Chapter 11 #2
I found her in the equipment room. She was sitting on a stack of pads, scrolling on her phone. The room smelled of rubber and sanitized gear. It was dimly lit, quiet.
"Hey," I said, closing the door behind me and locking it.
She looked up, her face lighting up. "Hey. You escape?"
"Ten minutes. Coach is arguing with the offensive coordinator."
I walked over to her. She stood up, sliding her arms around my neck.
"You smell like the rink," she whispered, burying her nose in my hoodie.
"You smell like trouble."
I kissed her. I lifted her onto the equipment dryer—a large metal table that vibrated slightly.
"Nick," she gasped as I stepped between her legs. "Anyone could walk in. The equipment manager..."
"He's at lunch."
I kissed her neck, my hands sliding under her shirt to grip her waist. "I need you. Just for a minute. I need to touch you."
"We're insane," she breathed, tipping her head back.
"Yes."
I didn't take her clothes off. I just pressed my body against hers, letting the friction ground me. We made out like teenagers, frantic and messy, hands wandering, breath mingling.
It was a release valve. The pressure of the impending draft, the scrutiny of the team, the lies—it all built up until I felt like I was going to explode. Touching her was the only way to vent the steam.
"I love this," she whispered against my ear. "Us. Here."
"Me too," I admitted.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound was like a gunshot.
"Nick? You in there?"
It was Coach Harrison.
We froze. My heart hammered against my ribs. Jess’s eyes went wide, panic flooding them.
I pulled back instantly, putting a finger to my lips. I smoothed my hoodie. Jess hopped off the table, straightening her shirt, frantically patting her hair down.
"Yeah, Coach," I called out. My voice was surprisingly steady. "Just checking my skate blades. One felt loose."
"Open up. I need to talk to you about the power play rotation."
I looked at Jess. She pointed to the back of the room, where racks of jerseys hung in dense rows. Hide.
She scrambled behind the rack, ducking down.
I took a deep breath. I walked to the door and unlocked it.
Coach Harrison stood there, holding a clipboard. He looked annoyed. He scanned the room.
"Why was the door locked?"
"Habit," I lied. "I like quiet when I'm checking my gear."
Harrison stepped inside. He sniffed the air.
The room smelled like rubber. But underneath that... it smelled like vanilla perfume. And sex.
Harrison’s eyes narrowed. He looked at me. He looked at the slightly rumpled state of my hoodie. He looked at the jersey rack in the corner.
"Nick," he said slowly. "You know the rules about guests in the facility during practice hours."
"I'm alone, Coach."
It was a lie. A direct, bold-faced lie to the man who controlled my ice time.
Harrison stared at me for a long, agonizing moment. He knew. He had to know.
But he also knew I was his star player. He knew we were winning. And he knew that if he looked behind that rack and found a girl, he'd have to discipline me. And he didn't want to do that right before the playoffs.
"Right," Harrison said finally, his voice tight. "Alone. Look, the scouts from Chicago are coming back on Friday. They want a private meeting. Just you. No distractions."
He emphasized the word distractions, looking pointedly at the jersey rack.
"I'll be ready," I said.
"Good. Get your head in the game, Vance. You're playing well, but you're walking a fine line. Don't trip."
He turned and walked out, leaving the door open.
I waited until his footsteps faded.
"Coast is clear," I whispered.
Jess emerged from the jerseys. She looked pale.
"That was close," she whispered. "Too close."
"Yeah."
I ran a hand through my hair. The thrill of the sneak was gone, replaced by the cold reality of what I had just done. I had lied to my coach. I had put Jess in a position where she had to hide like a dirty secret.
"I hated that," she said softly. "Hiding."
"I know."
"Is this what it's going to be like? Forever?"
"Not forever," I promised, though I didn't know how I could keep that promise. "Just until the draft."
She nodded, but the light in her eyes had dimmed.
That night, the bubble burst.
We were at the penthouse. It was late. We were studying—actually studying this time—at the kitchen island. I was reviewing game tape on my laptop; Jess was writing an essay on contemporary dance theory.
Her foot was resting on my lap under the counter. It was our secret language. I'm here.
My phone rang.
It wasn't a text. It was a call.
I looked at the screen. FATHER.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
"Don't answer it," Jess whispered, seeing the name.
"I have to."
I picked up the phone. "Hello, sir."
"Nicklas." His voice was crisp, devoid of warmth. It sounded like a boardroom. "I received a call from your agent. The Combine invites are out."
"I know. I got the email."
"Good. You are projected top three. But there is chatter."
"Chatter?"
"About your focus. About a girl."
I froze. My hand gripped the phone tight enough to crack the screen.
"I don't know what you're hearing," I said carefully.
"I hear you are living with a scholarship student. A dancer. I hear she is wearing your jersey at games. I hear you are... domestic."
"She is my assistant, Father. It's an arrangement to handle my schedule."
"Does your assistant sleep in your bed?"
The silence stretched out, thin and brittle.
"Who told you that?" I asked, my voice low.
"I have eyes everywhere, Nicklas. You know this. Now listen to me. This girl... she is a liability. You are weeks away from the most important moment of your life. You cannot afford a liability."
"She is not a liability," I said, my voice rising. Jess looked up, alarmed. "She is helping me. She is the reason my hip is functioning."
"She is a distraction. And distractions get cut."
"You can't touch her."
"I can do anything I want," he said calmly. "I hold the mortgage on that penthouse. I hold the strings to the athletic department funding. Do not test me."
I stood up, walking away from Jess so she wouldn't hear the venom in his voice.
"What do you want?" I asked.
"I want you focused. I want you in Chicago next week for the pre-draft interviews. Alone. You leave on Monday. You stay there until the Combine."
"That's two weeks away."
"Exactly. You need to separate yourself. Clear your head. Remind yourself who you are. You are a Vance. You are a machine. You are not a lovestruck teenager playing house."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I make a phone call to the Dean of the Arts program. I believe Jessica's scholarship is up for review this semester? It would be a shame if there were... budget cuts."
Rage blinded me. Pure, white-hot rage. He was threatening her. He was threatening her future to control me.
"You leave her out of this," I snarled.
"Then get on the plane, Nicklas. Monday. Alone."
The line went dead.
I lowered the phone slowly. I stared out at the city lights. They looked blurry.
"Nick?"
Jess was standing behind me. She touched my arm.
"What did he say?"
I turned to look at her. She looked so small. So trusting. She had no idea that simply by being with me, she had put a target on her back.
I couldn't tell her. If I told her he threatened her scholarship, she would leave to protect herself. Or worse, she would try to fight him and get crushed.
I had to protect her. Even if it meant hurting her.
"He wants me to go to Chicago," I said, my voice hollow. "For two weeks. Pre-draft prep."
"Oh." Her face fell. "Two weeks? That's... a long time."
"I have to go, Jess."
"I know. It's your career." She tried to smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "We can FaceTime. I'll keep the plants alive."
"Yeah."
I looked at her. I wanted to pull her into my arms and promise her that nothing would happen. But I felt the weight of my father's threat pressing down on my chest.
Distractions get cut.
I had to be cold. I had to be the machine. It was the only way to keep her safe.
"I need to pack," I said, stepping away from her touch. "I have to leave early Monday morning."
"Okay." She wrapped her arms around herself, looking suddenly cold. "I'll help you."
"No," I said sharply. "I can do it myself."
She flinched.
"Right. Sorry. Just... trying to be an ally."
"I know." I softened my tone, but I didn't reach out. I couldn't. "I'm just stressed. Go to bed, Jess. I'll be there in a minute."
She nodded and walked down the hall.
I stayed in the living room. I looked at the phone in my hand.
I was going to Chicago. I was going to secure my future. And I was going to figure out how to dismantle my father's hold on my life, brick by brick.
Because now I had something worth fighting for. And I would burn the whole world down before I let him take her away from me.