Chapter 23
EVA
After morning practice, I locked myself in a bathroom stall and pulled out both phones.
My burner phone had two messages from the devil himself.
The Devil
Get me the information on Cole’s rehab.
Stay away from my son.
My hands shook as I checked my email on my own phone and found three, no subject lines, no message bodies, just attachments and an image of a sparrow.
Carter_Real_Estate_Holdings.pdf
Shell_Company_Network_Diagram.png
Recorded_Conversation_Oct_15.mp3
My chest tightened, and I couldn’t tell if it was because I loved that Cole was sending me information or if I hated it.
Someone rapped on the stall door.
“Eva? You in there?”
I flushed and shoved both phones in my pocket, emerging to find Rory waiting with crossed arms and worry on her face.
“Fuck, Eva, when you didn’t meet me after practice, I got worried.”
I hadn’t told her about the blackmail, just about the breakups. She didn’t know about Alek at all. That was my secret. I couldn’t make myself tell anyone what he’d done.
I also hadn’t told the group chat that Cole and Tristan had spent the night over the weekend.
And Rory remembered the rule—don’t ask questions.
“Massi asked me to make sure you’re eating,” she said, and her eyes were too fucking amused. “Pretty sure that means Cole’s nagging him to nag me, but whatever. Want to grab breakfast so I can tell him I did my duty?”
I nodded shakily. By the time we got to the cafe, Violetta was already at a table. She slid a set of note cards in front of me. “Quiz in Bio Chem today, if you forgot.”
Gratefully, I picked them up and started flipping through them as worry about my grades and getting into med school sent me spiraling. Suddenly, I wasn’t hungry anymore—not that I’d had much of an appetite to begin with. I stood, my chair scraping against the tile like nails on a chalkboard.
“I’ll walk you to the library,” Violetta said, eying the half-eaten sandwich she’d brought from home.
Cole strolled into the coffee shop. His eyes found mine immediately, smoldering, burning into me.
Without taking his gaze from mine, he took one step toward us.
My friends shifted, blocking his path, and vulnerability flickered across his face before his expression hardened.
When he finally picked up his order and left, the whole group sighed with relief.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” Violetta said softly. “We’ve got your back. So does the team.”
“And the puck bunnies,” Katie said.
The girls escorted me to the library like Secret Service agents. On the table where we usually studied was a coffee—oat milk with sugar-free vanilla—with a note in Tristan’s messy scrawl that said simply, “Kitten.”
I should have thrown it away, should have told him to stop, should have done anything but pick it up, let it warm my hands, and inhale the sweet smell, as if it were the hug I needed more than anything.
When Tristan materialized and tried to take a seat at the table, my friends ran interference. I caught a glimpse of the hurt in his golden eyes before Katie grabbed me by the wrist and moved us to a corner where they could ward him off more easily.
The coffee was fucking delicious.
I survived a week of constant company, of losing my goddamned mind from not getting a moment alone because they all cared so fucking much, before I managed to slip away.
Haruto failed to notice me following him into a classroom, so I could lean against a wall and desperately attempt to catch my breath as panic overcame me.
What was I doing? I was so behind in my classes. Cole and Tristan were waging war on my heart, and I could feel the weight of Alek’s gaze on me every time I showed up to my job.
Cole kept sending me evidence. Tristan kept taking care of me. And I kept using what they gave me while letting everyone else treat them like monsters.
I was the monster, the manipulative bitch they’d accused me of being.
My breath turned ragged as I tried to calm my raging heartbeat.
As my vision narrowed, I slumped against the wall then wavered on my feet.
“Shit,” someone said, and then a muscular arm wrapped around me. “I’ve got you, sparrow.”
Dizziness washed over me, and my knees buckled. Those same arms lifted me like I was a princess, their reassuring solidity holding me with confidence. “Arms around my neck.”
Cole’s voice was a quiet buzz against the roaring in my ears. I clutched at his chest, seeking his comfort and warmth, ignoring the danger that blared in the back of my head.
“Hey hey hey hey hey,” he crooned, stepping into a nearby stairwell and tucking me up against his chest, his arms steel bands around me. “Breathe, Eva. In and out. In and out.”
I breathed in time with his instructions, and he continued to murmur nonsense at me as he directed my breathing until it was slow and steady.
“I have you, sweet sparrow, I promise. Take another breath.”
My heart calmed, and I relaxed against him, too scared and exhausted to fight the need to feel safe for a goddamned moment.
“This is bullshit, Eva,” he murmured against the top of my head.
I should have shoved off his lap, but I couldn’t, not when I was secure in the cage of his arms, not when his scent wrapped around me like a drug.
“Fuck you,” I said weakly, making a token attempt to push away from his chest.
He dragged one hand up to my face and traced my bottom lip. “You just had heart surgery, and instead of taking care of yourself, you’re running yourself ragged. Not sleeping. Barely eating because you’re too angry to let us help you carry the fucking load.”
My phone buzzed, and I ignored it until it buzzed again. My second phone—it could only be his father.
“I can’t—” My voice broke. “I can’t keep doing this.”
“Then stop.” Cole’s arms tightened around me. “Stop fighting us. Stop carrying this alone.”
“You blackmailed me,” I whispered.
“I know.” His jaw clenched. “But—” He cut himself off. “I need you to be okay,” he rasped, the confession sounding like it cost him to admit. “Even if you hate me, even if you never forgive me, I need you to be okay.”
My phone buzzed again.
“Is that my father?”
I nodded into his chest.
“What’s he asking for?”
“Information about your rehab.”
Cole’s laugh was bitter. “Are you going to give it to him?”
I shrugged, unwilling to fight with Cole today, no idea how I was going to get myself out of this fucking mess, let alone help my father.
“You’re going to fucking take care of yourself,” Cole said finally.
“Or what,” I snarled, even though my fingers still clutched at his shirt, and I didn’t make a move to untangle myself from him.
“You’re going to take your medicine on schedule, you’re going to attend every fucking class, you’re going to accept rides from the team. If you don’t, I swear to god, I will make you regret it.”
Gently, he unclenched my fingers from his shirt, brushing his fingers over them before depositing me on my feet, looking me up and down, as if confirming I could stand on my own two feet.
He reached out to cup my cheek, but when I flinched, he stormed off, leaving me staring at his back, unable to order my thoughts.
Tristan
WTF, Eva?
Why hadn’t I blocked him?
Because I wanted to forgive him. So fucking bad.
Tristan
Cole said you almost passed out.
Fucking traitor.
My phone rang.
“What’s going on, kitten?”
“How the fuck is it any business of yours?”
“How much water have you had to drink today?”
I swallowed. Why did he have to care? Why did both of them? It made holding on to my anger so fucking hard.
“Eva? How much water?” Tristan pushed gently when I didn’t answer.
“Not enough,” I sighed, and allowed myself to miss that brief, magical period when being their plaything had meant I hadn’t had to worry about my next meal, when I’d had time for anything but studying, working, classes, and investigating Jed fucking Carter.
“Did you take your meds this morning?”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” I snarled.
“Did you?” Tristan’s patient persistence hurt so fucking much.
“Yes.”
“And at lunch?”
“No,” I admitted softly. “I didn’t take a break for lunch.”
“Kitten—”
I swallowed hard, hot tears pressing at the backs of my eyes.
“You’re going to send me a photo of everything you eat and drink,” he continued. “And if you don’t, I’m going to tell Dr. Parker you’re fainting between classes, and we’ll see how quick she pulls you from the team.”
“I don’t need—”
“Kitten,” his tone gentled, “this isn’t a negotiation. You need to eat right and take care of yourself.”
I should have been angry, should have told him to fuck off like I had Cole.
“Tristan—”
“Don’t you want to be a good girl for me?” he murmured.
I didn’t say anything back, unwilling to say yes but unable to force myself to say no. How could I still want this after everything they’d done?
“That’s it, kitten,” he breathed. “Send me a picture of your dinner, all right?”
“Okay,” I whispered and immediately felt better, then hated how much better I felt.
“You don’t have to do this alone.”
I swiped the phone closed, staring at it, then fished my other phone out of my backpack.
The Devil
You better get me what I asked.
Or else.
I couldn’t give him what he wanted. I wouldn’t. But I couldn’t fight him alone either.
Every time I stood beside Coach at practice, I died a little more inside. He hated me. I scoffed to myself as I took notes, my mind only half on the team, the other ruminating on everything I’d lost.
Nothing.
I’d lost nothing.
He’d taken advantage of a student without knowing anything about me except that he wanted to hurt my father.
Even if my father had done exactly what Alek accused him of doing.
Even if the dark and rageful part of me understood.
Almost three weeks after the incident and those two disastrous games, and practice almost felt like normal again. Almost.
“Miss Jackson,” Coach murmured. “Something more important than practice?”
I flushed, returning my attention to the ice, where it belonged. “No, sir,” I muttered, then flushed even brighter red when I realized what I’d said.
Coach hummed, not quite ignoring it but not pressing the point. He handed me an orange, just like he did every practice now. Electricity crackled through the air when our fingers brushed.
The orange rolled out of my trembling hands.
“Sit,” he growled at me.
“I’m fine,” I snapped.
“I don’t fucking care if you think you’re fine. I told you to sit.”
I wait a beat. My hand drifts to my still-healing scar, and Alek makes a noise of discontent.
Fine. Silently, I sat on the bench. He handed me another orange to peel. A man hell-bent on revenge didn’t keep oranges in his bag for a woman he hated. Or make her sit because she was still healing from surgery.
He watched me cautiously as I devoured the sweet segments, and I made my decision.
I couldn’t win this fight against Jed Carter on my own. I needed allies. Cole and Tristan were trying—god, they were really trying, but I couldn’t trust them. Not yet. Maybe never.
But Alek? Alek was a man who’d already used me, who couldn’t pretend that this was anything else, who wouldn’t make me hope for something I couldn’t have.
If seducing him was the price of his help, I’d pay it—I’d become the manipulative bitch they all accused me of being.
“I’d like to speak with you privately,” I said quietly, and my gut clenched at what he must be thinking, wondering if he too was remembering the moments I spent on my knees, serving him coffee.
One eyebrow arched. “Oh?”
I blushed. “Not like that.” Apparently, I hadn’t regained control over my emotions when it came to Alek.
He looked me up and down, and fire spread over my skin everywhere his gaze touched.
Maybe it would be exactly like that. Maybe this was the only way forward.
“Let’s have dinner tonight,” he offered finally, an edge of command in his voice.
“Yes, sir,” I answered before I could stop myself.
He exhaled sharply then shuddered, and power rushed through me, the same power I’d felt in his office months ago, when he unraveled after putting me on my knees. Then, I’d had nothing but my body to bargain with.
I was right back where I’d started, except this time, I was choosing it.
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”