Chapter 14 Chloe
Chloe
After class, I can’t focus on anything but the echo of Miles’s voice, that smug tilt when he called me a puck bunny.
I can’t believe I slapped him. It should make me feel triumphant.
It doesn’t. It sits heavy instead—this dull, sinking guilt under my ribs that won’t move no matter how many times I tell myself he deserved it.
I should be heading to the library, maybe look for Jamie, maybe try to make sense of what’s happening between us—whatever this is—but before I can even pull my phone out, I hear the unmistakable sound of Bella before I see her.
“Chloe, babe!”
She’s in oversized sunglasses that eat half her face, a messy bun barely holding itself together, and red lipstick so bright it could double as a warning sign. Her voice is slightly raspy, which only confirms what her outfit and the dark circles under her eyes already say: hangover.
“Oh my God, I’m dying,” she groans, looping her arm through mine. “Do not ever let me drink that much again. I swear I could feel the tequila in my eyeballs this morning.”
I laugh despite myself, the sound small but real. “Rough night?”
“The roughest,” she says dramatically. “After the streaking, I came back and couldn’t find you anywhere. I thought maybe you got kidnapped or something.”
I try not to flinch at her choice of words.
Crap. I can’t exactly tell her I ditched the chaos to get kissed breathless by Jamie and then watched Miles deck someone. “Yeah, I, uh… got a headache and tried to find you before I left.”
Bella blinks behind her shades, then shrugs. “Fair. It was madness out there. Anyway!” She stops suddenly in front of the Student Center steps, whipping her sunglasses off with a little flourish. Her lipstick gleams in the sun when she grins at me. “I come bearing excellent news.”
“Oh no,” I say automatically. “That smile is dangerous.”
“Shut up and let me talk.” She bounces a little, clearly thrilled with herself. “So, Maggie, me, and Brielle”—she waves a perfectly manicured hand— “the captains, remember? We had a little meeting this morning. And we’ve decided…”
My heart actually picks up. “Decided what?”
“That you’re in,” she says.
“In what?”
“On the cheer team, duh!”
For a second, I think I misheard her. “What?”
“Officially, like… part of us.” She does a little spin, sunglasses still in her hand. “Congrats, babe. You’re a Delta Phi cheerleader.”
It takes a beat to sink in. I blink at her, the corners of my mouth twitching up despite everything. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious. I mean, you’re technically still a pledge—don’t go stealing pom-poms yet—but we need you.”
She must see the disbelief still written on my face because she leans in, lowering her voice. “Someone brought spiked punch to the after-party last night.”
I blink. “Okay?”
“And half the cheer team is dead today,” she adds. “Like, not literal dead but close enough. Food poisoning, hangovers, someone may have thrown up in the communal shower. It’s been chaos.”
I wince. “Yikes.”
She snorts. “Right? I got lucky I was already passed out before it hit. But Maggie’s still sick, and Brielle’s voice is practically gone, so guess who’s up?”
“Me?”
“You.” She looks entirely too pleased with herself. “You’re the only pledge who’s ever been a cheerleader. You already know the basics, and we have a game in two days. You’ll be fine.”
I should probably hesitate, but the truth is I need this. I need something to throw myself into, something that isn’t tangled up in Miles’s anger or Jamie’s kisses or the way my own head keeps spinning in circles.
“Of course,” I say, smiling despite the nerves fluttering in my stomach. “I’d be happy to.”
“Good girl,” she says, squeezing my arm. “Oh, and one more thing—you’ll be staying at the Delta house until the game. We’ve got a spare room you can crash in since practice will basically be all day, every day until then. Think of it as an initiation perk.”
My grin widens. “You’re serious?”
She nods, already fishing her phone from her tiny purse. “Welcome to hell week, sweetheart.”
Thirty minutes later, I’m regretting every single syllable of, “Of course, I’d be happy to.”
The cheer gym smells like a mix of rubber mats, perfume, and exhaustion.
Bright overhead lights make the whole space feel twice as hot as it should, and my borrowed uniform feels painted on.
It’s navy blue with a gold stripe down the sides and a short pleated skirt that’s definitely meant for someone with fewer curves.
“This belonged to Marissa,” Bella says, handing me the top earlier. “She transferred, and she was tiny, but you’ll make it work.”
Tiny is right. The top barely stretches over my chest, and the hem of the skirt keeps riding up every time I breathe. I’m showing at least an inch more leg than everyone else, which earns me more than a few raised eyebrows and smirks from the other girls.
Brielle—captain number three—claps her hands to get everyone’s attention. She looks tired but chipper, the kind of girl who’s powered by pure caffeine and ambition. “Alright, ladies! Let’s run it from the top.”
I copy the others, falling into formation. The mirrors stretch across one entire wall and watching myself move in sync with them is weirdly thrilling. I almost feel like I belong here.
“Five, six, seven, eight!” Brielle counts, voice hoarse but commanding.
We hit the first moves—high V, sharp turn, clap, kick—and I’m instantly reminded that yoga flexibility and cheer stamina are not the same thing. My thighs are already burning, and I can feel sweat trickling down the back of my neck.
Bella glances over mid-routine, grinning like a devil. “You’re doing great!”
“I’m dying,” I whisper.
She laughs and spins back into the formation like it’s nothing. The rest of the team follows effortlessly, nailing each motion with muscle memory that’s clearly been drilled in for weeks. I, meanwhile, am half a beat late on every turn, my arms not as crisp, my jumps not as high.
“Loosen your shoulders,” Brielle calls, clapping as we land a pyramid transition. “You’re too stiff, Chloe!”
I exhale a laugh between breaths. “You think?”
But I adjust, shaking out my arms and trying again. This time I hit the timing—barely—and when Bella turns to wink at me during the final pose, I can’t help but grin.
We run it again. And again. And again.
By the fifth round, I’m sure my legs have turned into spaghetti. My ponytail’s a disaster, my makeup is smudged, and the too-tight top feels like it’s fused to my ribs. Every inhale burns. Every exhale sounds like a small prayer.
“Okay, break!” Brielle finally yells, and I swear I could cry with relief.
Bella collapses beside me on the mat, fanning herself with her hand. “See? Not so bad.”
I drop onto my back, panting. “Not so bad?” I mock.
“Comes with the job.” She laughs, leaning over to nudge me. “You’ll get used to it. You actually have good form, you just need stamina.”
“Yeah, well, thank God for yoga,” I mumble. “Or I’d be dead by now.”
Bella laughs harder, the sound echoing across the gym. “By the way, Jamie’s going to love seeing you in that uniform.”
My head jerks toward her. “What?”
She smirks knowingly. “Oh, don’t play dumb. Word travels fast around here.”
My face heats immediately, and I busy myself adjusting my skirt. “We’re just… friends.”
“Sure,” she says, drawling the word out until it loses all meaning. “Just friends.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. Maybe it’s the endorphins, maybe it’s the exhaustion, but the ache in my chest feels lighter.
Practice picks up again, and this time I throw myself into it. I mess up the formation once, nearly trip over another girl’s pom, but by the last routine I can almost keep up. When the final song cuts out, Brielle claps and shouts, “Better! That’s what I’m talking about!”
I grin, out of breath, heart pounding in the best way.
As we file out, Bella links her arm through mine again. “Told you you’d survive. Welcome to the team, baby cheer.”
The sun sits low over the field, pale and stretched, the light golden and lazy in that almost-fall kind of way.
I wave as we part ways.
My shoes make dull scuffing sounds against the grass as I walk, counting my steps just to keep my mind from spinning too far ahead.
I keep replaying the list in my head—duffel bag, two boxes, the tote with all my shoes, my pillow—and it’s ridiculous how much I can fit into that tiny dorm room.
But the move to the sorority house feels heavier than the physical stuff.
Like I’m packing up a version of myself I’m not sure I want to let go off just yet. I literally just got it.
The wind picks up, brushing hair across my face, and that’s when my phone vibrates in my hand. I almost ignore it—probably another group text from the girls about decor or room assignments—but then I see the name.
Caldwell & Associates.
My stomach tightens before I even open it.
Miss Ashford,
Your father has been granted temporary calling rights. He will reach out to you at 7 p.m. this evening. Please be available to receive the call.
For a moment I just stand there in the middle of the field, my sneakers pressed into damp grass, the rest of the world blurring at the edges.
I read the message again, then again, until the words blur.
My throat goes dry. He’s calling. After all this time—so much silence, pretending that part of my life is sealed off—he’s actually calling.
I don’t realize I’ve stopped walking until someone collides with me hard enough to jolt my phone out of my grip.
“Whoa—watch it, peeping tom,” a voice says, deep, teasing, unmistakably familiar.
I blink up, disoriented, and the breath catches in my throat. Blue eyes. The same ones that looked into mine yesterday, as he thrusted inside me.
Jamie.
He’s in his hockey gear—pads, jersey, gloves half off—and somehow he still manages to look like sin wrapped in ice and laughter.
“Oh my god, sorry,” I say, crouching to grab my phone.
He grins. “It’s all good.”