2

Avery’s POV

By Monday morning, the whole school is buzzing with one name.

Jaxon Reid.

The transfer student. The new goalie. The boy with the scar and the smirk who’d collided with me outside the arena like fate itself was making a cruel joke.

I hadn’t told Lila about that moment. Some encounters feel too strange, too sharp-edged to share. Like they’ll lose their meaning if you say them out loud. But the universe has a way of dragging you back to what you’re trying to avoid. And today, it does so with whispers.

Lunch Whispers

“Did you hear? He nearly killed a guy.”

I pause with my tray halfway to the table.

At the far end of the cafeteria, two sophomore girls huddle, voices pitched just enough to carry. Their words slice through the noise like glass.

“Not killed,” the other corrects quickly, but her eyes widen with thrill. “But he broke the guy’s jaw. Three places. That’s why he got expelled.”

“No, I heard it was his coach he went after,” another voice chimes in. “They said he got arrested. My cousin goes to Westwood and she said they still talk about it.”

Lila slides into the seat across from me, rolling her eyes as she sets down her tray. “You hear this circus? Half of them don’t even know his last name, but they’re already turning him into a murderer.”

I drop into my seat, stabbing at the limp lettuce on my salad. “They’re saying he was arrested?”

“They say a lot of things,” she says, unimpressed. “Last semester, remember when they swore the chemistry teacher was having an affair with the janitor? Rumors are oxygen in this place. Doesn’t mean they’re true.”

But there’s something about the way people whisper this rumor. It’s not playful, not exaggerated for drama. It’s hushed, conspiratorial, like they’re genuinely afraid.

I press my fork into the salad harder than necessary. “He’s just some transfer. Why do they care so much?”

Lila leans closer, lowering her voice. “Because he’s on the team now. Our team. And you know how anyone who touches hockey around here is practically royalty. Except, in his case, people can’t decide if he’s a savior or a psychopath.”

I shove a piece of cucumber into my mouth, chewing hard to keep from saying what’s really in my head: I’ve already met him. And psychopaths don't feel far off.

Instead, I mutter, “Not my problem.”

“Not yet,” Lila smirks.

Fate laughs at me again.

Fourth period, history. I’m halfway through doodling in the margins of my notes when the classroom door swings open.

He walks in.

Jaxon Reid.

His presence feels like a gust of cold air slipping under your collar unexpectedly, unwelcome, but impossible to ignore. He doesn’t look nervous, doesn’t glance around for approval like most new kids. He strolls in with his hands shoved in his pockets, his posture loose, like he already owns the space.

His scar catches the fluorescent light, sharp against his skin. His eyes scan the room lazily before landing on the teacher.

“Mr. Reid,” Mr. Caldwell greets. “Welcome. Take any empty seat.”

There’s one, unfortunately, right next to me.

Of course.

He drops into the chair, not bothering to ask, not even looking my way. His cologne is something smoky, something that clings and wraps around me, prickling at my senses.

I keep my eyes glued to my notebook, but I can feel him. The weight of him beside me. The way the room shifts as people steal glances, whispers buzzing like flies.

Finally, curiosity betrays me. I glance sideways.

He’s not taking notes. He’s not even pretending. He’s leaning back, long legs stretched out, twirling a pen between his fingers. And his eyes, God help me, his eyes are fixed right on me.

Unblinking. Assessing. Like I’m some puzzle he’s already half-solved.

My stomach tightens. I jerk my gaze back to my notebook, heat creeping up my neck.

Dangerous. That’s what everyone says. And sitting next to him, feeling that gaze crawl over me, I almost believe it.

Ethan’s Warning

The bell rings, mercifully loud. I shove my notebook into my bag, determined to escape before he says anything. Before I have to hear that smirk in his voice again.

But someone else is faster.

“Avery.”

I stiffen. Ethan.

He steps into my path in the hallway, his broad shoulders blocking the way, his hockey jacket gleaming like a badge of power. The hallway buzzes with bodies, but it feels like the world narrows to just him and me.

“What do you want?” I bite out.

His eyes flick over my shoulder, sharp and assessing. I don’t have to turn to know who he’s looking at.

“You’ve got him in your class now?” His jaw tightens. “Stay away from him, Avery.”

I bark out a laugh, too harsh. “Trust me, I wasn’t planning on sending him an invitation to brunch.”

“I’m serious.” He steps closer, voice dropping. “Reid isn’t like the other guys. He’s poisonous. You let him in, he’ll ruin you.”

My chest tightens at his tone not protective, not caring, but territorial. Like he still thinks he gets a say in my life after humiliating me in front of the entire school.

I lift my chin. “Thanks for the warning, but I don’t need your advice. Or your concern.”

His hand twitches like he wants to grab my arm, but he doesn’t. His eyes soften for a second, like he wants to say more, then harden again. “Just… don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He walks away, the crowd swallowing him up.

My fists clench around the strap of my bag. Poison. That’s what he said. But Ethan’s the one who left me bleeding on the ice. If anyone’s poison, it’s him.

The Smirk

I take the long way out of school, weaving through side hallways just to shake the lingering echo of Ethan’s voice. My head is a storm of rumors, warnings, and memories, all swirling too loudly.

I’m so lost in thought I almost miss it.

A prickle on the back of my neck. The unmistakable weight of someone’s stare.

I glance up.

Across the courtyard, leaning against the wall like he has all the time in the world, is Jaxon Reid.

His eyes are locked on me. Sharp. Curious. That same unreadable expression as in class. And then just like outside the arena his mouth curves into that slow, dangerous smirk.

Like he knows something.

Like he already knows me.

My heart lurches, pulse racing. I tear my gaze away, forcing my feet to move faster. But the image sticks, burning into the back of my mind.

The scar. The stare. The smirk.

And the terrifying thought that maybe Ethan’s right about one thing Jaxon Reid is dangerous.

But maybe not in the way anyone thinks.