Chapter 9
JADE
Day two of my new reign at Royal Oaks starts with me in my black leather jacket. It sways behind me like battle armor, fringe slicing the air with every step. My boots click against the polished floors loud enough that the whole damn hallway hears me before they see me.
Dress code?
Yeah, I’m not thinking about that.
Let them write me up.
Let them try.
Shani walks on my left.
Tristan on my right.
Mindy trailing behind us like she’s suddenly royalty too.
It’s stupid how fast a social order collapses and a new one of formed when someone refuses to play by the rules.
The whispers follow me.
The stares.
The little gasps from the girls who thought they authored my downfall.
Bianca actually stops mid-conversation when she sees me.
Nadia’s face drains.
Vivian’s smile twitches, just barely.
Good.
Let them feel it.
The shift.
The power sliding out of their fingers and right back into mine.
I don’t speak.
I don’t need to.
I walk like I own the school.
Shani bumps my shoulder. “Girl, these bitches are terrified.”
“They should be,” Tristan mutters. “You flipped the table over and built a new one.”
Mindy giggles nervously. “Jade, I swear, the administration is walking on eggshells. They think your aunt is prepping another lawsuit.”
The teachers are acting weird too.
Nicer.
Softer.
Like being too strict with me might land them in a deposition.
The entire campus smells the litigation in the air.
Bad PR.
Bad press.
Bad timing before the donors’ winter gala.
I should feel vindicated.
I should feel powerful.
Maybe I do.
Maybe I don’t.
Maybe I’m too numb to tell.
Then I feel it.
His eyes.
Before I even turn, my pulse betrays me.
Leo is across the hall.
Shoulder against a locker.
One hand gripping his backpack strap.
The other clenched at his side.
He looks…
wrecked.
Tired.
Sharp-jawed.
And too good for my sanity.
He’s not even trying to hide it.
He watches me openly, jaw tight, chest rising slow and heavy like he’s forcing himself to stay where he is instead of walking toward me.
And when my eyes lock with his—
The hallway disappears.
The noise cuts out.
It’s just heat.
Static.
Unsaid things burning the air between us.
His jaw tics.
My heart slams once, hard.
We speak without speaking.
Him: Talk to me.
Me: Not a chance.
Him: I’m not letting go.
Me: Try me.
Him: I miss you.
Me: I hate that you do.
My hands curl into fists.
His do too.
Shani mutters, “The tension could melt steel.”
I force myself to break eye contact first.
We pass by each other like two storms scraping edges—
dangerous, electric, promising destruction.
He doesn’t touch me.
He doesn’t speak.
But as I walk past, I feel him turn slightly, drawn in by some invisible cord neither of us asked for.
My pulse is wildfire.
I don’t look back.
But I feel him looking.
And I know
with this new version of me
and the fire in him—
This is only the beginning.
Royal Oaks is buzzing about basketball like nothing else in the world matters.
Whispers about tryouts.
Predictions about state championships.
Girls giggling about how Tristan, Xavier, and Leo are “so obviously” going to carry the team this year.
I want to scream.
I’m barely keeping myself together and the school feels like it’s running on delusion and pep rallies.
I duck into the locker hallway, hoping to slip out before the noise swallows me, when Coach Roman’s voice slices through the crowd.
“Jade. Office. Now.”
Oh great.
She shuts the door behind us and leans back against her desk, arms crossed, looking like she’s held together by caffeine and stress.
“I’m putting out fires all over this damn school,” she says. “Talk to me, kid. What’s going on?”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“Well,” I say, “since the season ended, I haven’t really been keeping up with anything. Not speed training. Not conditioning. Honestly, Coach… I’m just trying to get up every morning and find the will to get out of bed and breathe.”
Her expression softens instantly, and that almost undoes me.
“I can’t even imagine,” she murmurs. “I’ve coached for thirty years. Kids have always been mean, but this?” She gestures vaguely, like the whole mess is too big to name. “This era of phones and apps and fifteen-second cruelty? It’s different.”
I sit on the edge of the chair, elbows on my knees.
“Coach,” I say quietly, “why do you even put up with it here? You could teach anywhere. Public school. A city program. Make a real difference.”
She lets out a humorless laugh.
“So you think I’m a sellout?”
I shake my head. “No. I just… don’t understand why you stay.”
“Truthfully?” she asks, rubbing her forehead. “It was my idea to pull in more scholarship kids. To shake up the culture here. And when I saw your reels from Ohio? I knew I had to have you. You were raw talent. Heart. Hunger. You had everything they didn’t.”
She sighs hard.
“Part of me feels responsible. Like this whole thing might be my fault.”
“It’s not,” I say immediately. “It’s just… something I have to go through, I guess. I’m not sure why. Maybe one day I’ll look back and understand, but—”
I shrug. “Thank you. For the opportunity. For believing in me.”
She studies me, eyes tired but warm.
“So you’re not thinking about going back to Ohio?”
I snort. “No. I’ve seen too much now. The good, the bad, the ugly. Hard to go back to small-town life after that.”
“What’s the plan for break?”
“My parents are coming,” I say. “We’re going to go to Boston for a few days.”
She nods quickly. “I’ve got connections there. BC. BU. I can set up official campus visits.”
I blink. “Really?”
“Really,” she says. “But Jade… listen carefully.”
She crouches in front of me, eyes level.
“If they ask about homecoming, you can’t tell the whole truth. I hate this. But if you say what actually happened? They’ll get nervous. They won’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”
My stomach sinks.
“So what? Pretend it was just some stupid prank?”
She grimaces. “If you want those offers, yes. Sweep it under the rug. For now. I know it’s wrong. But nobody does the right thing anymore, kid. Not in college sports.”
I swallow hard.
I hate it.
Hate every part of it.
But she’s not wrong.
“Well,” I say quietly, “my parents can’t afford tuition at either of those schools. So I’ll need… serious help.”
“Then,” she says gently, “you’ve got a lot of thinking to do.”
A hollow laugh escapes me.
“Coach Roman’s words follow me out of her office like ghosts.
No one wants to recruit drama.
You’ll need to sweep it under the rug.
You’ve got a lot of thinking to do.
Soccer was supposed to be my way out.
My future.
My ticket.
My escape hatch.
Now it’s another landmine I have to tiptoe through.
I swipe the back of my hand across my mouth, smearing a little of my matte plum lipstick. My nails match — dark purple, sharp as obsidian — but none of it makes me feel stronger right now.
I rush out into the hallway before she sees the panic rising in my throat.
I barrel straight into a wall of boys heading to basketball tryouts.
Tall. Sweaty. Loud.
But it’s the smell that hits me first.
Cedar. Clean soap. Something warm. Familiar.
Leo.
My stomach flips so violently I actually stumble.
I keep my eyes down, move faster, pretend he’s not right there—
Until a hand closes around my wrist.
I freeze.
Before I can even breathe, I’m tugged sideways, through a doorway, into the dim handicapped locker room. The door shuts. Locks.
It’s just us.
Again.
I exhale a shaky breath. “Leo, isn’t this getting old?”
He steps closer. Way closer. His shadow spills over me.
“You getting sick of chasing me?” I snap.
He shakes his head once, jaw tight, eyes dark.
“No,” he murmurs. “I’ll never get sick of chasing you, Gitanilla.”
His breath brushes my cheek.
It’s infuriating.
It’s intoxicating.
My arms go out to shove him away, but they land on his biceps instead — warm skin beneath the loose basketball tee, muscle shifting under my palms.
He inhales sharply.
And I feel it—the tremor that runs through him.
He’s shaking.
For me.
He dips his head. His lips graze the side of mine, then lower to my temple, then my jawline.
“Leo…” I whisper — more warning than permission.
But then his mouth finds the curve of my neck.
A moan escapes before I can bite it back.
He smells so good.
Feels so good.
And for one stupid second I just want to forget everything — the slime, the humiliation, the broken heart, the impossible choices, the college mess.
I want this.
Him.
Us.
Before it all went to hell.
His hands slide to my waist. My fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt. Our mouths crash, desperate, messy. It feels like two months ago. It feels like home. It feels like danger.
My back hits the locker.
His chest presses to mine.
Heat sparks everywhere.
I kiss him back like I mean it.
Like I missed him.
Like the part of me I buried is clawing her way up again.
And that’s why I stop.
I tear my mouth from his, breathing hard, pulse wild.
He looks wrecked.
Destroyed.
Starving.
“Thanks for the mental distraction,” I say, voice tight.
His brows pull together, confused, wounded.
“But I gotta go.”
I slip under his arm, unlock the door, and walk out before my knees give out.
Behind me, I hear it — the metallic crack of his fist slamming into a locker.
It feels exactly like the sound of my own heart.
I practically fall out of the locker room, hand still pressed to my neck where Leo kissed me like he had a right to.
I need air.
I need distance.
I need my brain to stop replaying the way he tasted.
“Jade!”
Shani’s voice snaps me back to reality. She jogs up, her braid bouncing, dangling her brand-new car keys.
“You good?” she asks, eyes scanning my face. “Nope. You’re not good. Let’s go.”
I don’t argue.
Her dad finally handed her his beat-up old Honda after she got her license, and she’s been picking me up for school since I got back. The inside smells like coconut air freshener and gym socks. Familiar. Normal. Safe.