CHAPTER 8: Ride with a stranger.

Adrian's POV

The outdoor party was loud, the crisp night air thick with the smell of cheap beer and raw adrenaline. Winning on Friday had set the campus on fire, and tonight's celebration had spilled out across a massive open yard. The heavy bass from the speakers vibrated through the grass, a stark contrast to the quiet, calculated way I usually have to navigate my life.

Blake had led the congratulatory shot toast, soaking in the cheers of the crowd. But right after, Abel stepped into my space, his jaw tight.

"You're always playing favorites, Whitlock," Abel sneered, keeping his voice low. "He led the shot again."

Abel had said I was being partial with who led the shot and everything, and that I have always been biased whenever it has to do with Blake.

I was pissed 'cause that's not exactly true.

"You think we don't see it?" Abel continued, his tone turning venomous. "You treat this roster like it's your personal kingdom, and Blake gets to do whatever he wants while the rest of us just fall in line."

I stared at him, my posture rigid. Underneath the college athlete act, every instinct I possessed roared to the surface. In my world, open disrespect like this is met with immediate, brutal violence. My fists clenched at my sides, my knuckles aching with the urge to break his jaw right then and there.

I struggled to stay calm, fighting back the dark impulse to tear him apart. It wasn't worth blowing my cover over a petty hockey argument. But more than that, I knew my own strength—if I laid a hand on him, I wouldn't just give him a black eye. I would end up severely incapacitating my own teammate. I couldn't afford to take on the tag of the captain who put his own player in the hospital, because I couldn't trust myself to stop once I started. So, I forced my lethal instincts down and decided to just step away.

"Watch your mouth, Abel," I warned, my tone dropping into a cold, dead calm that immediately made him hesitate. "No one is playing favorites. If you want the spotlight, skate faster. Don't come crying to me at a party."

I didn't wait for his reply. I turned on my heel and walked away to a quiet spot near the edge of the trees, leaving the noise of the party behind.

I let the breeze of the night blow through me, cooling the anger tight in my chest. I just stared at the cigarette I was holding in my right hand, and was igniting my lighter in the other hand.

The small orange flame flickered in the dark, casting a faint glow over the unlit paper. I stopped smoking last year after I got sick, and my mom said I was getting addicted to smoking and made me promise to stop 'cause she wasn't ready to lose her son even though it was completely unrelated and I was lying on that hospital bed cause of exhaustion. Since then, I resorted to just staring at the stick. The quiet ritual was enough to steady my nerves, and eventually, I threw it away into the damp grass and pocketed my lighter.

I turned to return back to the party, and this lady just bumped into me.

She hit my chest hard, grabbing my jacket to steady herself. Then she touched me, looked up at me with wide, glassy eyes, and called me 'Dad'.

Wait, did I look that old that she called me Dad?

Then I saw her sway dangerously on her feet and realized she was drunk. Completely out of it.

"Dad!" she called out again, tears spilling over her cheeks. "I thought I wouldn't see you again. I miss you, we miss you."

She lifted her hands dramatically above her head. "Evan is now this tall."

The sudden movement threw off her balance, and she stumbled hard. I reached out and caught her waist so she wouldn't fall.

"Where are you going? Who are you with?" I asked her, trying to keep her upright.

But she just kept talking about how she misses her dad. "I'm tired, Daddy, I'm tired. Now I'm going against everything you said, but I promise it's just this once."

She bent down, crying heavily. I bent with her, patting her shoulder. I listened for a while and tried to help take her back since I didn't know who she was with.

"Where do you stay?" I asked her.

Then she stared up at me for a long, quiet second, and then her eyes went shut.

Her entire body went completely limp against me.

I just picked her up, easily scooping her into my arms. I walked back toward the crowd and asked a few persons, but no one could identify her. Whoever she came with had clearly abandoned her.

I was already tired of the party anyway, and Abel had ruined my mood. I couldn't leave her lying on the cold ground, so I carried her down the street to where my car was parked. I unlocked the door, placed her carefully into the passenger seat, and buckled her seatbelt across her chest before slipping into the driver's seat.

As I started the engine and pulled out into the quiet, dark streets leading toward my house, I kept glancing over at her sleeping figure.

I anticipated her phone would ring. I fully expected a frantic roommate or a friend to start calling her so I could pick up, explain the situation, get her dorm address, and drop her off safely without having to bring a complete stranger into my private space.

I drove slowly, waiting for the buzz or the chime of her phone in her pocket. But it didn't ring. The passenger side remained entirely silent, her breathing soft and steady against the window.

When she wakes up, she finds her way.

Just as I turned onto the long, dark road leading toward my estate, the heavy silence inside the car was shattered. The dashboard screen lit up in bright blue light, and the speakers blared as a call came through.

It wasn't her phone.

It was mine.