Chapter 12
Jack
The whiteboard in Coach Miller’s office was covered in diagrams. X’s and O’s. Passing lanes. Defensive coverage. To the untrained eye, it looked like chaos. To me, it was a language I had spoken since I could walk.
But today, the lines were blurring.
"Sterling."
Coach’s voice snapped me back to the present. He was sitting behind his desk—a massive slab of oak that looked small compared to his bulk. He was a bear shifter, though he kept that fact strictly off the books. He smelled of old coffee and disappointment.
"Yeah, Coach."
"You missed a coverage read on the tape," Coach said, tapping the screen of his laptop with a thick finger. "Here. Third period against Duluth. You had the lane to the net, but you hesitated. You looked up at the stands."
I stared at the screen. The paused image showed me, number 9, glancing toward the VIP box. Toward her.
"I was checking the clock," I lied.
Coach leaned back, the leather chair groaning. "Don't bullshit a bullshitter, Jack. You were checking on the girl. Vance’s kid."
I stiffened. "Eloise. And she’s not a distraction."
"The hell she isn't," Coach growled. "Since that game, you’ve been different. You’re faster, yeah. More aggressive. But you’re sloppy. Your head isn't in the game; it’s in the clouds. Or in her dorm room."
"My personal life is personal," I said, my voice tight.
"Not when you wear the 'C' on your jersey," Coach countered.
"Not when scouts from Detroit and Chicago are coming to the rivalry game against Tech next week.
They aren't coming to see you play Romeo, Jack. They’re coming to see a center who can lead a team to a championship. They want a killer. Not a lover."
He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the snowy practice rink.
"I got a call from Dean Vance this morning," Coach said softly.
The air in the room dropped ten degrees.
"What did he say?" I asked, my hands clenching into fists on my knees.
"He expressed... concern," Coach chose his words carefully. "About the 'influence' the team is having on his daughter’s academic and athletic focus. He suggested that if the 'fraternization' continues, he might have to review the athletic department’s scholarship budget."
I stood up so fast my chair tipped over. "He’s threatening the team?"
"He’s threatening you, Jack," Coach turned, his eyes hard. "He knows. Or he suspects. And a man like Vance doesn't fight fair. He hits the wallet. He hits the future."
"He can't touch my scholarship," I snarled. "I earned it."
"He’s the Dean," Coach reminded me. "He can do whatever he wants. And right now, he wants you away from his daughter."
Coach walked over to me, putting a heavy hand on my shoulder.
"I like you, kid. You’re the best leader I’ve had in ten years. But I can't let one player sink the ship. You have to make a choice. The girl? Or the game?"
I looked at him. I smelled the sincerity on him. He wasn't trying to be cruel; he was trying to save me.
"I can handle both," I said stubbornly.
"Prove it," Coach said. "Tech game. Next Friday. If you play like a distracted puppy, you’re benched. If you play like a Captain... maybe I can keep Vance off our backs for a while."
"I’ll be ready," I promised.
I walked out of the office, righting the chair on my way.
The hallway was empty. I leaned against the cool cinderblock wall and closed my eyes.
The girl or the game.
It wasn't a choice. It was an amputation.
The next four days were hell.
I went into lockdown mode.
I woke up at 4:30 AM. gym. Ice. Class. Video review. Gym again. Ice again.
I turned off my phone during the day. I didn't answer texts. I didn't check Instagram to see if Eloise had posted anything.
I was a machine. I ate chicken and rice. I lifted until my muscles screamed. I skated until my lungs burned.
But the silence was deafening.
Without her voice, the noise in my head came back. The Wolf was agitated. Pacing. Growling at shadows.
Where is she? Why are we alone? She needs us.
Shut up, I told the beast. We’re doing this for her. If I lose my scholarship, I can't stay here. I can't protect her.
It was a noble lie. But it felt like cowardice.
On Wednesday night, I was in the weight room at the Hive. It was midnight. Everyone else was asleep or partying.
I was bench-pressing 315. Up. Down. Up. Down.
The rhythm was hypnotic. Pain was focus.
My phone buzzed on the bench next to me.
I ignored it.
It buzzed again. And again.
I racked the weight with a clang and sat up, grabbing the phone.
Eloise: Jack? Are you alive?
Eloise: Cami said you haven't been at lunch for three days.
Eloise: Did I do something wrong?
Eloise: Please just tell me if we’re over. The silence is worse than the breakup.
My heart cracked.
I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keypad.
I wanted to call her. I wanted to drive to her dorm, climb the trellis like a cliché, and sleep on her floor just to be near her.
But I heard Coach’s voice. He hits the future.
If Vance saw us... if he even suspected...
I typed: Busy. Scouts coming. Need to focus.
It was cold. It was dismissive.
I hit send before I could change my mind.
Then I threw the phone into my gym bag and loaded another plate onto the bar.
Thursday.
I was a wreck.
My body was strong, but my mind was fraying. I was snapping at my teammates. I nearly took Miller’s head off in practice for a sloppy pass.
"Jack, chill!" Silas shouted, shoving me after the whistle. "We’re on the same team, man!"
"Then play like it!" I roared, skating away.
I skated to the bench for water. My hands were shaking. Not from fatigue. From withdrawal.
I needed her. It was a physical dependency. Without her scent, without her touch, the bond was pulling at my insides, twisting my gut into knots.
I looked up at the stands.
She was there.
She was sitting in the top row, alone, wrapped in a grey coat, her knees pulled up to her chest. She wasn't watching the practice. She was reading a book.
But I knew she was there for me.
My heart hammered. Go to her.
Stay away, the logical brain argued. Vance has spies everywhere.
I drank my water, wiped my face with a towel, and turned my back on her.
I skated back to the center circle.
"Again!" I yelled at the team. "Drill it again!"
I felt her eyes on my back. Burning. Confused. Hurt.
I hated myself. I hated hockey. I hated the world.
By Friday night—the night before the game—I was breaking.
I was in the Hive, in my room. The door was locked. The lights were off.
I was sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed frame, holding a hockey puck in my hand, tossing it up and catching it. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
I hadn't spoken to her in five days.
I was starving. Not for food. For connection.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
It was a soft knock. Tentative.
"Go away, Silas," I growled. "I’m studying tape."
"It’s not Silas."
The voice was soft. Muffled by the steel door.
Eloise.
My heart stopped. Then it restarted at double speed.
I scrambled to my feet. I unlocked the deadbolt and threw the door open.
She stood there in the hallway. She looked... tired. There were dark circles under her eyes that matched mine. She was wearing oversized sweatpants and a hoodie that wasn't mine. She looked small.
"Eloise," I breathed. "What are you doing here? It’s not safe. If anyone sees you..."
"I don't care," she said. Her voice was flat. exhausted.
She pushed past me into the room. She walked to the center of the rug and turned around.
"You ghosted me," she said. It wasn't an accusation. It was a statement of fact.
"I didn't ghost you," I closed the door and locked it. "I told you. Scouts. Focus."
"You sent me a text with five words," she countered. "After... after everything. After the cabin. After the locker room. Five words, Jack?"
"I’m trying to protect us," I argued, walking toward her. "Your dad... he called Coach. He threatened my scholarship. He threatened the team."
"So you punish me?" she asked, tears welling in her eyes. "You shut me out?"
"I’m shutting everyone out!" I yelled, the frustration exploding. "I have to be perfect, Eloise! I have to be the Captain. The Alpha. The scholarship student who doesn't screw up. If I lose this... if I lose hockey... I have nothing. I go back to nowhere. I can't protect you if I’m nobody."
She stared at me. The tears spilled over.
"You think you’re nobody without hockey?" she whispered.
"I am," I said, my voice breaking. "It’s all I have. It’s the only reason anyone tolerates the wolf."
Eloise walked up to me. She reached out and took my face in her hands. Her palms were warm.
"You idiot," she said softly. "You big, dumb wolf."
She leaned her forehead against my chest.
"You’re not nobody," she whispered into my shirt. "You’re Jack. You’re the guy who chops wood wrong. You’re the guy who likes Nirvana. You’re the guy who makes me feel safe when the rest of the world makes me feel like I’m drowning."
I wrapped my arms around her. I buried my face in her hair. The scent of vanilla hit me like a drug, instantly calming the storm in my head.
"I missed you," I groaned. "God, I missed you."
"I missed you too," she sniffled. "I skated terrible all week. Coach Sasha threatened to throw my skates in the river."
"I played terrible," I admitted. "I almost fought Silas."
"We’re a mess," she said, looking up at me.
"We’re a disaster," I agreed.
She kissed me. Softly. A forgiveness.
"I brought you something," she said, pulling back.
She reached into the pocket of her hoodie and pulled out a small, Tupperware container.
"Pasta," she said. "Carboloading. For the game tomorrow. I figured you were eating raw eggs and protein powder."
I took the container. It was warm.
"You cooked?"
"I boiled water and added sauce from a jar," she corrected. "But the intent was there."
I laughed. It was a rusty sound, but it felt good.
"Thank you."
"Eat," she commanded, sitting on the bed. "And talk to me. Tell me about the game plan. Tell me about the scouts. Don't shut me out, Jack. I can handle the pressure. I’m an expert at pressure."
So I did.
I sat on the floor next to her legs. I ate the slightly overcooked pasta. And I talked.
I told her about Coach’s threat. I told her about the plays we were running. I told her about my fear that the scouts would see the monster instead of the player.
She listened. She asked smart questions. She rubbed my shoulders while I ate, her strong fingers working out the knots of tension.
"You’re going to be great," she said when I was done. "You’re going to crush Tech. And the scouts are going to drool."
"And your dad?" I asked, looking at her knee.
"Let me handle my dad," she said fiercely. "He thinks he can bully us. He thinks fear works. But he forgot one thing."
"What’s that?"
"I’m not afraid anymore," she said. "Because I have you."
She slid off the bed and into my lap. She wrapped her arms around my neck.
"Hold me," she whispered. "Just hold me. No sex. No wolf stuff. Just... recharge."
"Recharge," I agreed.
I held her.
We lay on the bed, fully clothed. I listened to her breathing. I felt the steady beat of her heart against mine.
And for the first time in four days, the crushing weight on my chest lifted.
Coach was wrong. She wasn't a distraction.
She was the anchor.
Without her, I was just a violent animal on skates. With her... I was a King.
"I’m going to win tomorrow," I whispered into the dark. "For you."
"I know," she murmured, already half-asleep.
I closed my eyes.
The grind was still there. The pressure was still there. But now, I had the fuel to burn through it.
Let the scouts come. Let Vance come.
I was ready.