Chapter 26 #2
"But it started as damage control."
"Yes."
A chill settled in my chest. I thought about my father's office. About what he'd asked me to do. About the word spy and how clean it had sounded compared to what Dante had just described, which was the same room, just with different furniture.
I swiped at the heat on my cheeks, fury rising to drown the ache. “This is exactly why I shouldn’t have slept with you,” I whispered, the words rushing out as if they’d been caged inside me for too long. “My life is complicated enough without adding you to it. Being near you is already too much.”
For a second, his face went still, the words sinking in. Then his jaw ticked, and something shuttered behind his eyes.
“Good,” Dante said, each syllable clipped and sharp. “Because I don’t make a habit of fucking snakes.”
The air left my lungs like he’d punched me.
But there was no gloating in his stare, no triumph. Just that cold, practiced mask — the one I was starting to realize he wore not for the cameras, but to survive.
He turned away from me, and then he was gone, the door closing behind him with a quiet finality that hurt worse than if he’d slammed it.
I stood there, every muscle trembling, until the silence pressed too heavily against my chest. My knees buckled, and I grabbed the edge of the workbench, hands clutching at the wood to keep myself upright.
A broken sound tore from my throat before I could stop it. Hot tears spilled down my face, silent at first, then shaking, choking sobs that left me gasping.
The room blurred, the walls closing in, and still I couldn’t seem to catch my breath.
I’d been so sure, so god damn sure he knew about the program. I hadn’t even given him the benefit of the doubt. I’d had that conversation with the Academics Association, and I’d just jumped right in with both feet. The only person whose involvement I hadn’t doubted was my dad.
My freaking dad, who was the reason I was so god damn miserable in the first place. Not Dante, who had been more honest with me than I had with him.
I hadn’t trusted Dante’s integrity. At all. But why? Because of one overheard phone call and the fact that he was hiding a prescription bottle that wasn’t his? Had I really allowed my father’s prejudice that football players were bad news to push me to make such a colossal mistake?
I’d made such a mess. I needed to stop crying, but I couldn’t; they just kept coming anyway.
I knew I was falling for him — and I knew I had just broken his trust, and I didn’t know how to fix it. But he’d been playing me too.
Which was worst?
Now I didn’t know what to believe.
I just knew I couldn’t stay in the shed. These walls were my refuge. My secret. Only tonight, it felt like even this place was broken open.
I looked around the place, and it was a mess. My gloves, I’d thrown down when he came in, when I was so full of righteous anger. I snorted in contempt at myself.
I saw the betrayal in his eyes. The anger he didn’t hide in his voice — low, rough, cruel. Snakes.
The mess around me was easier to face than the mess inside me.
I needed to do something with my hands, but I didn’t trust myself to touch my sculpture.
I started cleaning — stacking shards of glass into neat piles, sweeping iron filings into the trash, coiling wires into circles tight enough to hurt my palms. If I could put the chaos back into order, maybe I could stop shaking.
By the time I finally locked the shed, my face was wet, my hair damp with sweat and tears. I walked back across campus under the weak glow of the streetlights, hugging myself against the cold.
All I wanted was my bed, to curl up, shut out the world, and let the ache swallow me whole.
My phone rang, and I dug for it in my bag in desperation, hoping it was him.
It wasn’t. It wasn’t even my dad.
It was worse.
I answered with nothing left to lose. “Mother.”
“Savannah, your father called me. He’s very upset.”
“So he thought you’d offer me comfort? Jesus, he really is delusional,” I scoffed.
“I see.” Did she just sigh? “He said you were being difficult, but as usual, Maxwell likes to sugarcoat things, and instead, you’re just being childish.” Her sniff was as dismissive as her parenting skills.
“You done?”
“Savannah, I’m very busy. I took time out of my surgery schedule to talk to you. You could at least pretend to listen.”
“I’m the only person in our family who isn’t a fluent liar, Mother. So, I’ll make this easy for you: go back to your surgery or whatever colleague’s bed you crawled out of, I have nothing to say to you.”
“Your father and I have an open relationship, Savannah. You’re old enough to understand that—”
“No,” I cut in. “I understand you’re a cheating bitch, and Dad is married to your job title. You both need therapy. Or better yet, a divorce.”
I hung up.
My dad had called her to talk to me? Yes, hanging up on your parents was childish, and I was sure she would come off that call believing she’d wasted her time, and not give a damn I’d called her names. Because she only heard what she wanted to hear.
Dad caught her having an affair years ago. He asked her to stop. She said no. He asked her if she could be discreet. She said yes. Somehow, they’d negotiated that into something they both called a marriage. I’d stopped trying to understand it.
To me, one was just as bad as the other.
No wonder I ran from relationships.
I stopped walking.
“Shit.” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “I’m an idiot.” I started walking with more purpose to my dorm. Wild hope rose within me. I wanted to turn around and run to Dante’s and tell him that my parents were dysfunctional, selfish monsters, so of course, I was going to be a screw-up.
But he wouldn’t be ready to hear that. He was too angry. I knew it. I’d known him such a short time, but I knew him.
I needed to get him back. Or at the very least, listen to me.
Dante Spence liked me. I was sure of it. He hadn’t been shy about his attraction. He didn’t sleep around. I’d done more than academic research on him after the first night I met him; I’d stalked his socials.
Dante had one girlfriend in years. They broke up months ago.
There were no images on social media of a man on the rebound or sleeping around.
His image was clean. So I’d asked around.
Bev, my roommate, knew campus gossip. Dante wasn’t a topic of it, unless it was how good he was on the field, not that he was a player off it.
Dante was talented and had an ego because of it, and he’d earned it.
But he was also possessive. He’d come to the shed tonight because I’d told Noah to call me Savvy.
He hadn’t liked that. He respected the boundaries I’d set, but he bristled when someone else got something he didn’t.
I’d given Noah something Dante didn’t have.
So, how do I win back my quarterback? Simple.
Make him jealous.