Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Mackenzie
The sharp autumn air wraps around me from the sidelines, mingling with the waning sun. It bites at my cheeks, but I barely feel it. All my focus is on him .
Dmitri is standing in the center of the football field looking like a god amongst mortals. His dark jersey clings to his frame, stretched over those broad shoulders and a chest carved from defiance.
Watching him is the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. Watching him and seeing he’s really there. Not a figment of my imagination like the fantasies I’ve conjured over the last few days.
Everything that’s not him—my surroundings, the noise of the crowd, the cold—fades into nothing.
Today is Thursday. Tomorrow will be a week since we last saw each other. It’s hard to believe so much time has gone by.
I didn’t know that day in the locker room was going to be one of those pivotal moments where I should have taken what I could from him instead of trying to convince him to free me from the contract.
The next morning, I woke to a folded note slipped under my door with the word soon written in the centre.
I knew it was from him and that I wouldn’t see him anytime soon.
That single word has haunted me ever since.
It’s another cruel joke. There I was, spending the summer going through all sorts of emotions and finally settling on the decision to be free of him.
Now I’ve done a full one-eighty in my head and my heart.
I want nothing more than to turn back the clock and put us right back in that shower cubicle where we devoured each other.
If I’d known a week was going to fly by where I wouldn’t see him, speak to him, or hear him call me Spider, I wouldn’t have wasted time with words.
This situation here, where I’m standing with the cheerleaders and he’s out there with his team—and we’re acting like strangers—is how we were before the contract.
This was what I was asking for when I asked him to release me. Returning to a world where we can’t touch.
It sucks, and I hate it.
Something must have happened between Dmitri and his father last week. Something that’s made him stay away.
It must have had something to do with his father almost catching us and perhaps the dinner he went to.
He said he’d find me next time.
I wish I knew when that was going to be. And how long is soon?
I’ve never been more conflicted in my life.
I’ve had little to no sleep over the last few nights. I was either thinking about Dmitri or waking in a sweat from the crazy nightmares—the same nightmares that haunted me after Tommy died.
It’s probably because I’m so stressed out. Or because of this new thing with Dmitri.
After the incident, my therapists thought the nightmares came because my mind tried to unlock itself. But to this day, whatever is hiding there doesn’t want to be found.
I’m not sure it ever will.
Yes, I’m well and truly conflicted. And alone. Me, of all the people, alone—the social butterfly.
Sure, I know a ton of people, and I could walk into a club right now and have a line of men fussing over me, but when you feel as torn as I do, you need those closest around you.
For me, that’s Isabelle and Annika, both of which have been MIA with their men for the last few days. Truthfully, I’m closer to Isabelle because we’ve known each other longer and I’ve shared my deepest secrets with her.
She disappeared with Kade on Saturday. He’s not even here for practice—which is a huge deal considering he never misses a session.
I had dinner the other night with Savannah, Sawyer, and Eilish. It was fun, but they each have their own things going on.
Savannah and Sawyer have that twin thing that makes me feel like an intruder sometimes, and Eilish has her own friends from her own year.
I often feel like she’s being a mother hen to us because she’s our student counsellor and has known us all our lives.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when Dmitri gets the ball and moves like a predator across the field.
His movements are powerful and precise, every step calculated with the kind of control that makes my chest ache.
I can’t forget the way he touched and tasted me, his hands gripping my hips exactly like he’s holding on to the ball.
He whispered promises I shouldn’t want to hear.
Longingly, I watch the way his muscles flex as he throws the ball and commands the field like he commands everything else in his life. Including me.
A whistle blows, and as if sensing my stare, Dmitri looks right at me.
My breath catches as his gaze brushes over my body, lingering for just a second too long.
Heat blooms inside my chest, spreading like wildfire. I wish I could run out there to him, or that he could come to me.
My hopes flatline when he looks away and walks over to the quarterback filling in for Kade.
Still, I can’t look away from him.
That’s when I feel another set of eyes watching me. The heated pull is coming from behind me.
I look toward the bleachers and find Dmitri’s father glaring at me.
The icy grip of dread wraps around my spine, and my heart stutters, the weight of his stare pinning me in place.
I force myself to look away, pretending I didn’t see him, but the moment is already ruined.
Terror replaces the longing that filled my chest a minute ago, and all I feel now is a cold, hollow ache.
Shit. How long has he been watching me?
How long has he been there?
I dare not risk another look and see those horrible eyes glowering at me.
This is a nightmare.
When I first started Raventhorn, we had Chancellor Potalov, who was like a combo of Santa and Willy Wonka mixed in one. When he retired at the start of the year, we got Parker , the start of the nightmare lord chancellors.
Now we have the devil.
I can’t imagine what I’d do if I had to go to him for anything. I pray that day never comes.
“Hey, Mackenzie, come on. Let’s do the halftime cheer,” Belinda Matthews says, catching my attention. She’s the captain.
I give her a sweet smile and join the girls as they line up for the formation.
Out the corner of my eye, I catch Dmitri gazing up at the bleachers.
He’s seen his father, too.
They share a prolonged stare before the whistle blows and his mind is back on the game.
The tension remains, reaching me from all the way over here, and I wonder how things will everything play out.
Deep in my heart I hope next time will come soon, but I fear the risk of the unknown.
The sorority meeting room is a shrine to pink and gold, the kind of over-the-top perfection I like, but tonight, the bright colors make my skin crawl.
It’s barely six, but I just want to watch some reality TV then head to bed.
Seeing Dmitri and his father earlier was hard, and the lack of sleep is taking its toll on me. I’m more exhausted than usual, so a meeting with the presidency is the last thing I want to do, and this isn’t the place I want to be. But here I am. I’m even on time.
I take a seat by the window and gaze out at the rose garden. It looks like a painting in the oncoming sunset.
As the girls file into the meeting room, I allow my mind to drift to Dmitri, replaying our last moments together in my head like a broken record.
My chest tightens at the memory, a mix of longing and fear twisting in my stomach.
I need to stop thinking about him.
It’s not doing me any good. I tell myself that, but I can’t stop my mind from drifting deeper and deeper, focusing only on him.
“Mackenzie.” Tiffany’s harsh voice rips into my thoughts.
My head snaps up, and I realize everyone is staring at me, including Tiffany, our sorority president and reigning queen of all things passive-aggressive.
At the front of the room, her perfectly plucked brow arches in disdain. She’s perched on the edge of the pink velvet chaise with her legs crossed and her perfectly manicured nails drumming against the armrest.
She’s glaring at me as if she asked me a question and is waiting for an answer. Next to her are Eilish and Rebecca, the vice president. The only comforting face I find among them is Eilish.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I mumble, looking back at Tiffany.
“Wow, our first real meeting back, and you think it’s okay to disrespect your president,” Tiffany barks, flipping her glossy black hair over her shoulder.
“No. I was just sidetracked.” I don’t even know why I bother to explain myself. When it comes to her, everything you say is wrong.
Tiffany gives me a Barbie-doll fake smile and narrows her eyes at me. “I’m sure whatever you’re daydreaming about is really important, but some of us actually care about the reputation of this sorority. If you’re distracted, maybe you shouldn’t even bother coming to meetings.”
I clench my jaw, wanting to tell her to fuck the hell off and go to hell, but I hold back. It’s not worth the trouble. The last time I did what she considered rude, I ended up cleaning the toilets for a month.
In here, she’s the law. An endorsement to her beliefs that she’s God’s gift to mankind and we all revolve around her. She’s a senior this year, so I know she’ll want to leave Raventhorn with a bang. That means being extra, extra mean.
Pushing aside my pride, I decide to keep the peace. “Apologies, my lady,” I use her Knight title and mentally roll my eyes.
She seems to be in more of a mood than usual.
I heard the summer break wasn’t kind to her. First, she got a botched nose job. Then she caught her fiancé cheating on her with her sister at their engagement party.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, someone recorded her fiancé fucking her sister and leaked the video on social media. It went viral.
I have no sympathy for Tiffany. She’s one of the most horrible people I’ve ever met in my life, so I’ll let karma deal with her.
“Now, as I was saying…” Tiffany returns her focus to the group and begins talking about the upcoming mixers and fundraisers.
Savannah casts me a supportive look from across the room, and I give her a polite smile. Then I’m not listening again. Tiffany’s voice and everyone fades into the background.
This time, my daydreaming doesn’t just include Dmitri. I think of my father and how worried I still am about him, and I think of the past with all its problems.
Some of which were caused because I can’t remember what happened.
I used to watch these movies about people who had lost their memories. When it happened to me, it felt like it was happening to someone else.
The worst part is that very few people know about it. Though, I’m not sure what benefit it would be if the world knew. Maybe part of me thinks it would help, so I wouldn’t have to carry the burden on my own. It won’t.
Thinking about the past won’t help anyone.
Nothing I do will help anyone.
Not until I remember the things I can’t.