming an outer shell on the sandstone.
The courtyard is almost empty with the odd person milling in and out of the library.
The books beyond the closing door beckon me as I pass, but I resist. Just. Today is for pushing the boundaries I’ve grown comfortable hiding behind.
Thankfully, the lack of other bodies continues into the cafeteria.
I line up, rubbing my hands over my jeans to fight the chill from them.
Selecting our options from the length of the back-cafeteria wall, I spare a glance around at the unusually empty hall.
Trays sit stacked beside a silent buffet, the lingering scent of coffee and grease the only sign of this morning’s early rush.
Sunlight continues to spill through tall windows onto vacant benches and polished floors.
The Waversea’s spared no expense on their latest renovations, although I expect that’s usual when converting a public school into a private one.
I stumbled across many articles about it when researching my college options.
Apparently it was a huge scandal over a decade ago.
Thousands of students were forced out if they couldn’t afford to pay the new fees and their years of hard-earned grades suddenly meant nothing.
Now, only four people a year are awarded a full scholarship.
I hate to think of myself as lucky, but without the life insurance left to me by my parents, I would have been stuck at the state college down the road from our old house.
But in turn, I wouldn’t strive to be a clinical scientist in audiology if it weren’t for the loss of my hearing so it’s all swings and roundabouts.
Devouring a heavily iced bear claw and grabbing a coffee to go, Addy and I head directly towards the dome-topped building in the distance.
Every streetlamp and fence beyond the courtyard is dripping with the college colors of yellow and black, banners hanging all-around of the elite Waversea Warriors.
Many of their players go pro straight from graduation, the academy’s reputation opening doors for them which others could only dream of.
Addy’s arm is looped through mine again as we fall into step, her long legs pulling me faster than I’d normally go, but I let her lead.
The closer we get to the stadium, the more students flood in from every direction, laughter and shouts ricocheting between the tall buildings like echoes trapped in a canyon.
I can feel the thrum of the crowd under my Doc Martens before we even reach the main doors, a low, vibrating pulse that hums along my spine.
The second we step into the stadium, the atmosphere slams into me like a wave. A sharp whistle bounces off every surface and the speakers overhead rumble out the latest pop remix. The collision of sound that feels too wide and too fast, even with my implants turned low.
I flinch. Just once. Just enough that Addy squeezes my hand and checks on me with her eyes. I nod again, more firmly this time, and shake out my shoulders as if that can loosen the nerves curling around my ribs. I can do this. I need to do this. I need to be normal.
The whole stadium is bathed in gold light, banners draped from every beam, crowds already gathering in the stands even though tipoff isn’t for another twenty minutes.
We spot seats halfway up the bleachers, angled just enough for a clear view of the court.
The floor is polished to a perfect gleam, reflecting the lines of the hoops and the oversized ‘W’ in the center like a mirror trying to convince me that this place is beautiful instead of brutal. It’s not working.
I shrink into my seat, anxiety overriding my confidence.
It’s so much bigger and louder than I expected.
Not the ideal place or time for me to embrace being a fully fledged student.
I reach up to turn off my cochlears when Addy nudges me, gesturing toward a group of cheerleaders stretching on the sidelines.
“See that girl with the platinum braid?” she says close to my ear, pointing discreetly.
“She hooked up with Coach’s son last week.
Cried about it in Art History, then did it again two nights later.
” I grin despite myself, lowering my arm.
“And that ginger guy with the glasses down at the front, he’s roommates with one of the players on the team.
Weird kid, has a strange fascination for fire apparently.
Someone in my dance class offered to go out with him once, but all he seemed to be interested in was how flammable her dress was.
She had to have skin grafts on her thighs. ”
My eyes flash wide, a shudder rolling down my spine.
I’m pretty sure that boy is in my biochem class.
Addy is distracted from her stories by a tray of popcorn being marched up and down the stands.
She calls out, grabbing us both a box and settles in just as the doors at the far end of the court open.
I pop a piece into my mouth, watching two figures stride out ahead of the team.
The marching band strikes up a loud rachet and the cheerleaders become hysterical.
Whereas my heart nearly falls out of my ass.
I know them. Both of them. On the left is my hero, although I should really stop calling him that.
I mean the man that stopped me from plummeting to the ground and breaking my neck.
He is the taller of the pair, much broader.
The kind of athlete who is sculpted by obsession, not just training.
His eyes are narrowed, his posture tense as if he’s walking into a boxing ring, not a basketball court.
The other is Rhys. A little leaner but by no means weaker, covered in ink from his knuckles to his jawline, disappearing behind his black and yellow jersey displaying the number one.
Unsurprisingly, there’s a confidence in the way he walks.
A cockiness is his smirk. I’m not fooled by the volatile calm he exudes, like a lit match walking into a fireworks factory.
Everyone sits a little straighter when they appear, like the air itself has shifted. Like everyone is hoping to be noticed. I nudge Addy.
“Who is the blond?” I mutter quietly. Addy’s eyes fly up to the court and raises a brow.
“Clayton Michaels? Do you know him?”
I quickly shake my head. A voice screams through the speakers, introducing the Waversea Warriors, and the crowd erupts on cue. This time, I do shoot my hands to my receivers and rip them off, but not before I catch a full-bodied roar echoing off every metal beam in the ceiling.
The rest of the team takes their places on the court, but I hardly notice because my heart is racing louder than any drumbeat.
It hammers against my ribcage, the tremors of what could quite possibly be a panic attack starting.
I will take full praise for my optimism, that I could walk into a ball game after years of silence and just get used to it, and I’ll also take the constructive criticism that it was a really stupid fucking idea.
The headache growing at the base of my skull will surely punish me for it later.
Addy says something beside me, maybe a joke, maybe a warning, I don’t know, because the popcorn box is trembling in my lap and my spine has fused to the backrest as I watch them move onto the court.
A pair of sophomores are in tow, a clear bromance happening between them.
It makes the frostiness between the two front runners even more obvious.
Clayton is already in position, stretching his arms overhead in one long, fluid motion that makes the hem of his jersey ride up, revealing the carved ridges of a stomach that could shame a Grecian statue, and the girls in the rows below us lose their collective minds.
I hate that I notice. I hate that it does something to me.
I hate that I want to see if he looks this solid up close, if he smells like rain again, if his voice rumbles like thunder just before the storm hits.
All things I blame my overactive brain for dreaming up last night.
Rhys is dominating his playground. Making the cheerleaders swoon and most of the guys insecure.
A group over the far side, who are clearly his boys, are riled up, fists in the air and chanting what I believe to be his last name.
Waversea, Waversea, Waversea. I hear the chant in my head as clearly as it’s being shouted.
After receiving some roughhousing, Rhys circles back to talk trash, causing Clayton to bristle and seeming to want to swing at him before the ball’s even been thrown.
There is no friendliness between the two, that’s obvious.
I’d hazard a guess that they fully hate each other, but that doesn’t stop my mind running away from me.
Seeing them side by side, shoulder to shoulder, swaggering across the court as if they own it, they look like sin dressed in school colors.
I swallow, blinking away the vision of me squeezing in between the pair of them and seeing just how good their teamwork could be.
Damn, I need to stop reading dark romance.
Instead, he grits his teeth and turns his back on Rhys, taking another gaze out into the crowd.
I don’t think I’ll ever bore of looking at him.
Blond, stoic, with a face so cold it’s beautiful.
Not the soft kind of beautiful. The kind you’d only ever describe once, because it would haunt you afterwards.
His eyes scan the bleachers, uninterested and unreadable, until he sees me.
I would have been able to convince myself that I’d imagined the flash behind his eyes, if Addy didn’t catch my eye and mouth, ‘what the fuck was that?’ I shrug, turning my focus to inspecting my popcorn individually while the blaze in my cheeks calms down.
Thankfully, he’s soon distracted by the start of the game.
The ten players on the court are split into two teams, pitting Clayton and Rhys against each other.
No surprise to them, apparently. It’s like watching two wolves in the same pack circle each other with barely hidden teeth, waiting for the excuse to bite.
They don’t speak, but remain constantly aware of where the other is.
The whistle is blown, the ball launched into the air, and chaos ignites across the court.
Rhys’ elbow snaps out, catching Clayton in the face before he steals the ball and ducks away. Clayton doesn’t falter, remaining on Rhys’ tail with confident strides. He yanks Rhys to the ground by the back of his jersey, to which the coach issues a warning.
I expect to see a round of boo’s pass through the audience, but the opposite happens.
The cheering is wild, and I don’t understand it.
Addy tosses popcorn into her mouth, not a trace of surprise passing through her features.
I blink several times, watching the rest of the players shove and shoulder barge Clayton around the court.
The only exaggerated jeers and taunts are being hurled his way, both on and off the court.
That’s when I realize the crowd hasn’t come to watch a match. They’ve come to see a blood bath.