Chapter 14
Eloise
Confidence was a drug. And for the first time in my life, I was overdosing.
"Nice extension, Vance," Coach Sasha barked, clapping her hands once—the highest form of praise she offered. "Keep that landing soft. Don't let the judges hear the blades."
I glided to the center of the rink, my chest heaving, sweat dripping down my back. But I wasn't tired. I felt electric.
Nationals were ten days away.
Usually, this was the point in the training cycle where I unraveled. The insomnia would kick in. I would stop eating. I would visualize falling so vividly I’d wake up shaking.
But this time? I was sleeping like a baby. (Mostly because I was sleeping in a bed that smelled of cedar and Jack). I was eating like a linebacker. (Jack insisted on "fueling the engine"). And when I closed my eyes, I didn't see falling. I saw gold eyes watching me from the dark.
"You’re glowing," Cami said, leaning over the boards as I skated over for water. "It’s disgusting. You look like a Disney princess who just discovered that birds can do housework."
"It’s called endorphins, Cami," I said, squirting water into my mouth. "Exercise. You should try it."
"I exercise," she scoffed, checking her nails. "I walked all the way from the sorority house to here to tell you that you have a package at the mailroom. Big box. No return address."
I froze. My bottle paused halfway to my mouth.
"No return address?"
"Nope. Just your name. 'Eloise Vance, Ice Princess.' Kinda creepy, actually."
A shiver went down my spine that had nothing to do with the rink temperature. Rurik?
"Did you... did you touch it?" I asked.
"I tried to shake it," Cami shrugged. "It’s heavy. Probably fan mail. Or a bomb. Either way, you should open it."
"Right. Thanks."
I finished practice with a renewed intensity, landing my double axel-triple toe loop combination with a violence that made Sasha raise an eyebrow.
But my mind wasn't on the ice. It was on the box. And on Jack.
We had been careful. So careful. We hadn't been seen together in public since the pizza night. We texted in code. We met in secret.
But happiness made you sloppy.
Case in point: Yesterday, in the library, I had dropped my pen.
Jack, who was sitting three tables away "studying" (staring at me), had picked it up.
When he handed it back, his fingers had brushed mine.
Just for a second. But we had both frozen, staring at each other with such naked hunger that a passing librarian had actually coughed to break the tension.
We’re invincible, I told myself, skating a final cooldown lap. We’re smarter than them. We’re faster.
I was wrong.
The Student Union was packed. Lunch rush.
I grabbed a salad and scanned the room.
Jack was there. Sitting at the "Hockey Table" in the center of the room—the throne room of the Ironwood social hierarchy. He was laughing at something Silas said, leaning back in his chair, looking relaxed and devastatingly handsome in a grey hoodie.
He didn't look at me. He kept his eyes strictly on his teammates. Good boy.
I walked toward the far corner where Cami was waving.
As I passed the hockey table, I felt it. The magnetic pull. The desire to just reach out and run my hand over his shoulder.
I resisted. I kept walking.
But then...
"Oops!"
Miller—the freshman defenseman—stood up abruptly, backing his chair right into my path.
I stumbled, my tray tilting. My salad slid dangerously close to the edge.
A hand shot out and steadied the tray.
Jack.
He had moved so fast it was a blur. One second he was seated; the next he was beside me, his hand stabilizing my lunch.
"Easy there," he murmured.
For a split second, we were close. Too close. I could smell him—that cedar scent that was now my favorite smell on earth. I looked up. His eyes were warm, amused.
"Thanks," I breathed.
"Watch where you’re going, Miller," Jack snapped at the freshman, his voice dropping into that command tone.
"Sorry, Cap. Sorry, Eloise," Miller mumbled, sitting back down.
Jack let go of my tray. His fingers lingered on the plastic for a fraction of a second too long. A caress disguised as a grip.
"You okay?" he asked softly, for my ears only.
"Fine," I whispered. "Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you want to eat me."
He smirked. "I always want to eat you."
My face flamed. I quickly walked away, heart hammering.
I sat down next to Cami, my hands shaking.
"Smooth," Cami commented, stabbing a cherry tomato. "Very 'meet cute.' If this was a movie, that would be the moment the music swelled."
"He just helped me with my tray," I dismissed, opening my salad.
"Uh-huh. And he looked at you like you were the last water bottle in the desert."
"He looked at me like a clumsy person he didn't want spilling dressing on his shoes."
"Eloise," Cami lowered her voice, leaning in. "People are talking. You know that, right?"
"Talking about what?"
"About how you’re different. About how Sterling is different. He’s... happier. Less murdery. And you’re... looser. Less icy."
"Coincidence," I said sharply. "We’re both having good seasons. Success breeds happiness."
"Right," Cami said, not convinced. "Just... be careful. Brad the Linebacker is still salty about the pizza incident. He’s been telling people he saw Sterling’s truck parked near the woods on Sunday night. The same night you were 'asleep' in the library."
My blood ran cold.
"Brad is an idiot," I said, forcing a bite of lettuce into my mouth. It tasted like cardboard.
"He is," Cami agreed. "But idiots with grudges are dangerous. Just watch your back."
After lunch, I went to the mailroom.
The package was there. A plain brown cardboard box, taped shut. No return address. Just Eloise Vance written in sharpie.
I picked it up. It was heavy.
I carried it back to my dorm, my stomach twisting with anxiety.
I locked the door. I put the box on my desk. I grabbed a pair of scissors.
I sliced the tape.
I opened the flaps.
Inside was... a pair of skates.
Not just any skates. My old skates. The ones I had thrown away when I was ten. The tiny, scuffed white boots with the pink laces.
My heart stopped.
I reached in and pulled them out. They smelled of mildew and old leather.
There was a note tucked inside one of the boots.
I unfolded it with trembling fingers.
Found these in storage. Thought you might need a reminder of where you came from. Don't disappoint me again.
- M
M. Mother.
The air left the room.
She was watching. She knew.
My mother—the ghost who had haunted me for eleven years—had sent me my failure. A reminder of the day I quit. A warning.
Don't disappoint me again.
I dropped the note like it was burning. I stumbled back until I hit my bed, sliding down to the floor.
Panic, cold and suffocating, clawed at my throat.
She was coming back. Or she was already here. Watching. Judging.
I needed Jack.
I grabbed my phone.
Me: Need you. Now.
Wolf: Practice. Can't leave. What’s wrong?
Me: Just need you. Please.
Wolf: Meet me at the tension spot. 30 mins.
The Tension Spot. The library stacks.
I grabbed my coat. I left the box on the desk, the tiny skates staring at me like accusations.
The library was quiet. The afternoon sun slanted through the stained glass, casting pools of red and blue light on the floor.
I went to the back corner of the stacks, the dead zone where the cameras didn't reach.
Jack was already there.
He was leaning against a shelf of dusty encyclopedias, looking frantic. He was still in his practice gear—sweatpants and a t-shirt, a towel around his neck. He must have sprinted here.
"Eloise," he breathed when he saw me. He pulled me into his arms immediately.
I buried my face in his chest, inhaling the sweat and cedar.
"What happened?" he asked, rubbing my back. "Are you hurt? Did Rurik—"
"My mother," I whispered. "She sent me a package. My old skates."
Jack went still. "Your mother? The one in Europe?"
"She’s watching," I sobbed. "She knows about Nationals. She knows I’m skating well. She sent a note. 'Don't disappoint me.'"
"Fuck," Jack hissed. "That’s... that’s psychological warfare."
"It worked," I admitted, trembling. "I’m terrified, Jack. If I fail... if I fall... she’ll be right again. She’ll leave again."
"She can't leave if she’s not here," Jack said firmly. He pulled back, gripping my shoulders. "Listen to me. She has no power over you. You are not ten years old. You are the strongest person I know."
"I don't feel strong," I whispered. "I feel like a fraud."
"You’re not a fraud," he said, shaking me gently. "You are Eloise Vance. You belong to yourself. And you belong to me."
He kissed me. Hard. Desperate.
I clung to him, needing his strength. Needing to forget the box on my desk.
We kissed for a long time, hidden in the shadows of the books. His hands roamed over my back, grounding me. My hands tangled in his damp hair.
"I love you," I whispered against his lips. "Don't let me go."
"Never," he swore.
"Ahem."
The sound was like a gunshot.
We sprang apart, turning toward the end of the aisle.
Standing there, holding a stack of books, was Miller.
The freshman. The one Jack had threatened.
His eyes were wide. His mouth hung open.
He looked from me to Jack. From Jack’s hand on my waist to my flushed face.
"Miller," Jack said, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl. He stepped in front of me, shielding me.
"I... I was just looking for a book," Miller stammered, backing away. "Bio-chem."
"You saw nothing," Jack commanded, his eyes flashing—just a hint of gold. "Understand? You saw nothing."
"Yeah. Yeah, Cap. Nothing," Miller said, turning pale. "I swear."
He turned and ran. We heard his footsteps echoing as he sprinted away.
Jack let out a breath, running a hand through his hair.
"Fuck."
"He saw us," I whispered, panic rising again. "Jack, he saw us kissing."
"He won't talk," Jack said, though he didn't sound convinced. "He’s terrified of me. He knows the pack rules."
"He’s a freshman," I argued. "He talks to everyone. And he’s friends with Brad."
"I’ll handle Miller," Jack said, turning to me. "I’ll talk to him at practice. I’ll make sure he understands the consequences."
"What if he tells my dad?"
"He doesn't know your dad," Jack reasoned. "He’s just a kid. He’ll keep his mouth shut."
He pulled me back into a hug, but the comfort was gone. The air felt thin.
"It’s okay," Jack soothed, kissing the top of my head. "We’re okay. Just... go back to your dorm. Hide the box. Focus on skating. I’ll deal with the leak."
"Okay," I nodded against his chest.
But as I walked away, leaving him in the shadows, I couldn't shake the feeling that the leak had already sprung. And we were taking on water fast.
Jack
I found Miller in the locker room an hour later.
The room was empty. Practice was over. Everyone had gone to the showers. Miller was sitting at his stall, unlacing his skates, looking nervous.
I walked up to him. I didn't say a word. I just stood there, letting my shadow fall over him.
He looked up. He flinched.
"Cap," he squeaked.
"We need to talk," I said softly.
"About the library?" Miller swallowed. "Look, Jack, I swear I won't say anything. It’s cool. You and the Dean’s daughter. That’s... that’s awesome, actually. Power couple."
"It’s not awesome," I said, leaning down so our faces were level. "It’s dangerous. For her. If people find out... if her father finds out... she gets hurt. Do you understand?"
"Yeah," Miller nodded frantically. "I get it. Secret. Vault."
"If I hear a whisper, Miller," I let a little bit of the Wolf into my voice. A growl. "If I hear my name and her name in the same sentence... you’re off the team. And that will be the least of your problems."
"I won't say a word," Miller promised, eyes wide.
I stared at him for a long moment, reading his scent. He smelled of fear (acrid sweat) and honesty (clean ozone).
He was telling the truth. He wouldn't talk.
"Good," I said, standing up. "See you tomorrow."
I walked away, feeling a wave of relief. Crisis averted.
I went to my stall and started stripping off my gear.
I grabbed my phone to text Eloise.
Wolf: Handled. The vault is locked. Relax.
I hit send.
Then I saw it.
My phone had a notification from Instagram. I rarely checked it, but the red dot was staring at me.
I opened the app.
I had been tagged in a photo.
It wasn't posted by Miller. It was posted by a gossip account called "IronwoodConfessions."
The photo was grainy. Taken from a distance. Probably with a zoom lens.
It showed two people in the back of a library stack. One was clearly me—my grey hoodie, my profile. The other was a blonde girl. I was holding her face. We were kissing.
The caption read:
Spotted: The Wolf and the Princess getting cozy in the non-fiction section. Guess opposites really do attract. Does Daddy Dean know? #IronwoodScandal #OffLimits
My blood turned to ice.
It wasn't Miller.
Someone else had been there. Someone else had seen us.
And now, everyone knew.
I stared at the screen, the number of likes ticking up every second.
10 likes... 50 likes... 200 likes...
Comments were flooding in.
Is that Sterling?
Who is she?
That’s Vance! OMG.
He’s dead meat.
I dropped the phone on the bench.
I didn't think about my scholarship. I didn't think about the team.
I thought about Eloise. Alone in her dorm room. With her mother’s skates and her father’s wrath about to descend on her.
I grabbed my keys. I ran.
But even as I sprinted toward the door, I knew I was too late. The secret was out. The bomb had detonated.
Now, we just had to survive the blast.