Chapter 15
Eloise
We were untouchable.
That was the only word for it.
The week following the library scare had been... miraculously quiet. Miller had kept his mouth shut. The team was focused. My father was busy with a donor summit in Chicago.
And Jack and I? We were thriving.
"Hold still," Jack murmured, his breath warm against the back of my neck.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my dorm room, trying not to giggle as Jack attempted to braid my hair. His hands—large, calloused, scarred from a thousand hockey fights—were moving with surprising, intense concentration through my platinum strands.
"You’re pulling," I teased, watching his reflection. He had his tongue poked into the corner of his cheek, brow furrowed as if he were disarming a bomb.
"I’m weaving," he corrected. "It’s a tactical braid. Aerodynamic."
"It’s crooked."
"It’s rustic."
He tied off the end with a small elastic and stepped back, admiring his handwork. It was, objectively, a terrible braid. Lumpy on the left, too tight on the right.
"Perfect," he declared, resting his chin on my shoulder, wrapping his arms around my waist. "You look like a Viking queen."
"I look like I slept in a bush," I laughed, leaning back into him.
I looked at us in the mirror.
Me: Small, blonde, wearing one of his grey t-shirts as a dress.
Him: Massive, dark-haired, shirtless in sweatpants, looming over me like a shadow.
We didn't make sense. The Dean’s daughter and the Wolf. The figure skater and the enforcer.
But looking at his eyes in the reflection—that warm, muddy brown that only I got to see—I knew we made perfect sense.
"I have to go to the rink," I sighed, though I made no move to leave his arms. "Sasha wants to run the long program twice. Nationals is in three days."
"Three days," Jack repeated, his arms tightening. "And then?"
"And then... I win," I said, trying to summon the confidence. "Hopefully."
"You will," he kissed my neck. "And after you win? What then?"
I turned in his arms to face him. I looped my arms around his neck.
"Then we figure it out," I whispered. "Summer break. Maybe we go to that cabin. Maybe we get that dog."
"I saw a listing," he said casually, but his eyes were intense. "For an apartment. Off-campus. Top floor. Has a fireplace."
My heart skipped a beat. "You looked at apartments?"
"For next year," he shrugged, looking suddenly shy. "I graduate. You’re a senior. I can't live in the Hive forever. The smell of axe body spray is killing my brain cells."
He paused, searching my face.
"It has two bedrooms. But we could... condense."
"Condense," I smiled. "I like that word."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I think condensing is a very sound logistical strategy."
He grinned—a blinding, boyish grin that made my knees weak. He lifted me up, spinning me around once before setting me down on the edge of my bed.
"I love you, Eloise," he said.
He said it easily now. It wasn't a confession anymore; it was a fact. Like the sky is blue. Like ice is cold. Jack loves Eloise.
"I love you too," I said, pulling him down for a kiss.
It was sweet. Slow. Full of promise.
"Go to the rink," he whispered against my lips. "Win Gold. Then come home to me."
"Okay."
I grabbed my bag. I kissed him one last time.
I walked out of the dorm feeling lighter than air. I had a plan. I had a future. I had him.
Nothing could touch me.
The rink was freezing, but I was on fire.
"Yes!" Sasha shouted, slamming her hand on the boards as I landed my final jump—a triple salchow-double toe loop combination. "That is it! That is the Gold Medal skate!"
I skated to the center, breathing hard, my chest heaving with exertion and exhilaration.
I had done it. Clean program. No falls. No wobbles.
"Again?" I panted, skating over to her.
"No," Sasha shook her head, actually smiling. "Save the legs. You are ready. Go home. Eat pasta. Sleep."
"Thanks, Coach."
I skated off the ice. I sat on the bench, unlacing my skates. My hands were shaking, but it was happy shaking.
I pulled out my phone to text Jack.
Me: Crushed it. Sasha smiled. It was terrifying.
Me: * coming over? I have leftover pizza.*
I hit send.
I waited.
No reply.
Usually, Jack texted back instantly. He was obsessed with his phone when we were apart.
I frowned. Maybe he was in the shower. Or practice ran late.
I finished changing. I walked out of the arena.
The winter sun was setting, casting long purple shadows across the snow. It was beautiful.
I walked toward the Hive. It was a twenty-minute walk, but I wanted the air.
My phone buzzed.
I grabbed it eagerly.
It wasn't Jack.
It was Cami.
Cami: Eloise. Where are you?
Cami: Don't look at Instagram.
Cami: Call me. NOW.
My stomach dropped. The warm glow of the afternoon vanished, replaced by a cold, prickling dread.
Don't look at Instagram.
That was the modern equivalent of "Don't look in the basement."
I stopped on the sidewalk. My fingers hovered over the app.
I shouldn't look. I should call Cami.
But I couldn't help it.
I opened Instagram.
The first post on my feed was from IronwoodConfessions.
It was a carousel. Three photos.
Photo 1: A grainy shot of Jack and me in his truck. We were parked outside The Slice. He was leaning across the console. Kissing me. My hand was in his hair. His hand was on my breast. It was intimate. undeniable.
Photo 2: A shot of me walking out of the Hive at dawn. I was wearing the same clothes I’d worn the night before. My hair was messy. I looked... thoroughly ravished.
Photo 3: A close-up of Jack’s neck from a game photo. A bruise. A hickey. And next to it, a zoomed-in shot of my neck from practice. The matching bruise.
The caption:
The Wolf found his Red Riding Hood. Turns out the Ice Princess likes it rough. Dean Vance must be SO proud. #Scandal #ScholarshipKiller #SecretLove
I stared at the screen. The world tilted on its axis.
The photos were real. They were intrusive. They were damning.
I scrolled down to the comments.
OMG.
She’s ruined.
His scholarship is gone.
Vance is going to kill him.
My phone buzzed again.
Daddy (Incoming Call)
I stared at the name. The phone vibrated in my hand like a live grenade.
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
I started running.
Not to my dorm. Not to Cami.
To the Hive. To Jack.
I burst through the front door of the hockey house.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
Usually, music was playing. Guys were shouting.
Today, there was a heavy, suffocating silence.
I ran up the stairs.
The door to Jack’s room was open.
"Jack?" I called out, breathless.
I walked in.
He wasn't there.
The room was tossed. Drawers open. Clothes on the floor. His hockey bag was gone.
Panic clawed at my throat.
"He’s not here."
I spun around.
Silas was standing in the doorway. He looked grim. He wasn't smiling.
"Where is he?" I demanded. "Silas, where did he go?"
"Coach called him," Silas said, his voice flat. "About an hour ago. Showed him the photos. Told him Dean Vance was on his way to the Athletic Director’s office to pull the funding."
"Oh god," I whispered, covering my mouth.
"Jack grabbed his gear," Silas continued. "He said he had to fix it."
"Fix it how?"
"He went to the Dean’s office," Silas said. "He went to surrender."
"Surrender?"
"He’s going to quit, Eloise," Silas said, stepping into the room. "He’s going to take the fall. He’s going to tell them he forced you. Or he tricked you. He’s going to get himself expelled to save your reputation and the team’s funding."
"No," I gasped. "He can't do that. That’s suicide."
"He loves you," Silas said simply. "That’s what wolves do. They protect the mate. At any cost."
I didn't wait to hear more.
I turned and ran.
I ran out of the Hive. I ran across the snowy quad. My lungs burned. My legs screamed.
Don't do it, Jack. Don't be the hero.
I reached the Administration Building. It loomed dark and imposing against the twilight sky.
I sprinted up the steps. I pushed through the heavy doors.
The lobby was empty, but I heard voices from the Dean’s office down the hall. Shouting.
I ran toward the sound.
"You are a disgrace to this university!" My father’s voice. Booming. Furious.
"I don't care about the university!" Jack’s voice. Low. Dangerous. A growl.
I reached the door. It was slightly ajar.
I pushed it open.
The scene inside froze me in place.
My father was standing behind his desk, red-faced, pointing a finger.
Coach Miller was standing by the window, looking defeated.
And Jack...
Jack was standing in the middle of the room. He was vibrating with rage. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides.
And his eyes...
His eyes were glowing. Bright, molten gold.
He wasn't hiding it. He was too angry. The Wolf was surface-level.
"Jack!" I screamed.
He spun around.
When he saw me, the gold flickered. Fear replaced the rage.
"Eloise," he rasped. "Get out."
"No," I said, stepping into the room. "I’m not leaving."
"Miss Vance," Coach Miller said urgently. "You shouldn't be here."
"Eloise, leave us," my father commanded. "I am dealing with this... animal."
"He’s not an animal!" I shouted, moving to stand beside Jack. I took his hand. It was burning hot. Trembling.
"Look at him!" My father pointed. "Look at his eyes! He’s on drugs! Or he’s psychotic! I knew he was dangerous. I knew it!"
"He’s not on drugs," I said, squeezing Jack’s hand. "He’s protecting me."
"Protecting you?" My father laughed harshly. "He ruined you! Those photos are all over the internet. You are the laughing stock of the conference! The Olympic committee will never look at you now. You’re tainted!"
"I don't care," I said. "I love him."
The silence that followed was deafening.
My father stared at me. His mouth worked, but no sound came out.
Jack looked down at me. His eyes were wide, the gold swirling with brown.
"You love him?" My father whispered. "You love this... thug? This scholarship charity case who can't even control his own temper?"
"Yes," I said. "I love him. And if you expel him, I leave too. I quit skating. I transfer. You lose your legacy. You lose your Gold Medal."
It was the only card I had. The nuclear option.
My father looked at me. He looked at Jack.
His face hardened into a mask of cold, calculated cruelty.
"You think you have leverage, Eloise?" he asked softly. "You think you can threaten me?"
He picked up a file from his desk. He threw it at Jack’s feet.
"Open it," he commanded Jack.
Jack hesitated. He let go of my hand and picked up the file.
He opened it.
I watched his face.
The color drained from his skin. The gold in his eyes vanished, replaced by a dull, horrified brown.
"What is it?" I asked, stepping closer. "Jack?"
He looked at me. He looked sick.
"It’s... it’s my dad’s medical records," Jack whispered. "From the pack hospital."
"Your father," the Dean sneered, "is receiving experimental treatment for his... condition. Treatment funded by a anonymous donor grant."
Jack looked at the Dean. "You?"
"Me," the Dean smiled thinly. "I control the grant allocation. I can approve it for another year. Or... I can revoke it. Tomorrow."
Jack dropped the file.
"If I revoke it," the Dean continued, "your father is kicked out of the program. He loses his care. He... degrades. Painfully."
"No," Jack whispered.
"You bastard," I hissed at my father. "You can't do that. That’s blackmail!"
"It’s leverage," my father corrected. "And here is the deal."
He walked around the desk.
"You break up with her," he said to Jack. "Tonight. Publicly. You tell everyone it was a fling. A mistake. You tell them she meant nothing to you."
He turned to me.
"And you," he pointed. "You focus on Nationals. You win Gold. You restore this family’s reputation."
"If you do that," the Dean looked back at Jack, "I keep the grant. Your father lives. You keep your scholarship. You graduate."
"And if we refuse?" Jack asked, his voice shaking.
"Then I pull the funding tomorrow morning," the Dean said simply. "Your father dies. You get expelled. And I make sure Eloise never skates competitively again."
The room spun.
I looked at Jack.
He was staring at the floor. He looked broken.
"Jack," I whispered. "Don't listen to him. We can figure it out. We can—"
"No," Jack said.
He looked up. His eyes were dead. The fire was gone.
"We can't."
He turned to me.
"Jack?" I reached for him.
He stepped back. He flinched away from my touch.
"I can't let him die, Eloise," he whispered. "He’s my dad. He’s the Alpha."
"I know," I sobbed. "I know. But we can fight him! We can expose him!"
"He wins," Jack said dully. "He always wins."
He looked at the Dean.
"I accept," Jack said.
"Jack, no!" I screamed.
"I accept the terms," Jack repeated, his voice stronger now. Cold. "I leave her alone. You keep the funding."
"Smart boy," the Dean smiled.
Jack turned to me one last time.
"It’s over, Eloise," he said. The words were flat. monotone. "Go win your medal. Forget about me."
"You don't mean that," I pleaded, grabbing his hoodie. "Tell me you don't mean that."
He looked at my hand on his chest. Then he looked at my eyes.
"I never should have touched you," he said.
He pulled away. He turned and walked out the door.
I stood there, frozen.
My father walked back to his desk and sat down.
"See?" he said, opening a file. "I told you he was weak."
I looked at my father. I looked at the empty doorway.
I didn't scream. I didn't cry.
Something inside me—the glass part, the fragile part—finally shattered.
And in its place, something sharp and dangerous began to form.
"You think you won," I whispered to my father.
He didn't look up. "I know I did."
I turned and walked out.
I didn't run after Jack. I knew he wouldn't stop. He had made his choice. The Pack over the Mate.
I walked out into the cold night.
It was over.
But the game wasn't done.
I had three days until Nationals. Three days to turn this pain into fuel.
I was going to win that Gold Medal. Not for my father. Not for my mother.
I was going to win it so I could stand on that podium, look into the camera, and burn the whole world down.