Chapter 26
Savannah
I’d never seen him look like that.
Not on the field, not under the cameras, not even the first night I met him and told myself he was just another student.
Dante wasn’t angry. Anger was loud, it burned hot, it left scorch marks. This was worse. He was quiet. Too quiet. His calm tone, the measured way he’d said my name — it was the kind of stillness that came right before a storm ripped everything apart.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” I whispered, but the words sounded pathetic even to my own ears.
His eyes didn’t soften. If anything, they sharpened, pinning me to the spot like I couldn’t move even if I tried. “You did say it.” His voice was flat, deadly, precise. “So now you’re going to explain.”
My mouth was dry, my pulse thundering against the fragile skin of my throat. I could feel the tremor starting in my hands, so I curled them into fists at my sides and forced myself to breathe.
This was why I hated keeping secrets I hadn’t chosen. Because when they slipped, they shattered everything.
“My father asked me,” I said finally, my words tumbling out faster than I could stop them, “to keep an eye on you. On your academics. He said the committee was pushing harder on the athletics department since the win, and if you fail, then it would give them reason to push harder.”
“What else?”
“He said it was about saving the image of the university.” I ran my fingers through the edge of my ponytail nervously.
Dante’s stare didn’t budge. No blink. No movement. Just that awful, suffocating silence.
“And I didn’t want to,” I rushed on. “I didn’t .
. . I tutor students, I help people who need help.
I knew you wouldn’t need a lot of help, knew it after that first night.
You walked out of that meeting room like you owned the place, and you were so you and you challenged me, and I wanted to spend time with you, I didn’t even realize it, but I did.
” I swallowed past the lump in my throat.
“Dad wanted me to draw the sessions out. I told him you wouldn’t need much, and he said to make it like you did so I could maybe see if there was anything else, you know, bothering you.
And then there were the pills but I didn’t mention them to anyone.
I didn’t, Dante, you know that, you know both of us were using those sessions for something else. ”
Still nothing from him. His calm was worse than yelling. At least with yelling, I could argue back, get my point across.
“Say something,” I begged. My voice cracked. “Please.”
The silence stretched. Long enough for my breath to hitch, long enough for my throat to close, long enough for my heart to batter itself against my ribs like it wanted out.
He didn’t blink. Didn’t twitch. Just stood there, looming with that quarterback stillness, the kind that dared the world to move first.
I hated it. Hated how small it made me feel. Hated how much I wanted him to just yell already.
Finally, he spoke. Low. Flat. The kind of voice that carried more weight than shouting ever could.
“So you’ve been reporting back to Daddy.”
The words landed like a slap.
“No,” I burst out. “Not . . . not like that. I didn’t tell him anything—”
“But you were supposed to.” His calm cut deeper than fury. “That’s what you’re saying, right? That’s why you’re here. Not because I needed help. Not because you gave a shit about me. Because your father told you to spy on me.”
My stomach dropped, a rush of shame heating my cheeks. “It wasn’t like that.”
“It’s exactly like that.”
The steel in his tone was worse than rage. Because rage I could have met with fire. This? This was ice, and it froze me to the spot.
I wanted to reach for him, to make him see that even though I’d been asked to do it, I hadn’t. Not really. And that it had turned into . . . whatever we were now, that was us. But the wall was already rising in his eyes, brick by brick, shutting me out.
He moved a step to the side, just far enough that the workbench was no longer at his back, but the space between us felt like a chasm, my chest clenched with the sharp, undeniable truth.
I’d just lost him. Or at least, that’s how it felt when he moved away. Dante never moved away from me.
He watched me, and I knew he wasn’t done.
“Tell me, Savvy,” he said, his voice smooth as glass and sharp as broken shards. “What exactly were you supposed to tell him? How many notes did you keep for Daddy about me?”
My nickname on his lips — one I still hadn’t given him permission to use — hit different now. It wasn’t playful. It wasn’t pushing in that flirtatious way he had. It was heavy with scorn.
“I don’t,” I whispered, my fists tightening at my sides. “I haven’t told him a single thing about you, except that you wouldn’t need a lot of tutoring.”
His laugh was short and humorless. “So you’re a shitty spy, then?”
“That’s not what this is!” My voice broke out of me louder than I meant, bouncing hard off the metal and glass of the shed walls.
“I didn’t ask for this, Dante! I got assigned to you because you’re in danger of failing a class that I do well in.
That’s what tutoring is. You get taught by someone who knows what they’re doing.
You’re the first athlete I’ve ever had. Trust me, I didn’t want to be the person in charge of making sure the star quarterback didn’t flunk out of the program! ”
His jaw flexed, but his eyes stayed locked on me. “But you did it anyway.”
“Yes,” I snapped, because the truth stung worse than the lie.
“Because I’m a tutor. Because he’s my father, and when the Dean of Wrighton University asks you to do something, you don’t exactly get to say no.
Especially not when you’re his daughter.
” I took a deep breath. “But I wasn’t doing it!
I was here, you were in bars, or at training, or in bed—”
The words hung there, raw, and I hated how desperate I sounded.
For a second — just a second — his expression shifted, like the steel cracked and something else flickered underneath. Then it was gone, replaced by that cold mask again.
“Is that what last night was?” he said finally. “Part of the project to keep QB10 in line, make sure he can still throw touchdowns for Daddy’s donors.”
“That’s not fair.” My throat tightened. “That’s not who I am, and you know it.”
His lip curled in an ugly sneer; it didn’t belong on his face.
“Do I?” His voice dropped lower, quieter, somehow even sharper. “Because I don’t know what’s real with you. Not the tutoring. Not the smart little smiles. Not the way you look at me like you want me.” He shook his head in disgust. “Not the way you spread your legs and say, fuck me.”
Heat rushed to my face. “That’s not—”
“It is,” he interrupted, stepping closer again, as if challenging my defiance.
“You fucking used me. You used me to placate your father. You used me to hide your art project. You fucked me just to what? Say fuck off to your dad?” He looked down at me with ice-cold rage.
“Fuck you, Sav. You’re nothing but a heartless bitch. ”
He turned away from me, heading to the door. His strides were angry and determined, hurrying to put distance between us.
“That’s not true!” I knew I was screaming; I didn’t care. “It’s not like that! I would never do that!”
He froze. His hand was already on the door, fingers flexing against the handle, but his shoulders tightened instead of moving forward.
Slowly, he turned back to me. The rage hadn’t left his eyes, but something else bled into it — something darker, hungrier.
“Never?” His voice was lower now, dangerous in a different way. “Funny, because right now it feels like all of this—” his hand cut the air between us, sharp, dismissive — “was just convenient to you.”
I shook my head so hard it hurt, and I hastily wiped away the few tears that had fallen. “It wasn’t. It’s not.”
He stepped closer, deliberate, controlled, like every movement was a test I was about to fail.
“Then prove it. If you’re not your father’s spy, if you didn’t just use me—” his gaze pinned me where I stood, unflinching — “then tell me something real, Cole. Or don’t, and I’ll walk out that door right now and never look back. ”
My throat worked. “Something real?” I couldn’t think of one thing to say. My chest heaved, traitorous tears burning the corners of my eyes. “I don’t do as well as you do under pressure.”
His scoff was loud.
“No, seriously!” I called out, desperate for him to stay.
“I’m being real. You love pressure, you thrive on it.
I hate it. You put me on the spot saying tell you something real, I can’t think of one single thing because I panic.
” I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes, rubbing them before I looked at him again. “That’s real. Okay?”
Dante’s slow, knowing smile wasn’t cocky this time. It was devastating in its cruelty. “That was pathetic,” he said, his voice low and merciless. What made it worse was that he almost sounded tired when he said it. Not cruel. Just done.
The silence was loud.
"The Academic Association file access," he said at last. "You mentioned it weeks ago, offhand."
I frowned. "What about it?"
"I made a note of it." He wasn't looking at me. "I didn't use it, but I filed it. The same way I file defensive formations. The same way I file everything that could be relevant."
The silence felt different now.
"Relevant to what?" My voice was careful.
"To keep myself safe." He finally looked at me. "You were a risk, Sav. From the night you overheard that call, you were a risk. I kept you close because contained was safer than distant. That's where it started."
I was very still. "And where did it end up?"
He didn't answer.
"You kept me close—" I started.
"I kept you close, then I realized I liked you, and by the time I knew the difference, it was too late to explain the beginning without it sounding like what it was."
"What was it?"
He held my gaze. "Damage control.” He licked his lower lip. “That then became something else."