Chapter Eighteen #2
The adrenaline that had carried me through the fight started to bleed out of my system.
In its place came a hypersensitive awareness of everything—my torn shirt, the sting across my cheek, the ache in my ribs where Logan had shoved me into the lockers.
I shifted in my seat, suddenly hyperaware of the attention lingering on me from the staff moving in and out of the office.
Luke shifted slightly in front of me, not enough to draw attention, but enough that anyone looking had to go through him first. He pulled his sweatshirt over his head and handed it to me, his eyes never leaving my face as if he was tracking more than what I showed.
“Put this on.”
I took it without argument. The fabric was warm from his body, the faint scent of him grounding me in a way nothing else had. I slipped it over my head, tugging it down to cover the tear at my shoulder.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I told him quietly.
His eyes searched my face for a second, checking for something I could not name. “Want me to come with?”
“No.” I squared my shoulders. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll be here.”
I moved down the hall, my steps steady even though my body still felt keyed up from the fight. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as I pushed through the bathroom door and locked it behind me.
I braced my hands on the edge of the sink and looked at myself in the mirror.
My hair was a mess, strands sticking to my face. A faint smear of blood traced along my jaw, and there was already bruising forming beneath my cheekbone. My eyes looked too bright, like my body hadn’t caught up to the fact that it was over.
I turned on the water and cupped my hands beneath the stream, bringing it to my face. The cold helped. It cleared some of the fog, forced my breathing to slow.
But not enough.
A tightness built in my chest, the delayed reaction hitting all at once. Frustration came first. He’d gotten the jump on me. I’d let my guard slip for half a second, and it’d been enough.
Then something quieter crept in. Fear. Not of Logan. Not anymore. Of what could’ve happened if Luke hadn’t been there.
My fingers pressed into the edge of the sink. I forced the thought down before it could take hold. That wasn’t how I operated. I didn’t spiral. I adjusted.
Still, a tear slipped free before I could stop it.
I swiped it away immediately, irritated with myself more than anything else. I wasn’t falling apart over this. I refused.
I grabbed a handful of paper towels and dabbed at my face, cleaning the blood and any sign of the moment that had broken through my control. Once I was satisfied, I removed my shirt from beneath Luke’s sweatshirt, not wanting anything on me that Logan had damaged because I wasn’t damaged.
By the time I stepped back into the hallway, my expression was neutral again.
Voices carried from the reception area. More than before. I rounded the corner and took in the scene all at once. Luke straightened when I came into view, his gaze moving over me once, quick and precise, checking for anything new before settling.
My mom stood near the wall, her posture rigid despite the way her hands hovered as if she didn’t know where to touch first. Edwardo stood beside her, steady and composed, his attention already moving through the room in a way that reminded me too much of myself.
And then there was Luke’s mom. She stood apart from the rest, composed. Her posture was perfect, her expression smooth, her gaze sweeping over me once. Assessing. Not a trace of sympathy crossed her face. Not even an attempt at it. Just a mask.
Mom closed the distance between us the second she saw me. “Mila—”
Her hands hovered near my face, my shoulders, as if she was trying to decide where I was hurt without making it worse.
“I’m fine,” I assured her, even though the word felt insufficient.
Edwardo moved closer, his gaze assessing me quickly, efficiently, cataloging every visible mark. “What happened?”
I told them. Not everything, not the adrenaline-fueled blur, but enough. Logan cornering me. The shove. The way it escalated.
Edwardo listened without interrupting. His expression tightened slightly at certain points. When I finished, his gaze shifted to Luke.
He took in Luke’s knuckles, still red and raw, then glanced toward the office where Logan sat. Respect flickered in his expression before it smoothed back into something controlled.
Edwardo’s gaze shifted to Principal Miller. “Step outside.”
Miller opened his mouth.
Edwardo didn’t raise his voice. “Now.”
Miller moved. “Of course.”
Edwardo moved toward the office without another word. The door remained open, but his presence filled the space in a way that made it clear the conversation inside was no longer public.
Edwardo stepped into the office and closed the distance without hurry. He didn’t sit.
Logan shifted in his chair.
Edwardo’s voice stayed low, too low to carry, but every word resonated.
Luke went still beside me, his focus locked on the office, his jaw set as he tracked every shift inside. He didn’t interfere. He didn’t need to.
Edwardo didn’t gesture. He didn’t pace. He stood there and dismantled whatever they thought this was. By the time he stepped back, neither Logan nor his dad looked the same.
Logan, who’d been slouched in his chair, straightened. His father’s posture shifted, tension creeping into his shoulders. The color drained from his face as Edwardo continued.
It didn’t take long. Then Edwardo stepped out, his expression unchanged as if the conversation had required no effort at all.
Logan didn’t look at me. He didn’t look at Luke. His father avoided everyone entirely, his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor as if eye contact had become too much.
Principal Miller cleared his throat, trying to regain control of the situation. “We’ll proceed.”
Luke’s mom spoke before anyone else could. “There’s no reason for me to remain.” Her voice was cool, precise. “It’s clear my son acted in defense of a student. There will be no consequences for him.”
Her gaze flicked briefly to Luke. “I’ll see you at home.”
Luke didn’t react outwardly, but his shoulders squared slightly, his stance tensed for a fraction of a second before settling again.
She didn’t wait for a response. She turned and walked out, her posture flawless, her exit as controlled as her presence.
Miller watched her go then gestured for us to move into the office. We followed.
Logan sat stiffly in his chair, his face swollen, his eyes fixed on the desk. His father remained beside him, equally silent.
Miller closed the door. “After reviewing the situation and speaking with all parties involved, Logan will be expelled effective immediately.”
No reaction. Not from Logan and not from his father.
Miller continued, “As for further action, the school prefers to handle this internally unless you wish to press charges.” His gaze shifted to me.
I met it evenly. “No.” There was nothing to gain from dragging this out.
Miller nodded, relieved. “Then this matter will remain within the school.”
Logan and his father were dismissed without another word. Neither of them looked at anyone as they left.
The door closed behind them. The room felt different without them in it. Lighter. But not by much.
We stepped back into the hallway. Mom turned to me immediately, her concern returning full force now that the situation had been contained. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” I repeated. “I’m just annoyed he got the jump on me.”
Edwardo’s mouth curved slightly. “I saw enough.”
“I got enough hits in,” I added. “More than him pushing me around.”
His expression shifted, something proud settling into place. “I believe it.”
Mom pulled me into a careful hug, mindful of where I might be sore. I leaned into her, letting myself take it for a second before pulling back.
Edwardo stepped away to speak with Luke, his voice low.
Mom studied my face again, searching for anything I might be hiding. “Let’s go home.”
“I don’t want to go yet,” I admitted. “I need a minute to decompress.”
Luke’s hand closed around mine, firm and certain, his thumb brushing once against my skin before stilling. “I’ve got her.”
Mom hesitated, her gaze flicking between us.
“We’ll go to the rink,” Luke added. “She’ll be safe.”
Edwardo gave a small nod, already on board. “All right.”
Mom exhaled, still reluctant, but she didn’t argue.
I didn’t want to go home yet. I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts, or to have my mom hovering because she felt helpless. The only place I felt safe and centered was in Luke’s arms. So we went to our spot—the arena rooftop.
Luke pulled me into him the second we reached the rooftop, one arm wrapped tight around my shoulders. The other cupped the back of my head, pressing my face against his chest, protective. His heart hammered beneath my cheek.
“I’ve got you.”
The words weren’t dramatic. They were steady.
I felt the tremor in my hands before anywhere else. He did too. His grip firmed almost imperceptibly, palm tracing once along my spine as if cataloging damage.
I sat wrapped in Luke’s hoodie, my torn shirt folded in my lap. The fabric felt heavier than it should have. I’d wanted to throw it away, but it was evidence. Proof of Logan’s attack.
The adrenaline had worn off. What remained was the tremor. Aftershock.
“I’m okay,” I said, though my voice came out thinner than I intended.
He leaned back just enough to look at me. His knuckles were split. Swollen. Red. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine.” I tried to smile, but my lip protested. “I got a couple of hits on him too.”
His jaw hardened, but he didn’t argue. He pulled me back against him instead, one hand settling at my waist, the other firm at my shoulder—solid and safe.
The night air cut harsher than it should have. I stared at the torn shirt pooled in my lap, fabric split where Logan’s hand had ripped it.
Luke followed my gaze. Slowly, deliberately, he took my shirt from me and set it aside.
“They don’t get to touch you. No one does.” There was no rage left in his tone. Only promise. “You shouldn’t have been alone.”
“I wasn’t going to be there for long.”
He turned to me. “Avery texted when she left. She said you were still there.”
My stomach coiled.
“Logan wasn’t at practice,” he continued. The pause that followed said the rest. “Something didn’t feel right. You alone. Him not where he was supposed to be.”
“You put it together.”
“Yes.”
“The administration will downplay it,” I said quietly. “They already are. But they might not with what happened between you and Logan.”
His expression didn’t change. If anything, it hardened. “I don’t care about that part.”
“You should,” I pressed. “There could be consequences for you.”
His jaw flexed once. “They don’t get to put their hands on you and walk away.”
There was no heat in his tone. Just finality. And I believed him. Not because he’d hit Logan—he hadn’t hesitated.
Below us, the town’s lights blurred into distance. Blackwood had always felt political. Strategic. Manipulative. Now it felt something else. Dangerous. Because someone had decided I was leverage.
Luke drew me closer and rested his forehead against mine. “We’re done pretending this is school drama.”
We weren’t minimizing anymore. We weren’t waiting it out. Logan made it physical. That changed everything. And anyone who thought it would end there was wrong.
Blackwood wasn’t just a game of alliances. It was a battleground. And someone had crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.