Chapter 5

Zeke 

The leather seats of Kyler’s vintage black Jeep Cherokee were entirely too comfortable for a guy I actively wanted to punch in the throat.

I sat in the passenger side, my arms crossed tightly over my chest, staring out the window as the suburban streets of my hometown slowly melted into the highway leading to Ravenscroft College. 

Ravenscroft was a massive, gothic-looking elite institution nestled on the edge of a wealthy, fog-heavy lake town. It was the kind of campus that looked beautiful in brochures but felt like a frozen fortress during hockey season. The athletic department practically ran the school, which was the only reason I tolerated the grueling schedule. Well, that and getting away from my family.

A heavy, smooth bassline started thumping through the Jeep's high-end speakers. The dark, hypnotic rhythm of “Starboy” by The Weeknd filled the cabin. I gritted my teeth. Of course the psycho had good taste in music. It would be so much easier to hate him if he listened to generic radio pop.

I pulled out my phone, ignoring the low hum of the engine, and opened I*******m. I needed a distraction from the suffocating presence of the guy sitting next to me. My thumb mindlessly scrolled past frat party videos and sports highlights before I did the one thing I had been loathing myself for doing all morning.

I tapped my direct messages. I scrolled past my unread texts from Zoey. Past the group chats. Right to the bottom.

There it was. An active chat thread with @BarnabyTheOfficialBear.

I wanted to slam my head against the dashboard. It was clinical insanity. Why the hell did our college athletic department decide that a fictional, six-foot-tall plush animal needed its own verified social media account? 

It was mostly used for PR—posting photos of the bear hugging toddlers, doing backflips on the ice, or posing with the cheerleaders. It was a corporate marketing gimmick run by some faceless intern in the media department.

And yet, my stupid, desperate ass had sent a DM to it at three in the morning.

Me: Who are you?

That was it. Just three words. I had been high, my ribs had been throbbing, and my brain had been completely short-circuited by the memory of wet heat and dead glass eyes. I had spent the last twelve hours convincing myself the intern running the account would just delete it and think it was a prank. But every time I opened the app, my chest tightened.

No reply. Still unread.

I locked my phone with an aggressive click and shoved it into my pocket, letting out a heavy, frustrated sigh. Great. I was officially losing my mind. I was surrounded by psychotic people in my real life, and now I was cyber-stalking a school mascot like a total freak. I really needed to stop watching those murder documentaries.

“You okay over there, Zeke?” Kyler asked smoothly, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He flicked his blinker on, steering the Jeep toward an off-ramp. 

“You’re breathing kinda heavy. Ribs still bothering you?”

I stiffened, my defense mechanism instantly kicking into overdrive. “I’m fine. Just ready to get back to the house.”

“Right. The house,” Kyler repeated, a subtle, unreadable tone in his voice.

He pulled the Jeep into the parking lot of a 24-hour pharmacy just off the highway, killing the engine. The sudden silence in the car was deafening, save for the quiet rain starting to patter against the windshield.

“Why are we stopping?” I grumbled, glaring at the neon green sign of the store. “I thought we were heading straight to campus.”

“We are,” Kyler said easily, unbuckling his seatbelt. 

He turned to look at me, giving me another one of those perfectly symmetrical, flawless smiles that made my survival instincts scream. “Zara told me you took a nasty hit last night. Said you were acting stubborn about it. As her boyfriend, it’s technically my job to make sure her favorite brother doesn't collapse from internal bleeding on my watch.”

“I’m her only brother,” I snapped.

“Exactly. Which makes you a limited edition,” Kyler replied, his voice entirely too calm, entirely too pleasant. 

He opened his car door, the chilly autumn wind rushing into the cabin. “I’m just going to grab some medicated heat patches and anti-inflammatory ointment. Don't worry, captain. I’ll make sure it’s league-approved so you don't fail your next test.”

Before I could tell him to screw off, he slammed the door shut, jogging through the light drizzle toward the pharmacy entrance.

I slumped back into the leather seat, staring at the empty driver’s side. I hated him. I genuinely, deeply hated how perfect he was trying to be. He was the ideal sister's boyfriend, thoughtful, observant, and always doing the right thing. But the fact that he noticed my breathing, noticed my ribs, and went out of his way to buy me ointment just felt... wrong. It felt like he was studying me.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out, assuming it was a text from Zoey asking when I’d be back at Ravenscroft. But when the screen lit up, my heart stopped, dropping straight into my stomach.

It was a notification from I*******m.

@BarnabyTheOfficialBear has sent you a message.

My fingers trembled as I tapped the banner, the alleyway scent of rain and damp fur flashing through my mind so vividly I could almost taste it. I opened the chat.

BarnabyTheOfficialBear: Miss me already?