Chapter 8 #2
"He thinks I’m soft," he muttered bitterly.
"He thinks you're disciplined," I corrected. "And he’s right."
Rory looked at me. He reached out, touching the jersey I was wearing—his name on my chest.
"You're wearing my colors," he whispered.
"I stole it."
"Keep it," he said. "Wear it to bed. I want to think about you wrapped in my name."
"Rory..."
"Go home, Zoe," he said, stepping back. "Wait for me. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Unlock the door."
"Unit 4A or 4B?"
"Doesn't matter," he said, his eyes darkening with promise. "Just be unlocked."
He turned and walked back into the locker room.
I stood there in the tunnel, my heart racing, my body humming with the echo of his touch.
I walked out into the night air. It was snowing again.
I headed for the parking lot.
"Zoe?"
The voice stopped me cold. It wasn't Rory. It wasn't Mia.
It was my father.
Dean Carmichael was standing by his car, the engine idling. He looked at me—at the jersey, at the flushed skin, at the way I was clutching my own waist where Rory’s hands had just been.
"Get in the car, Zoe," he said. His voice was calm. Too calm.
"Dad, I have my own car—"
"Get. In."
I swallowed hard. The bubble had popped.
I walked to his car and got in.
The ride to the duplexes was silent. Deadly silent.
When we pulled up, he didn't unlock the doors immediately.
"I warned you," he said, staring straight ahead. "I told you to stay away from him."
"We're just studying, Dad. He’s taking Biomechanics."
"Don't lie to me," he snapped. "I saw the way he looked at you during the game. I saw you in the tunnel just now. He had his hands on you."
"He was just... adrenaline. They won."
"He is a Thorne," my father spat the name like a curse. "He has bad blood, Zoe. His father was a monster. Rory is a ticking time bomb. And I will not let my daughter be the collateral damage when he explodes."
"He’s not his father!" I shouted, surprising myself. "He’s good. He’s trying so hard."
"He’s a predator," my father said coldly. "And you are prey. It’s biology, Zoe. You can't change it with tutoring sessions."
He unlocked the doors.
"I’m moving you," he said.
My blood ran cold. "What?"
"Tomorrow morning. I’m having your things moved back to the dorms. The mold remediation is finished in the south wing. You're going back."
"No!" I panicked. "You can't. The lease—"
"I am the Dean of this University," he said softly. "I own the lease. Pack your bags tonight, Zoe. Movers will be here at 8 a.m."
I stared at him, tears stinging my eyes.
"You can't keep us apart," I whispered.
"Watch me."
I scrambled out of the car, slamming the door. I ran up the steps to Unit 4B.
I didn't pack.
I sat on the floor of my living room, wearing Rory’s jersey, and I waited.
I waited for the sound of his truck.
I had one night. One night before they tore us apart.
And I wasn't going to spend it sleeping.
Rory
The film session was torture. I sat in the dark, icing my nose, watching myself get hit over and over again on the screen.
Coach was talking about defensive coverage, but all I could hear was the scout’s voice. Soft.
All I could see was Zoe’s face in the tunnel. You're okay.
I got out as soon as I could. I didn't shower again. I just threw on sweats and a hoodie and sprinted to my truck.
I needed her. The craving was a physical ache in my marrow. The adrenaline from the game had curdled into a needy, desperate lust.
I drove too fast. The roads were slick, but the truck held.
I pulled into the driveway.
Her lights were on.
I grabbed my bag and ran up the steps. I didn't go to my door. I went to hers.
I tried the handle.
Unlocked.
I pushed it open.
Zoe was standing in the middle of the living room. She was still wearing my jersey. Her hair was down, wild and messy. Her eyes were red.
"Zoe?" I dropped my bag. "What’s wrong?"
She looked at me. She didn't say anything. She just ran.
She threw herself at me. I caught her, the impact knocking me back against the doorframe. I wrapped my arms around her, lifting her off her feet.
She wrapped her legs around my waist. She buried her face in my neck.
"He knows," she sobbed. "My dad. He saw us."
My blood went cold. "What did he say?"
"He’s moving me," she cried. "Tomorrow morning. Back to the dorms. He says you're dangerous. He says I can't see you."
A low growl started in my chest. No.
"He can't take you," I said, gripping her tighter. "You're mine."
"I know," she sniffed, pulling back to look at me. Her violet eyes were swimming with tears, but behind the tears, there was fire. "So make me yours, Rory. Before he takes me away."
I froze.
"Zoe..."
"Don't tell me you can't," she begged, her hands cupping my battered face. "Don't tell me about the curse. Don't tell me about the wolf. I don't care. I want you. All of you. Tonight."
I looked at her. I looked at the jersey with my name on it. I looked at the fierce, desperate love in her eyes.
The scout had called me soft. My father had called me weak.
But looking at her, I realized they were wrong.
Holding back wasn't weakness. It was love.
But sometimes, love meant letting go.
"Are you sure?" I asked, my voice breaking.
"Yes."
I kicked the door shut behind us. I locked it.
I carried her to the bedroom.
"Then tonight," I growled against her lips, "I’m not going to be gentle."
"Good," she whispered.
And for the first time in my life, I let the beast out of the cage, and she didn't run. She opened the door.