Chapter 17 #2
"She hates me," I whispered. "I told her she was a distraction. I told her the bond was just biology. I was cruel, Coach. Unforgivable."
"You were protecting your pack," Coach said. "She’ll understand. Eventually. But you have to tell her the truth. You have to show her that you’re willing to fight for her."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys.
"Take my car," Coach said. "Your truck is a gas guzzler. My sedan is faster."
I looked at the keys. Then at Coach.
"Why are you helping me?"
"Because I was in love once," Coach said, his eyes distant. "With a human. My parents said no. The pack said no. I listened to them."
He looked at me, his expression full of regret.
"I’ve regretted it every day for thirty years. Don't be me, Jack. Go get your girl."
I grabbed the keys.
"Thank you," I choked out.
"Go," Coach ordered. "Drive fast. Don't get a ticket."
I ran.
I grabbed my coat. I grabbed the little white skate.
I ran down the stairs. I burst out of the Hive.
The night air was cold, but I was burning.
He lied.
The anger was fuel. The regret was a map.
I was coming for her.
I jumped into Coach’s car. I floored it.
Detroit was six hours away. I could make it in four if I drove like a maniac.
Hold on, Mouse, I thought, gripping the wheel until my knuckles turned white. I’m coming.
Eloise
The Gala was torture.
It was supposed to be a celebration. The champions, skating for fun, no judges, just applause.
I was in the locker room, putting on my exhibition dress. It was black. Simple. Mournful.
"You okay?" Cami asked, handing me my skates.
"I’m fine," I said robotically.
"Your dad is in the hallway," she warned. "He’s bragging to everyone. He’s calling you 'The Golden Ticket.'"
"Let him brag," I said, lacing up. "He got what he wanted."
"Did he?" Cami asked quietly. "Because you look like you’re about to jump off a bridge."
"I’m just tired, Cam."
I stood up. I walked to the curtain.
I could hear the announcer. "And now, your new National Champion... Eloise Vance!"
I stepped onto the ice.
The spotlight hit me.
I skated to the center. The music started. My Immortal by Evanescence. Cliché? Maybe. But it fit.
I skated.
I poured my grief into the ice. Every turn was a sob. Every jump was a scream.
I spun. I reached. I cried.
The crowd was silent. They felt it. They felt the tragedy.
I finished the program on my knees in the center of the ice, my head bowed, tears dripping onto the frozen surface.
The applause started. Slow at first, then thunderous.
I stood up. I wiped my face.
I looked toward the exit tunnel.
And I froze.
Standing there, right at the edge of the ice, was a man.
He wasn't wearing a suit. He wasn't a coach.
He was wearing a grey hoodie and jeans. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week. His hair was wild. His eyes were burning.
Jack.
My heart stopped.
He stepped onto the rubber matting. He walked right past the security guard, who tried to stop him but shrank back from the look on Jack’s face.
Jack walked to the boards. He opened the gate.
He stepped onto the ice.
Without skates.
The crowd murmured. Confusion rippled through the arena.
Jack didn't care. He walked toward me, slipping slightly on the ice, but catching his balance with supernatural grace.
He stopped ten feet away.
He looked at me.
"Jack?" I whispered, my voice amplified by the silence of the arena.
"He lied," Jack shouted. His voice echoed to the rafters.
"What?"
"Your father," Jack yelled, pointing up at the VIP box where my father was standing, looking horrified. "He lied! The grant was safe! He never had the power to pull it! He played us, Eloise!"
The crowd gasped.
I stared at him. "He lied?"
"He bluffed!" Jack stepped closer, sliding, almost falling, but catching himself on my arm. "I broke your heart for a lie! I thought I was saving him, but I was just... I was just scared."
He gripped my arms. His hands were shaking.
"I’m sorry," he wept, tears streaming down his face. "I’m so sorry, Mouse. I love you. I never stopped loving you. Not for a second."
He reached into his pocket.
He pulled out the tiny white skate.
"You dropped this," he whispered. "I think you need it."
I looked at the skate. I looked at him.
The wall around my heart—the ice wall I had built so carefully—shattered.
"You idiot," I sobbed. "You drove all the way here?"
"I’d drive to hell," he swore. "I’d drive anywhere."
He looked up at the VIP box. My father was gone. Fled.
Jack looked back at me.
"I don't care about the scholarship," he said loud enough for the microphone to pick up. "I don't care about the scandal. I don't care about any of it. I just want you."
He dropped to his knees on the ice. Not to propose. But to beg.
"Please," he whispered, burying his face in my stomach, wrapping his arms around my waist. The cold wetness of his tears soaked through my dress. "Please forgive me. Please take me back."
The crowd was silent. Four thousand people holding their breath.
I looked down at the monster on his knees. The Wolf who had surrendered his pride for me.
I put my hands in his hair.
"Stand up, Jack," I whispered.
He looked up. Fear in his eyes.
"Stand up," I repeated. "Or you’ll freeze your knees."
He stood.
I pulled him down.
I kissed him.
It wasn't a polite kiss. It was a claiming. It was a declaration of war against anyone who tried to separate us again.
The crowd erupted. Cheers. Screams. The roof nearly blew off the arena.
Jack lifted me up, spinning me around, burying his face in my neck.
"I love you," he roared. "I love you!"
"I know," I laughed, crying. "I know."
We stood there on center ice, bathed in the spotlight, holding onto each other like survivors of a shipwreck.
My father was gone. The scandal was real. The future was messy.
But as Jack held me tight, his heart hammering against mine, I knew one thing for sure.
We were going to be okay.
Because ice is strong. But wolves?
Wolves mate for life.