Chapter 4 #2
"Is that all you care about?" she asked. "Hockey?"
"It's the only thing that matters."
"What about your degree?"
"I'm a Business major because my father expects me to run the pack finances one day. I don't care about the degree."
Faye sighed. She opened her textbook, smoothing the pages with her small hands. I watched her fingers. I remembered how they had felt on my neck. Strong. Sure.
"Okay," she said. "If we're going to do this, we need ground rules."
"Ground rules?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Yes. Rules. Because the last two times we interacted, you threatened to hunt me and then almost kissed me in a hallway." Her cheeks flushed pink, but she held my gaze. "I can't tutor you if I'm worried you're going to snap at me. Or... do the other thing."
"The other thing," I repeated, my voice dropping. "You mean kiss you?"
"Yes," she whispered.
I leaned forward. The table was small. Our knees bumped underneath it. A spark of electricity shot up my leg.
"I won't snap at you," I said. "I need this grade."
"And the other thing?"
I looked at her mouth. It was soft, pink, and currently pressed into a thin line of determination. I wanted to taste it. I wanted to bite it.
"I can't promise that," I said honestly. "But I won't touch you unless you ask me to."
Her eyes widened. "I won't ask."
"We'll see."
She cleared her throat loudly, looking back down at her book. "Right. Okay. Rule one: We meet here. Public place. Glass walls. Rule two: We stick to the subject. No talk about hockey, no talk about wolves, no talk about... scents."
"Fine," I agreed. "Rule three: You actually help me understand this garbage. Don't just give me the answers. I have to write the essays myself."
She looked up, surprised. "You want to learn?"
"I don't cheat," I said stiffly. "I earn my wins."
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. It transformed her face. It made her look younger, softer. It hit me in the chest like a slapshot.
"Okay," she said. "We earn the win. Let's start with Utilitarianism. The greatest good for the greatest number."
We worked for two hours.
It was... torture. But not the kind I expected.
It wasn't torture because the material was boring (though it was). It was torture because sitting three feet away from Faye Sommers without touching her was physically painful.
I could smell her shampoo—something floral and clean. I could hear the soft scratch of her pen on paper. I could see the way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear every five minutes.
But she was a good teacher.
She didn't treat me like I was stupid. She realized quickly that I didn't think in abstracts, so she started using analogies I could understand.
"Imagine the pack," she said, drawing a circle on a piece of paper. "The pack is a community. Utilitarianism asks: if you have to sacrifice one wolf to save the whole pack, is it moral?"
"Yes," I said immediately. "The Alpha sacrifices himself for the pack. That's the law."
"Okay," she said, tapping the paper. "But what if it's the weakest wolf? What if you sacrifice the runt to save the hunters? Is that moral?"
"No," I growled. "You protect the runts. That's the Alpha's job."
"Exactly," she beamed. "Now you're arguing Deontology. Duty-based ethics. You have a duty to protect, regardless of the outcome."
I blinked. "I am?"
"Yes. See? You're not a nihilist, Oakley. You're a Deontologist. You believe in rules and duty above consequences."
I leaned back in my chair, staring at her. She looked triumphant. Her eyes were sparkling. She was genuinely happy that I had understood a concept.
It was a strange feeling. No one had ever looked at me like that when I figured something out. Usually, people just looked at me with fear or lust. This was... respect.
"You're good at this," I murmured.
She flushed, looking down at her notes. "I like teaching. I like figuring out how things work. Muscles, bones... minds."
"Why Kinesiology?" I asked. "If you're so smart, why not med school? Why spend your time rubbing oil into sweaty jocks?"
She stiffened slightly. Her armor came back up.
"Med school is expensive," she said quietly. "My scholarship covers undergrad. It doesn't cover grad school. And the PT program at Ironclaw is top tier. If I get my certification here, I can get a job with a pro team. That’s the goal. Stability. A paycheck that clears."
I watched her. I saw the tension in her jaw. The way she picked at the corner of her notebook.
Money.
It was such a human problem. My family had money. Old money. Pack money. I had never worried about tuition in my life.
"Is that why you didn't quit?" I asked. "Because you need the credit for the scholarship?"
She nodded, not meeting my eyes. "If I drop the rotation, I lose the hours. If I lose the hours, I lose the semester. If I lose the semester... I lose the scholarship. I can't afford that, Oakley. I have nothing to fall back on."
The realization hit me hard.
I had been trying to bully her into quitting to protect her from me. But if she quit, I would be destroying her future. I was the threat either way.
I felt a surge of shame so hot it burned my throat.
"I didn't know," I said.
"You didn't ask," she countered softly. She looked up at me then. "You just assumed I was a puck bunny or an idiot who wandered into the wrong room. You didn't stop to think that maybe I'm just a girl trying to survive, same as you."
"I know," I admitted. "I... I'm sorry."
The apology hung in the air.
Faye looked shocked. "Did the Captain of the Timberwolves just apologize?"
"Don't get used to it," I grumbled.
I looked at the clock on the wall. 9:00 PM. The library was closing soon.
"We're done for tonight," I said, closing my book. "My brain is full."
"Okay," she said, packing up her things quickly. "Read chapter four for Wednesday. And try to write a paragraph about... I don't know, why you don't eat the opposing team's goalie, using Kant's theory."
I snorted. A laugh—a real one—escaped me. "I make no promises about the goalie."
We walked out of the study room together. The library was dark now, shadows stretching between the stacks.
"Where's your car?" I asked as we reached the exit.
"I walked," she said, pulling on her coat. "I live in the dorms. It's just across the quad."
I looked out the glass doors. It was snowing heavily again, a whiteout blizzard. The campus was dark and deserted.
"I'll drive you," I said.
She shook her head. "It's fine. It's a five-minute walk."
"It's ten degrees below zero, Faye. And it's dark. And there are actual wolves in these woods. Get in the truck."
She hesitated, then sighed. "Fine. But only because I can't feel my toes."
My truck was a beast—a lifted, matte black Ford Raptor that took up two parking spaces. I unlocked it, and Faye had to practically climb into the passenger seat.
The cab was warm, smelling of leather and my cedar air freshener. It was an intimate space. Small. Private.
I drove slowly through the snow-covered campus. The silence in the truck wasn't tense like before. It was... heavy, but comfortable.
"Thanks for the help," I said, staring out at the road. "With the Ethics stuff."
"You're welcome," she said. She was hugging her backpack to her chest. "Thanks for the ride."
I pulled up in front of her dorm. I put the truck in park but didn't unlock the doors immediately.
I turned to look at her. The dashboard lights cast a soft blue glow over her face. She looked beautiful. And fragile. And so incredibly brave.
"Faye," I said.
"Yeah?" She looked at me, her eyes searching mine.
"About the deal," I said. "You get me a B. You help me stay on the team."
"That's the deal."
"Then here's my part," I said. "I stop trying to fire you. I stop growling at you in the training room. And..." I hesitated. "And I make sure the rest of the team treats you with respect. No one touches you. No one hits on you. You're off-limits. Protected."
She blinked. "Protected by you?"
"By the Pack," I said. "If you're my tutor, you're Pack adjacent. That means you're safe."
"Safe from everyone but you?" she whispered.
I reached out. I couldn't help it. My hand moved on its own, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her cheek. My knuckles grazed her skin. It was electric. Soft. Warm.
She leaned into my touch, just a fraction of an inch. Her eyes fluttered shut.
"I'm working on that part," I murmured, my voice rough.
I pulled my hand back before I did something stupid. I unlocked the doors.
"Go inside, Faye. Before I change my mind about the rules."
She opened her eyes. They were dark, blown wide. She looked at me for one second longer—a look that said she knew exactly how dangerous this was, and she didn't care.
"Goodnight, Oakley," she said.
She climbed out of the truck and ran through the snow to the dorm entrance. I watched her until she was safely inside the building.
Only then did I let out the breath I had been holding. I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.
I had just promised to protect her.
But as I put the truck in gear and drove back toward the loneliness of the Lodge, I knew the truth.
The only thing I couldn't protect her from was myself.