Chapter 11 #2
"Dude," Jax said, kicking me under the table.
"What?" I snapped, turning back to my food.
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
" The 'I want to drag her into a cave and keep her' face. Your eyes are flashing, man. Dial it down."
"I’m just eating my broccoli, Jax."
"You're murdering your broccoli," Jax corrected. "Look, I know she moved out. I know the Dean put the fear of God into everyone. But you seriously need to get laid or something. The tension coming off you is making my skin itch."
I choked on my water. Get laid. If only he knew.
"I’m fine," I rasped.
"Are you?" Jax leaned in, lowering his voice. "Because Tyler said he saw your truck parked by the forestry building last night. At 1 AM."
My heart skipped a beat.
"I like the quiet," I lied smoothly. "I go there to think."
"To think," Jax repeated, skeptical. "In the dark. In the cold. Okay, Thoreau. Whatever you say."
I glanced back at Zoe. She was in line for salads. A guy—some soccer player with frosted tips—was standing behind her. He leaned in to say something. He smiled.
Zoe smiled back politely.
The fork in my hand bent. It didn't snap, but the metal yielded, curling into a U-shape under my thumb.
Kill him, the Wolf suggested. Rip his throat out. Show everyone she belongs to us.
I took a deep breath, forcing the beast down.
She’s playing the game, I told myself. She has to be polite. It’s camouflage.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out under the table.
Zoe: Stop staring. You're bending the silverware.
I looked up. She wasn't looking at me. She was paying for her salad. How did she know?
Me: The guy behind you wants to sleep with you. Tell him to back off or I will.
Zoe: Jealousy is ugly, Thorne.
Me: Possessiveness is natural. Get your salad and sit down. Facing me.
She walked to a table across the room. She sat down. She faced me.
She took a bite of a cucumber, looking straight into my eyes across the sea of students. She licked a drop of dressing from her lip. Slow. Deliberate.
I groaned, dropping my head onto the table.
"You okay, Rory?" Svensson asked.
"No," I muffled into my arm. "I think I’m dying."
The cracks started to show on Thursday.
It was the little things. The exhaustion. We were burning the candle at both ends—training all day, sneaking around all night.
I was in the locker room after practice. The room was steamy, loud, and full of naked men.
I was sitting at my stall, unlacing my skates. My mind was drifting. I was thinking about the supply closet we had found near the Humanities building. I was thinking about the way Zoe whimpered when I bit her ear.
"Thorne!"
Coach’s voice boomed through the room.
I snapped to attention. "Yeah, Coach?"
Coach Gantry stood in the center of the room. He was a fireplug of a man, bald, red-faced, and perpetually angry.
"My office. Now."
The room went silent.
"Ooh," someone whispered. "Someone’s in trouble."
I grabbed a towel and walked to the office. My stomach churned. Did he know? Did the Dean call him?
I walked in. Coach sat behind his desk, looking at a file.
"Sit down."
I sat.
"We have a problem, Rory," Coach said, tossing the file onto the desk.
It was a scouting report. Not for hockey. For me.
"This is the report from the Detroit scout," Coach said. "From the Duluth game."
I braced myself. Soft. Disciplined.
"He likes you," Coach said.
I blinked. "He does?"
"He likes the size. He likes the skating. But he has concerns." Coach leaned forward. "He says you look... distracted. He says you hesitated in the third period. He says you walked away from a fight you should have finished."
"I thought walking away was discipline," I said defensively.
"It is. If you walk away because you're smart. But if you walk away because you're scared?" Coach shook his head. "Rory, the NHL eats scared players for breakfast. They smell fear."
He paused, his eyes drilling into me.
"Is everything okay at home? With your... condition?"
He meant the Feral blood.
"I’m fine, Coach. Better than ever."
"Are you?" Coach stood up and walked around the desk. He leaned against the edge, crossing his arms. "Because I got a call from Dean Carmichael this morning."
My heart hammered against my ribs. Here it is.
"He says he’s concerned about your academic focus. He says you're spending a lot of time with a 'tutor'. His daughter."
"She’s helping me with Biomechanics," I said, keeping my voice steady. "I got a C plus on the last quiz. That’s passing."
"I don't care about the grade, Rory," Coach snapped. "I care about the distraction. The Dean made it very clear. If you touch her, if you mess with her, if you so much as breathe wrong in her direction... he pulls the funding. Not just yours. The team's."
The threat hung in the air.
It wasn't just my life anymore. It was the team. Jax. Svensson. All of them.
"I understand, Coach."
"Do you?" Coach leaned in closer. "Because I smell something on you, son. And it’s not just sweat. It’s perfume. Vanilla."
I froze.
I hadn't seen Zoe in twelve hours. But the scent lingered. It was in my pores.
"It’s my laundry detergent," I lied. It was the stupidest lie I had ever told.
Coach stared at me. He sniffed.
"Change your brand," he said quietly. "And fix your head. Because if you compromise this team for a piece of tail, I will bench you so hard you'll take root."
"Yes, Sir."
"Get out."
I walked out of the office. My legs felt shaky.
I went back to my locker. Jax was waiting for me.
"What was that about?" Jax asked.
"Nothing," I muttered, throwing my gear into the bag. "Just game tape."
Jax grabbed my arm. His grip was hard.
"Don't lie to me, Rory."
I looked at my best friend. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell someone. I’m in love with her. I claimed her. I can't stop.
But if I told him, I made him an accomplice. If the Dean found out Jax knew, Jax would go down with me.
"It’s nothing," I said, shaking him off. "Just the Curse. Coach thinks I’m losing my edge."
"Are you?"
I looked at Jax.
"I don't know," I whispered. "I honestly don't know."
I walked out of the arena.
I got in my truck. I needed to call her. I needed to hear her voice.
But I looked at the phone.
If you touch her, he pulls the funding.
I stared at the screen. A text from her popped up.
Zoe: Study session tonight? I found a janitor's closet on the fourth floor that unlocks from the outside.
I closed my eyes.
I wanted to go. God, I wanted to go.
But I looked at the arena behind me. I thought about Jax. I thought about the team.
I typed back.
Me: Can't tonight. Coach is riding me. Extra film.
It was the first time I had said no.
Zoe: Oh. Okay. Good luck. I miss you.
I stared at the words I miss you.
I put the phone down.
I didn't go to the closet. I drove to the forestry lot. I sat in the dark.
And I let the Wolf howl, silent and trapped, inside the cab of the truck.
The glow-up was over. The reality was setting in.
We were living on borrowed time. And the interest rate was going to kill us.