Chapter 5
ZARIAH
NO PISS STAINS ON THE WALLS
I needed to talk to someone about the situation. The ‘ex-boyfriend stalking me’ situation that left me in a non-verbal, flustered state through my Roman Villa meetings. I didn’t want to discuss overnight shifts or bedazzling posters, I wanted to unload on someone.
I didn’t get the chance until I finished my first day of classes. But right after, I headed to the Colosseum.
Maybe the ice arena was nicknamed that because of how many careers were cut short there.
The truth was Marrs poured its funds into football.
Nobody gave a shit about hockey. Why would they?
Elijah was a fantastic player, but you can’t win games singlehandedly.
Before the team’s overhaul this summer, his lineup consisted of players who didn’t care and those who hustled for the chance to transfer, never to be seen again.
You were more likely to see a family of roaches at the rink than a winning championship. It was an indisputable fact.
Muttering under my breath, I pushed open the door and stared into…
The Colo?
I took an immediate step back, trying to extinguish the mirage.
Was I dreaming? Because it looked like the Colosseum had people inside.
Not just hockey players but…outside people?
With working light fixtures that weren’t causing small fires?
I opened the door again, peering into what could only be Wonderland.
“Holy shit,” I whispered. “Whose dick did they have to suck to get this?”
No cobwebs, no piss stains on the walls. The broken bleachers were gone, the graffiti was washed away. The Colosseum shined like an actual arena. Everything was so clean.
Relief hit me like a truck as I caught sight of the one person I’d wanted to talk to since I saw Denali. I hurried over to her.
Cleo Bennight was striding down the stairs in her signature four-inch heels, her red hair pinned in one of her immaculate buns. She smiled when she saw me. “Zariah! Welcome back to Marrs.”
“I need to talk to you—where’s your office?”
“My new office?” She smirked, tipping her chin behind her. “Upstairs—”
I grabbed her by the elbow, hauling her upstairs until Cleo took the lead, laughing.
You know what you do when everything feels impossible?
You surround yourself with people who make the impossible their bitch.
Cleo was one of the fiercest people I’d ever met.
She had to be; she used to be the head PR intern for the football team, she needed that fuck-it attitude to make sure things got done.
“You’re fucking intelligent and I need that brain of yours,” I blurted out after she closed the door.
“Oh, I like where this is going.”
“Love the new office,” I cut in, gesturing to the space with an even fancier coffee bar than her last one, courtesy of her new husband. I pointed to her ring finger. “And girl, that’s a rock. You could drop that on someone’s head and cause some serious damage.”
“I couldn’t love it more if I picked it out myself,” she hummed, pleased, and sat behind her cherry-oak desk, motioning for me to take a seat. “What’s going on?”
“I have a conundrum.”
“A conundrum?” she chuckled.
“What would you say if I told you that I knew this boy years ago. We had this intense—uh—thing. Undeniably unhealthy thing. I had to break up with him, and he didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.
I mean, constant calls, constant letters, our parents had to put a stop to it.
” I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down.
“I saw him yesterday, and I think he transferred to Marrs to see me.”
Cleo reached for her phone. “Let’s call security.”
“No, no, no.” I took the phone from her. “I could be wrong.”
“Is he from Texas? Is Marrs a logical choice for his career?”
“Uh, no. And he’s from out-of-state.”
“Now he’s on campus and immediately sought you out.”
“Sought me out is strong,” I admitted and thought about how buddy-buddy Elijah and Denali were. “Uh, I did see him when I got to campus.”
“Oh my god, is he a part of the housing department? Are you going to have to be in close proximity to him?”
“Something like that.”
“Zariah, that’s a stalker.”
It was so hard to consider that when I remembered Denali’s heartbroken, puppy eyes.
“What if this is some huge coincidence? It’s a mistake, he didn’t mean it, and that’s that?
I don’t have any evidence that he did this—you know—intentionally.
" I tucked a few curls behind my ear, anxious. "I don’t know!”
Slowly, Cleo pressed her hands together. “I see what’s going on here. How tall is he?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I asked indignantly but the longer that Cleo kept the unrelenting stare, the more uncomfortable I became. Finally, I squeezed my eyes shut. “Above six feet.”
“And the arms?”
“Big,” I confirmed reluctantly, thinking about how Denali’s plain t-shirt hugged his muscles. “Buff.”
“And the…?” Cleo made a circle around her middle. “Six-pack?”
“Worse,” I sighed. “A tummy. It’s my kryptonite.” I slunk down in my chair, dejected, thinking about how my heart pounded with him so close in my dorm. “I love a man with a muffin top.”
“He looks good?”
“He looks good. Except for…”
I trailed off, afraid to talk about the scraggly beard. Cleo worked with the hockey team, and I didn’t want her to find out this was Denali we were talking about. I had to tread carefully.
“Except for the weird stalkerish tendencies?” she completed for me.
“Oh. Yeah. That.” I groaned, so confused. When I saw him at the airport, I was shocked that he transferred, upset that Elijah was involved, unsure of what this meant—I didn’t know what to think. “We were fifteen, we took each other's virginities. God, I didn’t think I’d ever see him again!”
“Fifteen? You were having sex at fifteen?”
“Trust me, if my parents found out, I would’ve been grounded for the rest of my life.”
“Before I was eighteen, I was barely allowed out of the house. How were you having sex?”
For a moment, I thought about telling her everything.
Because it was a twisted tale of two teenagers with a lack of adult supervision during one crazy summer.
But I didn’t have any actual proof that Denali was at Marrs for me, just suspicions, and a whole lot of really weird coincidences that didn’t make sense.
Last night, I did a deep dive into Denali Maddox’s past. He played for Michigan, he was a USAC champion, and, fuck, he looked so good in his team pictures. By all marks he should’ve hit the lottery in the draft and signed onto a pro team.
What the hell is he doing at Marrs?
“It’s a long story.” I put my arm on her desk and hid in the crook of my elbow. “Ugh, I don’t know. Maybe I’m making too big of a deal about this.”
“Maybe it’s your survival instincts and you shouldn’t ignore them,” she said. “Are you going to tell me who it is?”
“Erm…no.”
“How am I supposed to help?”
“Letting me panic has already been helpful.”
She tapped her nails against her desk. “Stay away from him. If you decide to give me a name and let me do something, you have my number. And you can always call me if you’re ever in trouble.”
Without anything substantial, there wasn’t anything I could do. With a sigh, I nodded. “You know it.”
“I did have something I wanted to talk to you about though,” she said slowly. “I need a favor.”
Gingerly, I pushed back into a sitting position. “You need a favor? Should I be scared?”
“No. Do you have any room in your pet projects?”
When I was an RA for the freshmen dorms, I was known for fabulous, themed horror movie nights and taking in new, impressionable students under my wing. It was what I was good at. And I’d always had a soft spot for outcasts.
“Who do you have for me?”
Caleb Montoya was the youngest player on the Gladiators, a freshman who’d been so close to going pro in high school, closer than most of his new teammates could ever dream to be. Jealousy and resentment go hand in hand. His status and age marked him as an outcast on the Gladiators.
Making him perfect pet project material.
I made my way down to the rink, searching through the clean plexiglass for him. The hockey gear was new, the jerseys were a rich, dark purple with their names printed on the back. I easily found Elijah, doing flow drills with his teammates. But where was Montoya?
Someone crashed into me, and I stumbled over my sneakers, slamming to the floor, hitting the ground so hard my ears were ringing.
Someone was apologizing nonsensical words. I shook my head, trying to focus when an all-too-familiar voice broke through the noise. “Montoya!” Denali snapped, his tone cold. “You need to watch where you’re going!”
A hand wrapped around my arm, literally engulfing me with how large his fingers were.
I could feel the rough callouses of his palm, warm against me as I was tugged off the ground like I weighed nothing at all.
I was breathless from the fall, and I really couldn’t believe my eyes when I realized who had me in his grasp.
Denali. And he…trimmed his beard.
I stared with wide eyes. Denali whacked off the scraggliness and it cracked him open like a geode. Like panning for gold. The leftovers were gone and in their place was a sharp beard, accenting his dark hair. Making him look older. More intense.
Dreamy.
He had new scars on his face, new lines I didn’t know, but he was the same boy. The boy who held my hand during Hersch’s hospital visits and kissed me so eagerly because we didn’t know how to kiss, we didn’t know how to do anything yet.
His face cleared when he realized it was me. His eyes snapped to Montoya, furious. “Kid’s Toy—what the hell were you thinking?!”
The unrelenting apologies belonged to a Hispanic kid taller than Denali. He was definitely above six-foot-five, in that awkward stage between teenager and adult. Chubby cheeks, his forehead dewy with sweat, anxiety pouring off him while he apologized a hundred more times for tripping into me.
That’s Montoya?