Chapter 3: The Unspoken Line

Gianna's POV 

Ryker didn't move from the wall. He just stood there, completely shirtless, letting his gray eyes slowly track the line of my throat down to where my fingers clutched the strap of my bag. The dark tattoo of the breaking storm on his arm shifted with the slight movement of his muscles. He looked completely at home, while I felt like I was standing on a fault line.

"There's been a mistake," I said, my voice tight. I forced my eyes to stay locked on his face, refusing to look down at the hard contours of his chest. "The housing office said this was an emergency placement. I'll go back and make them change it."

"Go ahead," Ryker murmured, a small, arrogant tilt to his lips. "But unless you're planning on sleeping in the equipment shed, you're stuck here. The whole campus is locked down over that flood."

He stepped away from the wall, and walked into the small kitchen, his bare feet silent against the hardwood floor. He pulled a carton of milk from the fridge, took a long drink straight from the carton, and slammed it back onto the shelf. Every movement was aggressive, heavy, and completely unbothered by my presence.

I didn't move from the doorway. "We need to set some rules."

Ryker paused, his hand still on the fridge door. He turned his head slowly, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. "Rules?"

"Yes," I said, stepping further into the room and dropping my bag onto the small gray couch. "I don't look at your things, you don't touch mine. We keep our schedules completely separate. And you don't bring your team or your girls into this suite. I need quiet."

Ryker let out a low, rough laugh that vibrated through the small space. He closed the fridge door with a heavy thud and walked over to the granite island, leaning his hands flat against the dark surface. He was so close I could smell the sharp, clean scent of his soap mixed with the faint, lingering smell of the rink.

"Let's get something straight, freshman," he said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register. "You're a guest in my space. I've had this suite to myself since last year. I don't change my life for a no-name transfer who can't even tell me her real identity."

My heart stopped for a fraction of a second. I kept my face completely blank, a skill I had perfected after years of facing harsh sports judges. "I told you. My name is Gianna Cole."

"Sure it is," he whispered. He leaned further over the island, his gray eyes burning into mine with an intense, probing focus. "But you don't move like a freshman, Cole. And you definitely don't look like a girl who belongs in a rundown Vermont sports school. You're hiding something. And I hate secrets in my house."

"Think whatever you want," I snapped, grabbing my duffel bag off the couch. "Just stay out of my way."

I walked past the island, my shoulder brushing against his bare arm. A sudden, violent jolt of heat shot straight through my skin at the contact, making my breath hitch. I didn't look back. I marched down the short hallway, found the door marked with a temporary sticky note with my name on it, and threw it open.

The room was small and bare—just a twin bed, a wooden desk, and a single window overlooking the snow-covered quad. I stepped inside, slammed the heavy oak door shut, and instantly turned the lock until it clicked.

I let out a long, ragged breath, pressing my back against the wood. My hands were trembling again.

I spent the next two hours unpacking my few belongings, trying to drown out the low noise of Ryker’s movements in the next room. Every time a floorboard creaked outside my door, my muscles tightened. I couldn't let him get too close to me. He was way too observant— too dominant, and way too dangerous for someone trying to stay dead to the world.

******

By midnight, the suite had gone completely silent.

My stomach let out a sharp, painful growl. I hadn't eaten anything since a stale protein bar at five yesterday afternoon, and the nerves from the housing crisis had completely masked my hunger until now.

I waited another ten minutes, listening intently at the door. Nothing. Just the faint whistle of the wind against my window.

I unlocked the door quietly, sliding it open just an inch. The living room was pitch black, illuminated only by the faint gray light of the snow coming through the main window. I stepped out barefoot, keeping my steps light as I crept toward the kitchen to find a glass of water and whatever snack I could find in my bag.

I reached down into my duffel bag, which I had left on the kitchen stool, and pulled out my phone to use the screen light.

The second the screen illuminated, a loud, sharp buzz vibrated through my hand.

An unknown number was flashing on the black screen.

My breath caught in my throat. Nobody had this number except the university administration. I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the glass before I finally slid the bar to open the text message.

*“Nice try with the black hair, Gianna. But a thief can’t hide forever. See you very soon.”*

A cold wave of pure terror washed over me, freezing the blood in my veins. My ex-coach obviously. He had found me.

My hands shook so violently the phone slipped from my fingers, clattering loudly against the hard granite island. I gasped, stumbling backward in the dark, my heel catching the leg of the heavy kitchen stool.

I braced for the fall, my eyes closing as I prepared to hit the hard floor.

Instead, a pair of massive, strong-hard hands clamped around my waist from behind, pulling me backward against a solid, warm chest.

"Who the hell is texting you at midnight, Cole?" Ryker’s voice growled directly into my ear, his breath hot against my neck as his grip tightened, pinning my small frame flush against his heavy body.