Chapter 15
Dante
The letter arrived on Thursday morning.
It was thin, white, and bore the official seal of the NHL Central Scouting Bureau.
I stared at it on the kitchen counter of the Hive. My hands were shaking. Not from caffeine, not from adrenaline, but from sheer, terrifying anticipation.
Jax was leaning over my shoulder, practically vibrating. "Open it, man! Before I chew my own arm off!"
I slid my thumb under the flap. The paper tore with a satisfying rip.
I pulled out the single sheet. I scanned the text.
Dear Mr. Moretti,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been invited to the NHL Scouting Combine in Buffalo, NY...
I stopped reading. I didn't need to read the rest.
"Well?" Jax demanded.
"Buffalo," I whispered. "I got the invite. The Combine."
Jax let out a whoop that shook the rafters. He tackled me in a hug, nearly knocking us both into the dishwasher.
"Yes! I knew it! First round, baby! You're going to the Show!"
I laughed, hugging him back. The relief washed over me like cool water. The Combine was the golden ticket. It meant the rumors hadn't killed me. It meant Reed and the Kraken were still interested. It meant I had a future.
I pulled away, my mind already racing.
"I have to tell her," I said.
Jax grinned. "Go. Go tell your girl. Just... try not to create any more scandal-worthy photo ops, yeah?"
"No promises," I said, grabbing my keys.
I ran out of the house. My knee felt light. The air felt crisp. The world was full of potential.
I found Arabella in the Ice Garden.
She was sitting on our bench, bundled in her cream coat, staring at a frozen orchid. She looked sad.
When she saw me, her expression shifted. Fear? Guilt? It vanished too quickly to be sure, replaced by a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Hey," she said softly.
"Hey," I said, breathless from running across campus. "I have news."
"Good news?" she asked, standing up.
"The best." I held up the letter. "The Combine. I got the invite."
Her eyes widened. "Oh, Dante!"
She threw her arms around my neck. I lifted her off her feet, spinning her around. Her laughter echoed off the glass walls, bright and crystalline.
"You did it!" she cried as I set her down. "You really did it."
"We did it," I corrected, keeping my hands on her waist. "You helped me pass Ethics. You kept me sane. You... you saved me, Ara."
She looked down, her smile faltering. "I didn't do anything. You did the work."
"Don't do that," I said gently, lifting her chin. "Don't minimize this. This is our victory."
"Okay," she whispered. "Our victory."
"Celebrate with me?" I asked. "Tonight. My place. The guys are going out to The Ridge to celebrate, so the house will be empty."
She hesitated. A shadow passed over her face.
"Tonight?" she asked. "Is that... safe?"
"It's the safest night of the year," I promised. "Everyone is distracted. It'll just be us. We can order pizza. We can watch a movie. We can... discuss the logistics of Buffalo."
She looked at me. Really looked at me. Her violet eyes were searching my face, memorizing it.
"Okay," she said finally. "Tonight."
The Hive was eerie when it was empty. Usually, it vibrated with noise and testosterone. Tonight, it was silent.
I had cleaned. I had actually vacuumed. I had ordered the pizza (pepperoni for me, mushroom for her) and hidden the beer cans.
When Arabella arrived at 8:00, she looked... different.
She was wearing a dress. A simple black slip dress with a cardigan over it. Her hair was down, loose waves cascading over her shoulders. She had put on makeup—a touch of mascara, a hint of lip gloss.
She looked stunning. And she looked like she was going to a funeral.
"You okay?" I asked, taking her coat.
"Just tired," she said, her voice tight. "Finals stress."
"Well, tonight is a stress-free zone," I declared. "Tonight is about the future."
We ate the pizza on the living room floor, leaning against the sofa. I put on some terrible action movie in the background, but neither of us watched it.
We talked.
"Buffalo is far," she noted, tracing the pattern on the rug.
"It's a flight," I said. "But the Combine is only a week. Then the draft is in June. If I get picked by Seattle... I stay here. In Washington."
"And if you get picked by Boston? Or Montreal?"
"Then I go," I said. I reached out and took her hand. "And you come with me."
She went still. "Dante..."
"I'm serious," I said. "You graduate in May. You can write your thesis from anywhere. Come with me. Be my anchor."
"You want me to move with you?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"I want you to be with me," I said. "Wherever I am. I don't care about the city. I care about the person sleeping next to me."
I squeezed her hand.
"I've been thinking about the house," I admitted, feeling heat rise in my cheeks. "The one with the thick walls."
She looked at me, tears shimmering in her eyes. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. It needs a library," I said. "For all your books. And a big kitchen. For the baking."
"Dante, stop," she whispered.
"Why?"
"Because it sounds too good," she said. A tear slipped down her cheek. "It sounds like a dream."
"It's a plan," I corrected. "I have the signing bonus coming. I can make it happen. We can make it happen."
She stared at me. She looked like she was breaking apart inside.
"Arabella," I said, alarmed. "What's wrong? Is it your dad? Is he threatening you again?"
"No," she choked out. "It's not him. It's... it's just happiness. It's overwhelming."
She launched herself at me.
She scrambled into my lap, burying her face in my neck. She held me so tight it hurt.
"Make love to me," she begged. "Right now. Please."
"Ara..."
"Don't talk," she sobbed. "Just touch me. Make me forget everything else."
I couldn't refuse her. Not when she sounded so desperate. Not when I wanted it just as much.
We made love on the rug in front of the TV.
It wasn't wild like the dorm room. It was slow. Deep. Painfully tender.
I worshipped her. I kissed every inch of her skin. I whispered promises against her throat.
"I love you," I told her as I moved inside her. "I love you, Arabella Thorne. You are my mate. My soul. Nothing is ever going to change that."
"I love you too," she cried, clutching my shoulders. "I love you so much it hurts."
When we finished, we lay tangled together, listening to the rain beat against the windows.
I felt complete. I felt invincible. I had the contract. I had the girl. The curse of the Moretti bloodline was broken. I wasn't my father. I could love without destroying.
"I have to go to the bathroom," she whispered after a while, kissing my chest.
"Hurry back," I murmured, my eyes closed.
She stood up, grabbing her dress and slipping it on. She walked toward the hallway.
I lay there, smiling at the ceiling.
Buffalo. Seattle. A house with a library.
My phone buzzed on the coffee table.
I ignored it.
It buzzed again. And again. And again.
A rapid-fire string of notifications.
I frowned. Jax? Was the party busted?
I reached out and grabbed the phone.
I unlocked the screen.
My blood turned to ice.
It wasn't Jax. It wasn't the team chat.
It was a link. Sent from an unknown number.
Subject: THE CAPTAIN’S SECRET PET.
I clicked it.
It was a website. CampusConfidential. The university gossip rag.
The headline screamed in bold red letters:
PREDATORY PLAY? HOCKEY STAR DANTE MORETTI CAUGHT PREYING ON LIAISON’S DAUGHTER IN ILLICIT MOUNTAIN TRYST.
And below it... the photo.
Me and Arabella. On the logging road. Kissing in the snow.
It looked bad. It looked secretive. It looked guilty.
And below the photo, a caption:
Sources say Moretti has been using the innocent freshman to manipulate his grades and secure his spot, defying Pack Law and University Ethics. Is the ‘Hero’ of Blackwood just another Monster?
My heart stopped beating. The world tilted on its axis.
"No," I whispered. "No, no, no."
The front door of the Hive slammed open.
"DANTE!"
It was Jax. He ran into the living room, panting, wild-eyed.
"Dante, have you seen it? It's everywhere! Twitter, Insta, the school board listserv..."
He stopped when he saw me. Naked. Pale. Holding the phone.
"Who?" I rasped. "Who took this?"
"I don't know," Jax gasped. "But Coach Vane is on his way. And Dean Vance. And... oh god, Dante. Thorne is with them."
My stomach dropped through the floor.
Thorne.
"Where is she?" Jax asked, looking around. "Is she here?"
I looked toward the hallway. Toward the bathroom.
The door was open. It was empty.
"Arabella?" I called out.
Silence.
I scrambled up, ignoring my nudity, and ran down the hall.
The bathroom was empty.
The back door of the kitchen was standing wide open. The wind was blowing snow onto the linoleum.
She was gone.
I ran to the door. I looked out into the darkness.
There were footprints in the snow. Running footprints. Heading toward the road.
And then, my phone buzzed one last time.
A text from Arabella.
I'm sorry. I had to fix it. Don't come after me.
I stared at the screen, the words blurring through my tears.
Fix it?
How could she fix this?
And then the realization hit me like a physical blow.
The only way to fix a scandal like this... was to confirm the narrative. To play the victim. To say it was all me.
She was going to take the fall. Or worse... she was going to throw me to the wolves to save her father.
I roared.
It was a sound of pure, unadulterated agony. The sound of a heart being ripped out of a chest.
The future—the house, the library, the dog—dissolved into ash.
The Machine was dead. The Man was broken.
And the Monster... the Monster was the only thing left.