Hermes heir

Ethan's POV.

"If you say that word one more time, Emily, I swear to God I’m kicking you out of my car."

Emily didn't even look up from her phone. Her hair was tossed over one shoulder, her thumbs flying across the screen at lightning speed.

"You're literally crashing out before eight in the morning, Ethan," she said, her voice dripping with bored amusement. "It's giving unhinged."

"Crashing out? What the fuck does that even mean? Can you speak like a normal human being for five minutes?"

"It means you’re losing your mind over nothing, grandpa. Learn the language of the youth."

"We are the exact same age!" I snapped, pulling into the campus parking lot. "I have a full ride on the line this season, Em. I don't have time to memorize whatever brainrot you read on T****k while I’m in the weight room."

Emily clicked her phone off and turned to me, checking her lip gloss in the passenger vanity mirror. "Whatever. The point is, you’re stressed for no reason. You're the varsity captain. Coach loves you. The whole school bows down to you. Stop being so dramatic."

"I’m not being dramatic. I’m being realistic," I muttered, grabbing my gym bag from the back seat. "Senior year. This is the year scouts actually show up with contracts, not just handshake promises. If I don't put this team on my back and win the district championship, my ass is working retail next summer."

"You won't," she said, popping her gum. "You're too stubborn to fail. Besides, all the other guys on the team are completely useless. Especially Mike. God, I hate that clown."

"Everyone hates Mike," I said, slinging my duffel bag over my shoulder as we walked toward the building. "He thinks because his uncle donated money to the athletic department, he can slack off on line-drills. Not on my court. I’m running them into the floor today."

"Good. Humiliate him," Emily said brightly. "Make him cry. Film it so I can post it. My followers love athletic drama."

"I’m not helping you with content, Emily."

"You're so boring, Ethan. Honestly. If you weren't my best friend, I’d trade you for a guy who actually knows how to use I*******m."

"Good luck finding one who’ll drive your ass to school every single day for free."

"True. Your free taxi service is elite. No cap."

I rubbed my temples with two fingers, pushing open the glass doors to the gym lobby. "Shut up. Just shut the fuck up."

The gym was already busy. A few guys from the second unit were shooting around, sneakers squeaking against the court. Voices spilled from the open locker room into the hall.

"Speak of the devil," Emily muttered, nudging my rib with her elbow.

Mike was leaning against the lockers near the entrance, spinning a basketball on his finger, flanked by two bench warmers who laughed at every stupid thing he said. When he saw me walk in, that smug, punchable grin spread across his face.

"Look who finally decided to show up," Mike called out, bouncing the ball off the wall with a loud bang. "Our glorious captain. Did you have to stop and ask your mommy for gas money, Thorne?"

I didn't even break my stride. I stopped three inches from his chest, letting my height do the talking. I wasn't the biggest guy in the league, but I had enough to back up my mouth, and Mike knew it.

"Keep running your mouth, Mike," I said, keeping my voice dead low. "See if it saves you when I put you on the third string during scrimmage today. Grab your shoes and get on the baseline. Now."

Mike’s grin twitched, his eyes darting toward the other guys. He hated being ordered around, but I had the armband and the whistle. Coach gave me total authority over conditioning, and Mike had already puked in the trash can twice this week because of me.

"Yeah, whatever, Captain," Mike sneered, pushing off the locker and walking past. "Enjoy it while it lasts."

"Dickhead," I muttered under my breath.

Julian, our starting point guard and the only guy on the roster who actually matched my work ethic, jogged over, wiping his forehead with his jersey. "Don't let him get in your head, E. He's just salty because Coach told him he's not starting this season."

"I don't give a shit about Mike," I told Julian, dapping him up. "You ready for today? We're running the new pick-and-roll sets. That shooting guard spot beside me is yours, man. We’re locking down the backcourt together."

Julian grinned, tapping my chest. "Hell yeah. I spent the whole summer working on my corner three. Nobody is taking that spot from me."

"Damn right," I said. "Now go get taped up."

Emily was leaning against the gym doors, arms crossed over her jacket, looking at her nails. "Are you done with your little alpha male routine? I need to get to homeroom before the cheerleaders take the good mirrors in the bathroom."

"Go, then. Who’s stopping you?"

"You're supposed to walk me halfway, you brute."

Before I could tell her to walk herself, the door at the far end of the hallway swung open. Coach Davis walked in, a clipboard tucked under his arm.

Right behind him was someone else. He was a few inches taller than me, with wide shoulders that filled out his expensive-looking black hoodie. He had messy hair that fell slightly over a ridiculously sharp jawline, and his hands were shoved deep into his pockets. He carried a leather duffel bag over one shoulder, moving with a slow stride, as if walking into our gym was the most exhausting thing on the planet.

Emily instantly stopped picking at her nails. "Holy shit," she whispered, her fingers digging hard into my bicep.

"Ow! What the hell, Em?"

"Shut up, look at him," she hissed, barely moving her lips. "Who is that? Why didn't anyone tell me a literal god was transferring here? Look at his face, Ethan. Look at his skin. It’s so clear. He has cheekbones that could cut glass."

"He looks like a douchebag," I muttered, looking the guy up and down.

I hated guys like him on sight. You could tell just by his clothes and the way he walked that he came from money. The kind of guy who never had to check the price tag on a pair of sneakers, never had to worry about scholarship applications, and probably thought the world revolved around his pretty face.

Coach spotted me and waved his clipboard. "Thorne! Get over here!"

"Don't embarrass me in front of my future husband," Emily whispered urgently as I stepped forward.

"I'm going to throw up," I muttered, walking toward Coach.

Coach stopped in front of me, nodding toward the transfer kid who had stopped a few paces back. The guy just stared straight ahead, his face an emotionless mask, looking like he’d rather be literally anywhere else.

"Ethan, this is Axel Mercer," Coach Davis said. "Transfer student. Just finalized his paperwork this morning. Axel, this is Ethan Thorne. He’s our varsity team captain. Ethan, show him around the facility, get him settled in the locker room, and walk him through our standard drills."

"Sure thing, Coach," I said.

I put on my best captain face. I wanted this guy to know exactly who ran this court from the first second. I stepped right up to him, squaring my shoulders to match his height, and extended my right hand firmly.

"Welcome to the team, Mercer," I said, projecting my voice so every guy on the court could hear. "I'm Ethan. If you have questions about the playbook, conditioning, or how we run things around here, you come to me. We work hard, we don't tolerate slackers, and we win. Glad to have you."

I held my hand out, waiting for the grip.

Axel didn't move.

His dark eyes slowly dropped from my forehead, down to my chest, and landed directly on my outstretched hand. His throat moved with a hard swallow, but his expression didn't change at all. It remained cold and stone-dead.

A few seconds passed.

The hallway had gone quiet. Julian stopped talking, while Mike watched from the locker room entrance, a nasty smirk spreading across his face.

Axel didn't take my hand. He didn't even say his own name.

Instead, he blinked once, shifted his duffel bag higher on his shoulder, and took a clean step directly around my outstretched arm. He walked right past me, heading straight toward the locker room doors as if I were a ghost.

I stood frozen, my arm still extended, while the entire hallway went dead silent.

Behind me, Mike let out a loud, obnoxious bark of laughter. 

"Damn, Captain! Looks like the new guy didn't get the memo about bowing down to you!"

"Shut the fuck up, Mike!" I barked, pulling my arm back. My fingers curled into a fist so tight my nails cut into my skin.

I turned, glaring at Axel’s broad back as he pushed the locker room door open without looking back once.

"Coach," I said, my voice shaking with barely contained fury. "Who the fuck is that?"

"Language, Thorne," Coach said mildly, looking down at his clipboard and flipping a page. "He’s quiet. Give him time to adjust."

"Quiet? He’s a disrespectful prick," I snapped, taking a step toward the locker room. "He thinks he can walk into my gym and treat me like I’m invisible? I'll teach him some fucking manners right now…"

Emily grabbed my hoodie, yanking me back before I could storm into the lockers.

"Ethan, chill!" she hissed, though her eyes were practically sparkling as she stared at the closed locker room door. 

"God, he's so hot. Did you see that jawline? And the silent, mysterious bad-boy thing? I'm obsessed. I'm actually obsessed."

I turned on her, furious. "Are you insane? He just completely disrespected me in front of the whole fucking squad! He looked right through me!"

"Because he doesn't know you, bro! It’s called being nonchalant," she argued, waving her hand dismissively. "All the other guys in this school are loud, obnoxious losers who beg for attention. He has aura. Major aura. I’m definitely making a move on him by third period."

"Aura my ass," I spat, running a frustrated hand through my hair. "He's an arrogant, silver-spoon asshole who thinks he's better than everyone else. Look at him. Designer bag, expensive hoodie, walking around like his shit doesn't stink. I know his type."

"You don't know anything about him," Emily rolled her eyes. "You're just mad because someone didn't kiss your ring the second they walked in."

"I don't need anyone to kiss my ring!" I yelled, dropping my voice when Coach shot me another warning glare from across the court. I leaned closer to Emily, my teeth grinding together. "I don't care how handsome you think that pretty boy is. The second we start scrimmaging today, I'm putting him in his place. I'm going to run him into the dirt until he pukes up whatever silver spoon he was born with."

"Right, sure," Emily laughed, patting my cheek condescendingly. "Good luck with that, Captain. I have to go to class. Text me if pretty boy takes his shirt off during drills."

"Get out of here," I snapped.

She gave me a playful salute and strutted down the hallway, leaving me standing outside the gym doors, my chest heaving with rage.

I took a deep breath, trying to force my heart rate down. It doesn't matter, I told myself. He's just another transfer. Probably played on some weak private school team where daddy bought the trophies. On this court, pedigree doesn't mean shit. Sweat does.

I grabbed my bag, marched into the locker room, and pushed through the doors, ready to confront him.

Axel was already sitting on the far bench by himself, tying the laces of a pair of black sneakers. He had his AirPods in, his head down, completely isolated from the rest of the team. The other guys were whispering in small clusters, casting sidelong glances at him, but nobody dared approach him. He was like a living iron wall.

I walked over to my locker right across from Julian, slamming the metal door open to make noise. Axel didn't flinch. He didn't even twitch an eyelid.

"Hey," Julian murmured, leaning over. "Guy hasn't said a single word since he walked in. Mike tried to ask him what position he plays, and he didn't even acknowledge Mike existed."

"Because he's a coward," I muttered, ripping off my hoodie and pulling on my practice jersey. "Watch him fold the second we start full-court contact."

Coach Davis stepped through the locker room doors, his whistle hanging between his teeth. He blew it once, the piercing blast cutting through the murmurs and made everyone snap to attention.

"Listen up! Round up, let's go!" Coach barked, clapping his hands.

We all moved into a circle around the center bench. Axel stood up slowly, taking a spot on the outer edge of the group with his arms crossed over his chest. He still had that blank, untouchable look on his face.

"Alright," Coach began, tapping his pen against the clipboard. "We've got scouting showcases coming up fast this semester, and district playoffs are right around the corner. I’m not tolerating any half-assed effort. We need our absolute best lineup on the floor from day one."

I nodded, feeling a surge of pride. That was my cue. I had led this team in scoring, assists, and steals all last season.

"Coach," I spoke up, stepping forward with confidence. "Julian and I already mapped out the backcourt rotation. We’re ready to run the starting offensive sets as soon as we hit the floor."

Coach looked up from his clipboard, his expression completely flat.

"Change of plans, Thorne," He said.

Unease crept up my neck. "What do you mean, change of plans?"

Coach turned his gaze toward the back, pointing his pen straight at Axel Mercer.

"Axel's game tape from his previous district cleared this morning," Coach announced, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. "He’s starting at shooting guard. Effective immediately. Julian, you’re running second unit."

The room seemed to go quiet all at once.

Julian’s face went dead pale, his mouth parting in silent disbelief. The entire team froze, eyes shifting in horror between me, Julian, and the new transfer.

My heart didn't just drop, it shattered against my ribs. I stared at Coach, my brain refusing to process the words, before my gaze snapped violently toward Axel.

Axel stood there, completely still, looking down at me with those cold, empty dark eyes, unbothered, while my teammate’s entire world was stolen in front of my face.