chapter 4

Ace POV

The project didn’t interest me. The partner did.

I’d walked away from that notice board knowing one thing for sure: Summer Quinn and I had unfinished business, and a whole semester working together was the perfect excuse to settle it. She’d slapped me in a freezing parking lot and then strolled off like I was nothing. That wasn’t going to stand.

I changed and headed straight to the gym.

Miller was already there, wrapping his hands. He gave me the usual nod. I taped up, rolled my shoulders, and stepped into the ring. We started light, circling and throwing easy shots, just finding our rhythm. The familiar smell of sweat and canvas, the creak under our feet—it was the one place where everything else faded away.

I landed a clean combination and Miller grinned behind his guard. “There he is.”

I pushed harder, feeling loose and strong, until it hit me out of nowhere.

A brutal pressure slammed into my skull. I stumbled back against the ropes, blinking through it. For a second it eased, but then my senses exploded. I could hear every detail of Miller’s breathing—each inhale, the tiny catch in his exhale—from eight feet away. The squeak of his shoes on the canvas, the buzz of the fluorescent lights, the distant thump of a speed bag… it all crashed in at full volume, like someone had turned the world up way too loud.

What is happening to me?

I shook my head and tried to keep going, but the sounds wouldn’t settle. My own breathing grew ragged. My vision flickered at the edges. I threw a jab and missed wide.

Miller lowered his guard. “Ace. Break.”

“Keep going,” I growled.

I pushed through like I always did. But then everything spiked at once. When Miller threw his next jab, something raw and uncontrollable surged through me. I exploded back with a punch that had nothing to do with technique.

The sound when it landed was sickening.

Miller dropped hard. He didn’t get up right away. The whole gym went dead quiet.

I stood over him, my chest heaving, staring down at my friend blinking slowly on the canvas, his jaw already swelling. The trainer rushed in and called it immediately. Miller eventually sat up, looking dazed but insisting he was fine. I pulled off my gloves and sat on the edge of the ring, staring at my hands.

I’d been feeling… off for weeks. I've been hearing sharper sounds, stronger smells, waking up in the middle of the night with every sense already firing, and my skin itching. I’d brushed it off as stress. But this? This punch wasn’t mine. It was not the kind of power I’d trained for.

My hand instinctively went to the back of my throat, where something had bitten me weeks ago. The scar had miraculously healed on its own.

Weird.

The gym door banged open. Coach Briggs stormed in with a tight face. He’d clearly been watching. Without a word, he dropped a thick folder through the ropes. Papers scattered—my grades, performance reports, academic warnings. All of them were bad. Really bad.

“Pick them up,” he said.

I did.

“What I just saw was sloppy and dangerous,” Coach snapped. “You put your sparring partner on the floor. And now I see this?” He jabbed a finger at the papers. “You fail Harrison’s class and you’re done. No championship bout. No eligibility. That’s it. Fix it by mid-semester or watch the biggest fight of your college career from the goddamn stands.”

He left. The gym slowly pretended to go back to normal.

Miller, holding an ice pack to his jaw, looked across at me. “That punch…” He didn’t finish.

“I know, I'm sorry,” I muttered.

“You sure you're okay? You've been acting weird lately, Man” Miller took a seat beside me.

“I don't know, Man. I mean…I've been acting strangely. I keep hearing these voices, My body keeps responding to stuff I don't know, I… I'm sorry for the punch”

He nodded toward the door. “The girl on the notice board—Summer Quinn. She’s smart as hell. She lives in the library, and she’d actually understand Harrison’s class. And more importantly? She is one hundred percent immune to hockey players and boxers.”

“Nobody is immune to Athletes, Mills.”

“She is,” Miller insisted. “She’s been with Brooks. Your half-brother. She’s been hanging around the team for two years and never batted an eyelash at any of us. If you want a tutor who won't try to climb into your lap, Summer is your only hope.”

I narrowed my eyes. The memory of her slapping me, flashed back.

A slow smirk spread across my face.

“Summer,” I murmured. “Go grab lunch without me, Miller.”

“What? Why?”

“Because,” I said, stepping away from the wall and heading toward the study lounge. “I need to go introduce myself to my new tutor.”

I grabbed my stuff and left.

I found her exactly where Miller said she’d be: back corner table in the library, surrounded by open books and tiny, precise notes. She didn’t look up when I sat down across from her.

When she finally did, her face went flat, unsurprised and completely unwelcoming.

“You owe me an apology,” I said.

“I owe you nothing,” she replied coolly, already looking back at her notes. “You read my private letter and called it embarrassing. You were rude.”

“You hit me.”

“You deserved it.”

I let that one slide. Arguing about the parking lot wasn’t going to help. I leaned forward, my elbows on the table. “I need you to tutor me in Harrison’s class starting this week.”

She set her pen down and looked at me steadily. “No.”

I waited for the hesitation, the negotiation. It didn’t come.

“No,” she repeated. “And I’m requesting a new project partner. I don’t work with people like you.”

*People like me* I nodded at that.

“What are you even doing here? This is a study lounge.”

“I know what it is,” I said smoothly. I pulled out the chair opposite her without waiting, and leaned forward, resting my thick forearms on the table. “And I’m here to study. Or rather, I’m here to find someone to help me study.”

She stared at me in disbelief. “If you’re looking for someone to help you with your homework, you’re in the wrong department. The athletic tutoring center is across campus.”

“Yeah, I tried that,” I murmured, my eyes locked on hers. “Too many distractions. I need an expert. And according to the department charts, you’re the smartest girl in this building.”

She let out a cold laugh, crossing her arms tightly. “Let me guess. You failed a test, your coach threatened you, and now you want me to do your dirty work so you can keep boxing in the ring? Not interested, Hunters. Find someone else.”

“But let’s talk about your afternoon, Summer. Or rather, your night.” I smirked, watching her freeze for just a second.

“They looked real cozy, don't they?” my voice was softer now. “Brooks and his perfect little girlfriend. Sorry, fiancé”