Chapter 10

The Pathfit class ended and everyone already left. Since this is our last subject everyone already went home while me, I was left behind because I am packing up my things so I can go home too.

I zipped my backpack shut, slinging it over one shoulder as the silence of the field settled around me. The sun was starting to dip lower, casting long, orange shadows across the empty bleachers.

Until I felt a presence behind my back.

My posture went rigid instantly. My grip tightened on the strap of my bag, a familiar, bitter tension coiling deep in my gut.

Even without turning around to check who that person might be, I already know who’s presence it is.

“What do you want, Nathan?” I turned my back only to be surprised it wasn’t Nathan at all.

It is Michael.

He was still wearing his sweaty practice jersey, holding his dark duffel bag over his shoulder. His dark hair was damp, sticking slightly to his forehead, and those cold, sharp eyes were fixed entirely on me.

“Sorry, I thought you are Nathan,” I said, taking a subtle step back to put space between us. “What do you want?”

The only thing that is going around in my mind that could be the reason why he is in front of me right now is that he didn’t like how I cleaned his shirt the other day. But seeing that he is not holding anything, nothing crossed my mind as to the reason why he is staring blankly on my lifeless soul, unless he wants something from me.

Michael didn't answer right away. He just stood there, letting the quiet breeze blow between us, his chest rising and falling in slow, controlled beats.

"Our first tournament is in a few days from now, this week actually," Michael said, his voice flat and direct. "And we lost our equipment manager last Friday."

I blinked, staring at him. "Okay? And what does that have to do with me?"

"You handled the water setup earlier," he continued, completely ignoring my tone. "You did it fast, you knew how to secure the heavy jug, and you didn't ask questions. I need a water boy for the team."

For a second, the words just hung in the air.

I stared at his deadpan face, waiting for the punchline. Waiting for Nathan to step out from behind the bleachers with his phone out, laughing at another sick prank. But Michael’s face didn't change. He was dead serious.

"You want me... to be Golden Locke's water boy?" I asked.

"It pays," Michael said, stepping half an inch closer. "The athletics board approves student staff stipends. You get paid by the hour, and we need someone who can help the team win without being on the ice rink."

A sudden, sharp impulse bubbled up in my chest.

I let out a short laugh. Then another one. Before I could stop myself, I was laughing hysterically right in his face, the sound loud and mocking against the quiet field.

"Are you insane?" I said, wiping a hand over my mouth as my laugh died down into a bitter smirk. "No. Absolutely not."

Michael’s dark eyebrows pulled together just a fraction, but he didn't snap. "It's a legitimate job, Niel."

"I don't care what it is," I said, my jaw setting tight as I looked him dead in the eye. "I am not going to be a servant for you and your team." After he even mocked me earlier? Told me that I do stupid things? He is going to ask me to do a stupid job?

Does he seriously think money is going to tempt me? My thoughts ran hot and bitter as I stared at him. I’m already rich. I’m dead rich. My family’s money could buy this whole damn rink twice over if I wanted it to. A stupid student stipend means nothing to me. There is literally zero benefit for me to take this ridiculous job.

I spend every single day in this school keeping a low profile, trying to stay as far away from Golden Locke as possible. Why would I willingly sign up to hand Nathan his water bottles after practice?

He wants me in the locker rooms? He wants me to travel with them to tournaments? Nathan would have a field day. He would have me under his thumb twenty-four hours a day, using that video to make me do every pathetic task he could think of.

"Nathan won't touch you if you're working under the team staff," Michael said quietly, as if he could read the exact fear running through my head.

I went still. My eyes narrowed at him.

"What did you just say?" I asked, my voice dropping into a dangerous whisper.

"I said, if you're official staff for the squad, Nathan won't mess with you during practice or games," Michael repeated, his voice cold and steady. "I run the team. Not him."

A sharp laugh cut through my throat again, but this time there was no humor in it at all.

"You think you're protecting me?" I asked, taking a step right into his space, refusing to back down this time. "You don't know anything, Michael. You think you own that team, but you let him walk around like he owns this whole school. I don't need your stupid job, I don't need your money, and I definitely don't need your help."

I adjusted the strap of my backpack on my shoulder, shifted my weight around him, and started walking toward the main exit gate.

"The offer stands until Friday," Michael’s quiet voice called out behind me. He didn't turn around to chase me. He just stood there, his shadow long against the grass. "Think about it, Niel. And think about having a reason to be in the rink where no one can question why you're there."

I didn't slow my pace. I didn't glance back.

I kept my eyes locked on the open street outside the school gates, my heart pounding against my ribs, my fists clenched so hard my fingernails bit into my palms inside my hoodie pockets.

He was out of his mind if he thought I would ever say yes to that trap.