The Refuge And The Phone Call

Chapter 3: The Refuge And The Phone Call

The early morning bus from Manchester to Leeds was cold, damp, and smelled of stale diesel. I sat in the very back corner, pressing my forehead against the fogged glass as the dark motorway blurred past.

My body burned with exhaustion, but my mind was a terrifying, endless loop: the cameras flashing, James’s cold eyes, Jemima’s dismissive laugh, and the rhythmic, hollow chime of his luxury apartment door locking me out in the rain.

I pulled out my phone. The screen was spider-webbed with fresh cracks from when I’d dropped it on the bus stop pavement, but it still flickered to life.

Battery: 3%.

One unread message from Tolu sat on the display:

Aima, I saw the clip. Where are you? Tell me you’re on a coach to Leeds. I’m waiting at the Northgate gates.

Tolu Bello had been my anchor since secondary school. When my parents died, she was the only one who didn't look at me with pity; when I moved to Bristol to live under Aunt Bridget’s thumb, she was the only one who called every night to make sure I was still breathing. Now, an international student studying sports management on a partial scholarship at Northgate College, she was the only person left in the country who cared if I lived or died.

When the bus pulled into Leeds Coach Station, the sun was just breaking through the grey clouds, casting a pale, weak light over the city. I stumbled off the steps, dragging my soaked canvas bag.

Tolu was waiting by the terminal exit, wrapped in a oversized puffer jacket, holding two paper cups of steaming tea.

The second her eyes locked onto my shivering frame, her face crumpled.

She didn't ask questions. She didn't bring up the video that had currently amassed over half a million views. She simply stepped forward, wrapped her arms around my shoulders, and pulled me into a chest-heaving hug that almost made me collapse onto the concrete.

"I've got you," Tolu whispered fiercely into my wet hair. "Come on. Let's get you inside before you catch pneumonia."

Northgate College’s campus was vast, lined with modern glass sports halls and historic red-brick dormitories. Tolu sneaked me past the porter's lodge into her small ground-floor studio apartment in the athletic accommodation block.

Within an hour, she had forced me into a hot shower, wrapped me in her warmest fleece jumper, and set a bowl of hot instant noodles in front of me. Sitting on the edge of her narrow bed, feeling the steam rise against my skin, I felt human again for the first time in twenty-four hours.

"Drink the broth, Aima," Tolu ordered gently, sitting on the desk chair across from me. Her iPad was open in front of her, the screen dimmed, but I could see the sports blogs open in the browser tabs.

"It's everywhere, isn't it?" my voice was barely a raspy whisper.

Tolu hesitated, then sighed, leaning back.

"It's trending, yeah. They're calling you the 'Crestview Stalker.' James's agent released a brief statement this morning saying he's focusing entirely on the finals and won't comment further on 'unfortunate public disruptions.'"

A bitter laugh escaped my throat. "Unfortunate public disruptions. That's what I am after eighteen months of paying his rent."

"He's a monster, Aima," Tolu said, her voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet heat. "And he will get what's coming to him. But right now, you need rest. You can stay here as long as you need. The housing warden rarely checks ground floor rooms."

"I have forty pounds, Tolu," I said, staring down at my hands. "I can't stay on your floor forever."

"We'll figure it out," she insisted, taking my hands in hers. "Together. Just sleep."

She left for her morning lectures twenty minutes later, locking the door securely behind her.

I lay down on her bed, pulling the duvet over my chin. Exhaustion pulled at my eyelids, heavy as lead, but my brain refused to shut down. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw James's face.

Restless, I stood up and walked to the small open window that looked out onto the narrow paved courtyard between the student dorms and the Northgate athletic training facility. The crisp morning air helped clear the haze in my head.

Footsteps echoed down the secluded brick alley beneath the window.

I shrank back behind the thin white curtain, not wanting anyone to spot me. Two figures walked into the courtyard.

One was a tall, elegant girl wearing an immaculate designer coat, her dark hair falling in sleek waves.

Jemima Vanterpool.

My heart slammed against my ribs. What was she doing at Northgate? Northgate was Crestview’s bitterest rival—the home of the Titans.

She held a sleek white phone to her ear, walking with deliberate, brisk steps. She paused right beside the low brick wall beneath Tolu’s window, her back turned to me.

"I told you, Father, it's done," Jemima's voice drifted up through the open window, sharp, crisp, and utterly devoid of the warmth she had displayed in front of the cameras last night.

I held my breath, flattening myself against the wall beside the frame.

"He completely trusts me," Jemima continued, her tone laced with cool boredom. "The press conference went exactly as planned. The whole country thinks we're the golden couple now. He's completely blinded by the publicity."

A pause as the person on the other end spoke. Jemima tapped her manicured nails against her phone case, letting out an irritated breath.

"Yes, I have the vial," she said, her voice dropping lower, though every word remained crystal clear in the quiet courtyard. "I know the dosage. I'll drop it in his water bottle during the pre-game warmups at the finals. It will look like a sudden cardiovascular collapse from exhaustion. He won't even make it past the second quarter, let alone draft night."

My blood ran instantly cold. The breath hitched in my throat.

"Just make sure your betting syndicate holds up their end of the bargain," Jemima added, turning slightly as she checked her reflection in a glass door. "I did my part to ruin James Dakas. Make sure the Titans line falls as agreed. I want my design program funding transferred the moment the game is called off."

She hung up without waiting for a reply, slipped the phone into her trench coat pocket, and walked briskly toward the main campus gates, her high heels clicking sharply against the wet stone.

I stood frozen behind the curtain, my hand pressed over my mouth, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Jemima wasn't James's savior. She wasn't his dream girl. She was a weapon sent to destroy him.

I slumped against the wall, staring at the floor as the sheer weight of what I had just heard washed over me. James had cast me aside, stolen my future, and publicly humiliated me to stand beside a girl who was planning to end his career before it even began.