Chapter 5: REBECCA

{THE THIRTEENTH FLOOR}

I stood in my stepfather's kitchen, the cold marble of the island pressing against my hips as I scrolled through my phone.

The university group chat was a wildfire.

I was still trending—clips of my last-minute goal were being replayed, slowed down, and analyzed by every amateur sports blogger on campus.

It was the university's second cup in three years, and for a few hours, I was the hero.

But as I scrolled further, the praise shifted.

My name was replaced by his. Jaxon Thorne.

The school's digital bulletin had his face plastered across the header, followed by a gallery of photos from the post-game press conference.

One shot, in particular, made my thumb freeze on the screen.

He was shirtless in the locker room, his skin glowing with a light glow of sweat that made the ink on his arms pop. Every muscle in his abdomen was illustrated, a deadly landscape of shadow and strength.

The memory of the locker scene—the way he had pinned me, the way he had forced that shameful sound from my throat—flashed behind my eyes like a strobe light.

My core pulsed with a sudden, traitorous heat.

"Eww, Rebecca. You're just stressed," I whispered to the empty room, forcing myself to close the app. "God, not him."

I hated him. He was a prick. A perverted, power-tripping Alpha who treated me like a toy.

But as I set my phone down, I couldn't deny the way my wolf had aroused at the sight of him. My biology didn't care that he was a monster; it only cared that he was the strongest Alpha in the room.

The sound of loud, slow footsteps made me look up.

My stepfather, Pike, walked in. He was already dressed in a charcoal-grey suit that screamed power lawyer.

He was mid-conversation on his phone, but when he saw me, he lowered it, pressing the receiver against his chest to mute the caller.

"You got in late," he said.

It wasn't a question, but it wasn't a lecture either.

"After-party," I replied simply.

"I watched the game on the stream. I'm sorry I couldn't be there in person, Becca. That shot... it was something else."

Pike was an Alpha, and he had been my father's best friend.

The fact that he had married my mother less than two years after my father's death made everything between us feel brittle and strange.

He had tried to be a good stepfather, but I couldn't bring myself to let him in. Every time I looked at him, I just saw a replacement.

"Thanks," I said, sliding my phone into my pocket.

Pike stayed, his gaze hovering on me for a second too long. "I would like to take the family out tonight. A celebration dinner. Are you free?"

My stomach did a small, nauseous roll. The idea of sitting at a table with Pike and Gavin, pretending we were one big, happy family, made me feel sick.

But I knew my mom would want this.

"Sure," I said. "Just text me the time."

He nodded, already bringing the phone back to his ear as he strode out toward his home office. I sighed, leaning my head back.

One more thing to dread today.

A few minutes later, my mother drifted in. She was wrapped in a silk robe, her hair a chaotic mess of blonde waves. She looked like she had spent the night fighting a losing battle with a bottle of wine.

"My head is banging," she groaned, heading straight for the fridge.

"Shouldn't I be the one saying that?" I teased. "I was the one at the frat house."

She uncapped a bottle of water and took a long, desperate gulp. "I had drinks with some potential investors. Apparently, they can drink more than I can. I just want to lay in bed until the sun goes down."

"Then do it. You own the company, remember?"

She gave me a tired, knowing look. "Very funny. Your 'affordable' lifestyle is funded by those investors, young lady."

I didn't argue.

I knew where the money came from.

My mother's advertising firm was a juggernaut, and combined with the inheritance from my father's will, we were more than comfortable.

It was the reason half the team thought I had bought my spot on the roster. They didn't see the 4:00 AM practices or the bruises I

hid under my clothes.

To them, I was just a spoiled princess playing with the boys.

"I got a dorm," I said, trying to change the subject. "The housing dean called this morning."

My mother's face lit up instantly. "Oh, Becca! That's wonderful. See? Everything is coming together." She reached over, patting my cheek. "I still don't know why you won't let me just buy you that condo near the rink."

"I want to experience college, Mom. Not buy it."

"Spoken like someone who has never had to share a bathroom with a stranger," she joked, though her eyes softened. "Are you moving today?"

"Today," I confirmed. "I can't spend another night here."

"I can drive you...."

"No," I cut her off. "I'm driving myself."

My mother's eyebrows shot up. I knew what she was thinking. Ever since the crash last summer—the one that had left me shaking for months—I would let her or Eve drive me everywhere.

"Are you sure?" she asked softly.

"I have to do it, Mom. I can't be afraid of the road forever."

"Well," she sighed, giving in. "Pike mentioned the dinner. We will celebrate properly tonight."

*********************

The drive to campus was tense.

My hands gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles were white, but I made it.

I parked in the university lot and took a deep breath, the smell of the campus air—old stone and autumn leaves—calming my nerves.

My phone buzzed.

It was a text from Mom: 'Good luck, baby. Proud of you.'

I dialed Eve's number as I walked toward the back of my car to grab my boxes.

She picked up on the first ring, but she sounded breathless.

"Eve? Are you okay?"

"Still in bed," Eve chirped, though I could hear a muffled groan in the background. "Where are you?"

"At school. Moving into the new dorm."

"What? They found you a spot that fast? Wow, money really does talk."

"My mom's money had nothing to do with it, Eve," I snapped, though I knew she was just teasing. Suddenly, a deep, grumpy male voice rumbled on the other end of the line.

"Who's that?"

I froze. I recognized that voice. "Eve... is that Cole?"

"Yeah," Eve giggled. "I might have gone back to the party after I dropped you off. I was horny, Becca. My wolf needed it."

The phone was shuffled around, and then Cole's voice was clear in my ear. "Hey, Becca. Hell of a game yesterday."

"Hey, Cole. Don't let her exhaust you. We have practice tomorrow."

"See you there, little Champion," Cole chuckled before handing the phone back.

I hung up, shaking my head. Eve was fearless. I envied her for it.

I grabbed my main box of supplies—mostly books and a few framed photos of my dad—and headed toward the athlete's wing.

The housing dean had sent me the room details: 13B.

I found the door at the end of a quiet hallway. I reached for the knob, expecting to have to fumble for the key, but to my surprise, it was unlocked.

Great, I thought. My roommate is one of those people who doesn't believe in security. We are going to have to have a talk about boundaries immediately.

I stepped inside.

The living area was surprisingly nice—high ceilings, a small kitchenette, and leather sofas. My eyes landed on the walls, which were covered in vintage hockey posters and team photos.

I smiled. At least they like the sport. That's a start.

I heard the sound of a door unlatching from the back of the suite. I turned, ready to introduce myself and set the "lock the front door" rule.

A guy stepped out into the living room.

He was half-naked, a dark grey towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. Water droplets were still clinging to the ridges of his abs, trailing down into the shadow of the towel.

He was using another towel to briskly dry his hair, his face hidden by the cloth. He was staring down at his phone, his massive chest rising and falling with a slow, relaxed beat.

I stood frozen, the box in my hands feeling heavier by the second.

He stopped drying his hair, sensing someone else in the room. He pulled the towel down, draping it over his shoulder, and looked up.

My heart didn't just beat; it blasted against my ribs.

My stomach churned with a sudden, violent mix of fear and recognition.

"Holy fuck," I whispered.

Jaxon Thorne stared back at me, his icy blue eyes widening for a split second before narrowing into a look of pure, predatory amusement.

"Well, McCall," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated right through me.

"Looks like practice just became a twenty-four-hour shift."