Self-Pact

HUNTER

Working at that grease-trap Pizzeria was supposed to guarantee one thing: absolute anonymity.

Nobody from my old life, and definitely not from my new life, was ever supposed to find out.

But my life had morphed into one trashy daytime soap opera.

Because tell me why Adrianna had to find out, and not only that, she'd practically paraded in there just to humiliate me.

When she hadn't replied to my texts over the past couple of weeks since the big tragedy happened, I'd gotten the memo and accepted that she wanted nothing to do with me anymore.

It hurt me and my ego, but I'd already grieved the end of my relationship with Adrianna. So her coming to announce her new relationship with my ex-bestfriend--Jonson Blackwood, that sleazeball- was just a petty move.

To put the cherry on top of the shittiest sundae in existence, Tristan Reeves had also shown up and left me fucking cuffed next to a dumpster.

If my shady coworker hadn't come out for a smoke break and helped me pick the cuffs, I'd have probably lost circulation in my arms forever.

I still couldn't even explain what had happened last night with Reeves and I. One second, he was being an ass, pissing me off, and then I was on my knees, with my head forced back.

I'd never been in such a position in my life, and I honestly didn't know what to make of it.

For a second there, it felt as though my brain had clocked out, leaving me with a strange buzz under my skin as I waited for Reeves to...basically do whatever the fuck he wanted to me.

That was a complete mindfuck, and a Goegle search earlier told me it was just adrenaline, so I'd be going with that.

Anyway, whatever it may be, I've come to a new decision. Just before my life fell apart, I used to be the chill guy, the happy-go-lucky dude who said whatever he thought without giving a shit.

Now? My blood felt like it was constantly boiling just beneath my skin, a pressure cooker whistling right on the edge of exploding.

So because of that, I decided to push all the bad energies away. This was my new reality, and I'd be damned if I lived it the way Reeves lived his: an unsmiling brick wall.

The thought sent unpleasant shivers down my spine.

Slamming my duffel bag onto the wooden bench of the empty locker room, I began changing into my practice gear. I'd intentionally shown up an hour before school opening time so I could have the ice to myself before the rest of those assholes showed up.

My body still hurt from the beating, but I needed the ice to sweat out the poison.

I'd just pulled my jersey over my head when the locker room door groaned open.

I whipped around, instantly alert, but it was only Reeves, not his psychopathic teammates. My eyes quickly swept over him, taking in the dark sweater he was wearing over his grey sweats.

His straight blonde hair was perfectly swept back, and his face was a flat, impenetrable wall of ice.

My pulse quickened. After what had happened last night, I didn't know what to expect from Reeves today.

Maybe a little mockery, or a victory lap for seeing me at one of my lowest.

But Reeves didn't even glance my way as he strolled into the locker room, stopping at his own locker.

It was as though I was completely invisible to him.

No. Fuck that.

Pulling out his cuffs from my bag, I stormed towards him and slammed them on his chest. "Wanna tell me why you put these on me last night?"

Reeves flinched. It wouldn't have been obvious if you weren't staring at him as intently as I was, but I saw it in the minuscule shift of his shoulder...just like that day with his father.

However, when his fingers curled around the cuffs, he pulled them from my grip and deadpanned. "Step back from me, Beaumont"

"No. Not until you explain what the fuck your problem is."

Reeves' chest rose heavily against my forearm.

For a second, the air between us grew suffocating, tense even, but just as quickly as it happened, it was gone. His hand flew up, pushing me back with enough force that I stumbled away from him.

Without another word, he grabbed his bag and turned on his heel, stalking right back out the door.

He was running away again, just like last night.

I stared at the swinging door as he disappeared through it. A part of me was really curious, but the rest of me was just furious.

Fuck him and his hot-and-cold bullshit.

Muttering a string of curses, I yanked on my gear and skated out onto the rink. Once I got clearance from the staff, I skated onto the ice.

As my blades sliced across the frost, the crushing weight in my chest loosened.

This really was home. The bite of the cold air in my lungs, the burn in my thighs- hockey was the only thing in my life that made sense.

Thank fuck I came here early, so I had the ice all to myself. Without a puck, I ran drills until sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes. I wove and maneuvered across the empty rink over and over again until the jarring noise of a bell shrilled through the arena.

School has officially started for the day.

I must have been on the ice for at least an hour.

By the time I changed into my normal clothes and stepped out into the hallways of the school building, the corridors were empty.

I quickly grabbed my books from the locker, glancing at my schedule. The class in the first period was English IV, and I hurried towards it with a small knot of nerves twisting in my stomach.

It was a foreign feeling, these nerves, but I guess I couldn't really be faulted for them. Back at Fonteign Academy, I was the hockey king, the captain of the Ice Reapers. Everyone either wanted to be me or be under me.

Meanwhile, on my first day here, I'd gotten beat up by the hockey team.

It was so bad that I'd spent the rest of the day yesterday hiding out in the nurse's office. So sue me for being a little nervous.

Pushing the classroom door open, I walked in, and every single head snapped in my direction. Well, there goes my hope for a quiet entry.

My heart gave a violent thump, but I forced my shoulders back, pasting on a cool expression.

However, that faux calm instantly evaporated when I scanned the room. Literally half the fucking hockey team were sitting behind the desks.

Shit.

My first instinct was to turn around and walk right back out, but the teacher's voice stopped me.

"Ah! You must be our new transfer student. Come in, come in. Please, introduce yourself to the class."

I stepped fully into the room, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.

As I gave a brief, half-assed introduction, a wave of giggles and hushed whispers rippled through the girls in the front row while the fuckwads jocks snickered at me.

I bit back a smirk anyway. Even with a black eye, I clearly still had it with the ladies.

Sweeping my gaze over the back of the room, I was looking for a particular pair of dark eyes.

Since most of the guys on the team were here, he should also be in this class.

Finally my eyes landed on him, but Reeves wasn't even looking at me.

Sat at the fourth row in the second to the last seat, he was leaning back in his chair, completely absorbed in whatever the brown-haired guy next to him was saying.

A sharp, hot stab of irritation pierced my chest.

Literally every person in this room was staring at me, except the one guy who had me pinned against a brick wall last night.

Reeves was back to his impenetrable, icy default, and I couldn't decide if I hated it or if it just made me want to push him harder.

Hissing a breath through my teeth, I broke my gaze away and looked for an empty desk.

I spotted one near the middle, right next to a guy with thick glasses.

When our eyes met, he offered me a small, hesitant wave.

Not really my crowd, but anything was better than sitting anywhere near those losers.

Nodding at him, I started down the aisle, but the teacher interrupted me again.

"You actually came in at the perfect time, Mr. Beaumont. We were just discussing our term project. Usually, I pair students up in twos, but to prepare you for college dynamics, we'll be doing groups of three this time." She smiled warmly. "Since today's your first day with us, I’ll give you a pass. You can choose one of your partners right now, and the third will be drawn at random at the end of class."

I looked at the room full of glaring hockey meatheads and blushing girls.

Yeah no thanks.

I pointed at the kid with the glasses. "Him."

"Excellent choice," the teacher said. "Kevin is one of our brightest. Go ahead and take your seat."

A few snorts erupted from the hockey players in the back, but I ignored them, dropping into the hard plastic chair.

I shot Kevin a polite greeting, and the guy shyly muttered one back.

For the rest of the period, I tried to focus on the teaching, but the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

I could feel someone glaring at me.

It was a heavy, physical weight pressing against the side of my head.

But every single time I casually shifted in my seat to glance back at Reeves, the direction I felt the stare from, his eyes were fixed firmly on the whiteboard.

Why then does it feel like he's staring at me?

Slightly perturbed, I turned my attention forward again.

When the bell finally rang, the teacher held up a glass bowl full of folded paper slips. "Alright, everyone! Come pick your group member before you leave!"

Grabbing my backpack, I slung it over one shoulder, and joined the line.

Soon it was my turn and when I unfolded the paper I'd picked from the bowl, I had to bite back a curse.

Reeves.

Fuck. I'd literally just been celebrating the fact that I'd managed to avoid all the hockey pricks.

Now he had to be the third in our group.

I had half the mind to just toss it away and abandon the project as a whole, but I needed these grades to secure my athletic scholarship.

Turning around, I spotted Reeves walking towards the door, broad shoulders held straight.

"Hey," I called out, hurrying ahead to stepping directly into his path. I held the paper up. "Looks like we're...."

As though I was talking to myself, Reeves sidestepped me and kept walking away.