Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Heather
Happiness is a narcotic. It blurs the edges of reality, softening the sharp corners of danger until they look like pillows. It makes you reckless. It makes you believe that because you feel invincible, you actually are.
I was currently high on happiness.
It had been two weeks since the hearing. Two weeks of "being invisible" in public and being delightfully, loudly visible inside the penthouse. Jerry’s ribs were healing. The team was on a four-game winning streak. And I had aced my Education Theory midterm.
Life felt... perfect.
Which should have been my first clue that the sky was about to fall.
I was sitting in the student union, a chaotic hive of caffeine and procrastination.
It was lunch rush. I had a table near the window—prime real estate—and I was waiting for Tank.
We had a standing Tuesday lunch date to discuss the intricacies of 19th-century literature (he was surprisingly well-read for a man who blocked rubber discs with his face) and to exchange gossip.
I was also waiting for a text.
My phone buzzed on the table.
JERRY (12:14 PM): Practice ran long. Coach is making us watch film of the power play. I miss your face. And your legs. Mostly your legs.
I snorted, covering my mouth to hide the goofy grin that spread across my face.
ME: You miss my legs? How objectifying. I'm reporting you to HR.
JERRY: HR is currently in a meeting about how much she misses my hands.
My stomach did a somersault. He was ridiculous. He was perfect.
I started typing a reply—something witty and suggestive involving ice cubes—when a shadow fell across the table.
"Smiling at your phone," Tank said, dropping his massive frame into the chair opposite me. He slammed a tray loaded with three burritos onto the table. "That's a dangerous game, Hattie. People might think you have a life."
I quickly locked my phone and shoved it into my pocket. "I was reading a meme. About cats."
"Cats," Tank deadpanned. "Right. Because cats make you blush like a Victorian maiden who just saw an ankle."
"I am not blushing," I lied, fanning my face with a napkin. "It's hot in here."
"It's winter," Tank pointed out, unwrapping the first burrito with the precision of a surgeon. "And you're vibrating. You look like you swallowed a lightbulb."
"I'm just happy," I said, stealing a tortilla chip from his tray. "Is that a crime?"
"In Sterling Falls? Probably," Tank chewed thoughtfully. "Happiness is suspicious. Misery is the baseline. If you're happy, it means you're hiding something good."
He fixed me with a look. His blue eyes, usually crinkled with humor, were sharp. Assessing.
"How's the 'job' going?" he asked. The air quotes around job were heavy enough to crush a small car.
"It's fine," I said, keeping my voice casual. "Jerry is... demanding. But fair. The pay is good."
"Uh-huh," Tank said. "And the living situation? The penthouse? Still sleeping in the guest room?"
My heart skipped a beat. "Of course. Where else would I sleep?"
"I don't know," Tank shrugged. "Maybe in the master suite? With the view? And the Captain?"
I froze, a chip halfway to my mouth.
"Tank," I lowered my voice. "Don't joke about that. You know the rumors. The investigation just ended. If people hear you..."
"I'm not people," Tank said, his voice dropping to match mine. He leaned across the table. "I'm his best friend. And I'm your friend. I see the way you two look at each other, Hattie. I see him checking his phone every five minutes during film study. I see you wearing his hoodies. I'm not blind."
"We're just close," I whispered. "Living together... it bonds you."
"Right," Tank said. He didn't look convinced. "Look, I'm happy for you guys. Really. Jerry has been... different. Better. He smiles now. It's terrifying, but nice. But you need to be careful."
"Careful of what?"
"Careful of the eyes," Tank said, gesturing vaguely around the crowded union. "Everyone watches Vane. Everyone wants a piece of him. Or they want to take him down. If you guys are... involved... you can't be sloppy."
"We aren't sloppy," I insisted. "We're invisible."
"Invisible doesn't leave hickeys," Tank said, pointing a finger at my neck.
My hand flew to my throat. I was wearing a scarf. Had it slipped?
"Relax," Tank laughed. "I'm messing with you. But the panic on your face? That tells me everything I need to know."
I glared at him, kicking him under the table. "You're evil."
"I'm a goalie," he corrected. "We're a special breed. Just... watch your back, Hattie. Bianca has been circling. She's been asking questions about your schedule. About your shifts at the library."
"Bianca is a shark with a blowout," I dismissed. "She can't hurt us. The investigation is closed."
"Sharks circle back," Tank warned. "Especially when they smell blood."
I left lunch feeling unsettled. The bubble of happiness had a dent in it.
Watch your back.
I walked to the library for my afternoon shift. I kept checking over my shoulder. Was that guy watching me? Was that girl whispering about me?
Paranoia was an itch I couldn't scratch.
I settled in at the circulation desk. It was quiet. I scanned books, shelved returns, and tried to focus on the Dewey Decimal System instead of the looming sense of doom Tank had instilled in me.
At 4:00 PM, Jerry walked in.
He wasn't supposed to be here. He had practice until 5:00.
He was wearing sweats and a beanie, looking disheveled and dangerously handsome. He walked straight up to the desk, ignoring the "Quiet Please" signs.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi," I whispered, glancing around. The library was mostly empty, just a few students in the stacks. "What are you doing here? Is everything okay?"
"Practice ended early," he said. He leaned his elbows on the high counter, bringing his face level with mine. "I was bored. I wanted to see you."
"Jerry," I hissed. "We're in public. The cameras."
"There are no cameras in the stacks," he murmured, a wicked glint in his eye. "Take a break."
"I can't take a break. I'm working."
"I'm a student," he said, pulling a book randomly off the return cart. The History of Medieval Agriculture. "I have a research inquiry. I need a librarian to assist me."
"I'm not a librarian," I said, fighting a smile. "I'm a work-study student."
"Close enough," he said. "Come on. Five minutes. I need a recharge."
He looked at me with those puppy-dog eyes—the gray ones that could melt steel.
I sighed. "Five minutes. If my supervisor comes back, you're buying me a new job."
I came out from behind the desk.
He led me into the stacks. Deep into the stacks. The Z section. Zoology. Nobody ever came back here.
He pulled me into an aisle filled with dusty tomes about insects.
The moment we were out of sight, he pinned me against a shelf.
His mouth crashed onto mine.
It wasn't gentle. It was hungry. Possessive. He kissed me like he hadn't seen me in a year, not four hours. His hands roamed over my back, gripping my waist, pulling me flush against him.
"I missed you," he groaned against my lips.
"I missed you too," I admitted, wrapping my arms around his neck. I buried my hands in his beanie, pulling it off so I could touch his hair.
We kissed for a long, breathless minute. It was reckless. It was stupid. It was exactly what I needed to chase away the fear.
"We shouldn't do this here," I panted, breaking the kiss but staying in his arms.
"Why not?" he murmured, trailing kisses down my jaw. "It's quiet. It's private."
"It's a library," I said. "People study here."
"Let them study physics," he said, biting my earlobe lightly. "We'll study biology."
I giggled. "You're terrible."
"I'm efficient," he corrected. He pulled back, looking down at me. His eyes were dark, full of heat and affection. "You look tired."
"Tank scared me at lunch," I admitted. "He thinks people are watching us."
"Tank is paranoid," Jerry said. He brushed a thumb over my cheek. "Nobody is watching. We're in the Z section, Heather. The only things watching us are pictures of beetles."
"Bianca..."
"Bianca is history," he said firmly. "Forget about her. Focus on me."
"Always," I whispered.
He kissed me again, slower this time. A reassurance.
Then his phone buzzed.
He pulled back, frowning. He checked the screen.
"It's my dad," he said, his face hardening. "I have to take this. Sorry."
"Go," I said, stepping back and straightening my sweater. "I have to get back to the desk anyway."
"Dinner tonight?" he asked, walking backward toward the end of the aisle. "I'll cook. Chicken parm."
"You don't know how to cook chicken parm," I laughed.
"I'll learn," he promised. "YouTube exists."
He winked and disappeared around the corner.
I stood there for a moment, leaning against the shelf, smiling like an idiot. The smell of him—cedar and spice—lingered in the air.
We are invincible, I thought. We are going to make it.
I walked out of the aisle.
And I stopped dead.
Standing at the end of the row, hidden in the shadows of the Y section, was a figure.
It wasn't a student.
It was Bianca St. James.
She was holding her phone up. The camera lens was pointed directly at the aisle I had just come from. directly at the spot where Jerry and I had been standing.
My blood turned to ice.
She lowered the phone slowly. A slow, cruel smile spread across her face.
"History of Medieval Agriculture?" she drawled. "Fascinating choice, Heather. Though it looked like the research was getting a little... hands-on."
I couldn't speak. My throat had closed up.
"Did you get what you needed?" I managed to choke out.
"Oh, I got exactly what I needed," Bianca said. She tapped her phone screen. "Clear audio. Decent lighting. You really should be more careful about reflections in the glass cases."
"What... what are you going to do?"
"Me?" Bianca laughed. It was a cold, tinkling sound. "I'm not going to do anything. I'm just a concerned citizen. But I imagine the NCAA might be interested to know that the 'employee' and the 'employer' are studying biology in the library stacks."
She took a step closer. Her perfume was overpowering—sickly sweet florals.
"You thought you won," she whispered. "You thought you could just walk in here, take the King, and live in the castle. But you forgot one thing, sweetie. Castles have dungeons."
"Why are you doing this?" I asked, trembling. "You don't even like him. You just want the status."
"And you don't?" she countered. "Don't pretend you're noble. You're a gold digger with a good backstory. I'm just leveling the playing field."
She turned to leave.
"Bianca, wait!" I stepped forward. "Please. Don't send that. You'll destroy him. You'll destroy the team."
She stopped. She looked back over her shoulder.
"I'm not destroying him," she said. "I'm saving him. From you."
She walked away, her heels clicking on the linoleum like a ticking clock.
I stood there, paralyzed.
She had proof. She had audio. She had us.
The bubble didn't just pop. It exploded.
I didn't tell Jerry.
That was my fatal mistake. I know that now. I should have called him immediately. I should have told him to ambush her, to call his lawyers, to do something.
But fear makes you stupid.
I went back to the penthouse in a daze. Jerry was in the kitchen, covered in flour, wrestling with a chicken breast.
"You're home!" he announced, waving a spatula. "The breading won't stick. It's a conspiracy."
He looked so happy. So light.
If I told him... the light would go out. The anxiety would come back. The pressure would crush him.
And he might hate me. He might blame me for being careless, for meeting him in the library.
So I put on the mask.
"It's all in the egg wash," I said, forcing a smile. I walked over and kissed his cheek. "You have to dip it twice."
"Twice," he muttered. "Noted."
He looked at me. He frowned.
"You okay?" he asked. "You look pale."
"Headache," I lied. "Just a long day."
"Sit," he ordered, pulling out a stool. "I'll pour you wine. You supervise. I cook."
I sat. I drank the wine. I watched him cook.
I watched the man I loved, knowing that there was a grenade in Bianca's phone with the pin pulled out.
I have to fix this, I thought frantically. I have to stop her.
But how? I had no money. I had no leverage.
I had nothing but the truth. And the truth was the weapon.
Later that night, as we lay in bed, Jerry was already asleep. His arm was heavy across my waist.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I reached for it, my heart hammering.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: Meet me at The Daily Grind tomorrow at 8:00 AM. Come alone. Or the video goes to the Dean.
Bianca.
I stared at the screen. The glow illuminated Jerry’s sleeping face. He looked peaceful.
I swallowed hard.
ME: I'll be there.
I put the phone down.
I rolled over and pressed my back against Jerry’s chest. I needed to feel him. I needed to memorize the weight of him.
Because tomorrow morning, I was going to walk into a trap. And I had a terrible feeling I wasn't going to walk out of it with him.
I won't let her take this, I vowed silently. I'll do whatever it takes.
Even if it meant breaking his heart to save his career.