8

Thursday. Game day. The team would be returning around one, and of course, I had the whole schedule memorized. Not that I was planning anything. Of course not. The day Jax Ryder was supposed to be on a bus, heading to a match he couldn’t play in. I’d pictured him a dozen different ways: brooding in an empty classroom, sulking at home, maybe even sneaking off to watch from the stands.

My imagination, it turns out, was severely lacking.

During fourth period, Mr. Davies stopped me on my way out of History. “Elliot, a moment? Could you be a dear and take this stack of assignments to the staff room for me? My next class is on the other side of the building.”

“Sure, no problem,” I said, taking the heavy pile of papers. It was the least I could do for the teacher of the class where Asher knew my name.

The main hallway was silent, everyone locked away in their lectures. The staff room door was slightly ajar. Knowing most teachers were in class, I didn’t bother knocking. I pushed the door open and walked straight in, heading for Mr. Davies’ designated corner desk, which was tucked behind a large, overloaded bookshelf.

That’s when I heard a sound. A sharp, ragged intake of breath. Then a low, husky murmur.

My first, stupid thought was that someone was having a panic attack. Maybe a teacher had gotten bad news. My feet moved on their own, carrying me toward the bookshelf, drawn by the sound. Concern, or maybe just pure, dumb curiosity.

I peeked around the edge of the shelf.

And my entire world screeched to a halt.

My brain just stopped. It refused to process what my eyes were seeing. It was like looking at a puzzle where all the pieces were from different boxes.

Mrs. Miller. Our English teacher. Coach Miller’s wife. She was perched on the edge of a large oak table, her back to me, her usually perfect bun coming undone. And pressed against her, his arms caging her in on the table, was Jax. Jax fucking Ryder.

He wasn’t just standing close. He was kissing her. And she was kissing him back. One of her hands was tangled in his blond hair, the other gripping the sleeve of his jacket. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was hungry. Desperate. All teeth and gasps and raw, undeniable need.

I think I stopped breathing. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Of all the secrets in this school, of all the twisted, dramatic things I could have stumbled upon, this was the absolute last one. The nuclear option.

Slowly, carefully, like moving through wet cement, I brought my hand up and pinched the skin of my wrist. Hard. I felt the sting, saw the red mark bloom instantly.

Ouch.

It was real. I was a statue, frozen in my horrible, accidental voyeurism.

And then, Jax’s eyes opened.

They weren’t hazy with passion. They weren’t dazed or lost in the moment. They were clear, sharp, and terrifyingly focused. And they were looking directly at me.

Our gazes locked over Mrs. Miller’s shoulder.

My blood turned to ice. A silent scream lodged itself in my throat. This was it. This was the moment my life ended. He would shove her away, storm over here, and… and what? What do you do to someone who’s witnessed this?

But he didn’t move.

He didn’t stop.

He had the absolute, earth-shattering audacity to just keep going. His mouth never left hers. His hands stayed planted on the table. But his eyes, those cold, arrogant green eyes, remained fixed on me. He was watching me watch him. There was no panic in his expression. No guilt. No anger. It was a challenge. A dare. It was as if he was saying, Yeah, you see this? What are you going to do about it?

It was the most unnerving, powerful thing I had ever witnessed. He was completely in control, even caught in the act. He was making me an accomplice just by holding my stare, forcing me to bear witness.

I felt dizzy. I took a single, stumbling step backward, my shoe catching on the linoleum.

The sound was like a crack of thunder in the silent room.

Mrs. Miller flinched, breaking the kiss. “What was that?” she whispered, her voice husky.

Jax’s eyes finally, mercifully, broke away from mine. He looked down at her, his expression shifting seamlessly into something softer, more concerned.

Jax didn’t even glance my way again. “Must have heard wrong,” he said, his voice deliberately calm, a masterful lie. He dipped his head and gave her one more quick, firm kiss. “I just remembered, I’ve got something I have to do.”

He straightened up, his movements smooth and unnervingly casual. As he pulled away, I saw his hands go to the buttons of his shirt, deftly correcting the one she had undone. The simple, intimate gesture made my stomach lurch.

That was the jolt I needed. I finally managed to unstick my feet. I spun around and rushed for the door. I made it into the hallway, the heavy door swinging shut behind me with a soft click. Relief flooded me for half a second.

Then, a hand, hard and rough, clamped over my mouth from behind, stifling my gasp. An arm like an iron bar wrapped around my waist, and I was yanked backward, my feet nearly leaving the ground. I was dragged, struggling uselessly, into the dark, supply closet opposite the staff room. The door slammed shut, plunging us into near-total darkness.

Before my eyes could adjust, I was shoved harshly against a cold wall. The impact knocked the air from my lungs. The hand left my mouth, and I sucked in a ragged breath.

I could just make out his silhouette, a tall, menacing shadow blocking the sliver of light under the door. Jax.