CHAPTER 17

Helena

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking as I clutched the steering wheel. The car was idling outside the arena parking lot and my knuckles were white around it like if I let go I’d fall apart.

Jarrett didn’t say anything for a full minute, he just watched me.

Then: “Pull over.” he said to me.

“I’m fine.” I managed to say. I wasn't.

“Helena, pull over.”

I did. Right there, under a flickering streetlight, with my car half in a no-parking zone and my chest tight like someone was sitting on it.

He unbuckled himself, got out, and came around to the driver’s side, then opened my door. “Move.”

“Don’t talk to me like—”

“Move, or I’m carrying you,” he said.

I stared at him in silence for a few moments before I moved to the passenger's seat.

He slid in, shut the door, and took the wheel. His hands were steady. Of course they were. Even bleeding, even after a fight, Jarrett Brooks never shook.

We passed ten blocks in silence until I could no longer take it anymore. And because if I didn't say it now, I'd scream.

“You were going to tell Brent off in there, weren’t you?”

He didn’t look at me. “Yes,” he replied.

“Even though it’d cost you the game?”

“Even though.”

I laughed in a way that came out wrong and bitter. “You’re an idiot.”

“Probably,” he shrugged his shoulders.

“You got a penalty for me.”

“I got a penalty for him putting his hands near you.”

That shut me up. The car turned down my street. And my stomach dropped.

There were vans, cameras and bright lights everywhere.

And they looked like Brent's PR team. My face was on half the screens, mid-blink, looking exhausted from the bench.

The chyron read: "COACH BROOKS IN CRISIS? LEAKED THERAPY RECORDS,"

This had to be Vanessa's doing.

Jarett put the car in park and just stared.

“They’re at my apartment.” I said blankly.

“I see that.” Jarrett killed the engine. “We’re not going in.”

“They have my records, Jarrett. My private records. That’s illegal.”

“That’s Brent.” He turned to me. “You okay?”

I wanted to say yes. I wanted to be the woman who walked through that with her head high and didn’t flinch.

Instead I said, “No.”

Something in his face cracked.

“Come with me,” he said. “To my place, tonight. You can’t be alone with this.”

“I’m not your responsibility.” I spat out.

“You are now.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“I do,” he said quietly. “Because you’d do it for me.”

Damn him. I let out a loud sigh and nodded my head. He started the car and turned the car around, heading for his apartment.

His apartment was 20 minutes away and smelled like him. Leather, ice, and that stupid cologne he’s worn since we were kids.

He didn’t turn on the big lights when we got in, just the kitchen one.

“Water?” he asked.

“Sit down.” I said instead.

He did, at his kitchen table with his elbows on his knees, watching me like I might bolt.

But I didn’t bolt, I paced.

“This is what they want,” I said. “For me to break on camera. For me to cry and to prove I’m unstable.”

“Then don’t do all of that. Don't give them what they're looking for.”

“I’m trying.” My voice cracked. “God, Jarrett, I’m trying so hard not to.”

He stood up slowly like I was spooked, “Then stop trying alone.”

And that’s when the hazy feeling hit me, the one I’d been getting for weeks.

It started in my chest then spread all over like someone poured ice water over my spine.

My senses went sharp and instantly, I could hear his heartbeat. I could smell his sweat and the blood from his split lip. And under it, I could smell something else that was wild.

I gasped and stumbled back into the counter.

Jarrett was across the room in one step. “Helena?”

“Don’t— don’t touch me.” I sneered but I was already reaching for him, my body deciding before my brain did.

The second his hands came up to steady me, the noise stopped and the spinning stopped.

All I could smell was him and all I could feel was his solid warmth.

It terrified me.

I shoved him back. “This is all happening because of you.”

He didn’t move. “I know.”

“You knew this would happen.”

“I knew you had it in you.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know when. I didn’t know how bad it’d be.”

I pressed my palms to my eyes. “I watched wolves kill my parents, Jarrett. I buried them. And now my body wants to be one? That’s sick.”

“It’s not sick.” He said in a low tone. “It’s you. It was always you.”

I looked up at him. “Then why didn’t you stop it? Years ago. Why didn’t you—”

“Because you were grieving,” he cut in. “And because the last thing you needed was me telling you there was a monster inside you too.”

“I’m not a monster.”

“I never said you were.” He stepped closer without touching me. “You’re the strongest person I know. You took everything Brent did and you’re still standing. You think a little wolf is going to break you?”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him he didn’t get to be proud of me.

But my throat closed.

Because he was right. I was tired. Tired of fighting alone. Tired of pretending I wasn’t falling apart.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I whispered.

“Then let me help.”

I stared at him and at the blood on his knuckles from the game...at the way he was looking at me like I was the only thing in the room that mattered.

Before I could answer, my phone buzzed again and again. In just a few seconds, there were already fifteen missed calls and forty text messages on my phone, all from Brent and Vanessa and from another number I didn't recognize.