Chapter 1: Worst Day Ever

ELENA'S POV:

The rain wasn't just falling. It was that aggressive, stinging East Coast downpour that turned the Ridgewood campus into a blurry watercolor painting of grey stone and dying ivy. My boots supposedly waterproof according to the 5 star reviews on A****n had surrendered ten minutes ago. Now, they just squelched with every step, a pathetic soundtrack to the sinking feeling in my chest.

I ducked under the narrow stone archway of the Humanities building, shivering as a gust of wind whipped through my thin trench coat. My laptop bag containing the half-finished draft of my pitch to the Ridgewood Daily was tucked firmly under my arm.

I fumbled for my phone, my fingers numb and clumsy. "Come on, Lora. Pick up."

The call connected, and a blast of heavy bass and high-pitched shrieking exploded through the speaker.

"Elena! Tell me you’re calling to say you’ve finally decided to have a personality and come to this mixer!" Lora’s voice was a frantic, joyous yell. I could practically see her: multicoloured hair perfectly tousled, holding a drink that was definitely a colour not found in nature.

"I’m drowning, Lora," I shouted, pressing my back against the cold stone. "The buses stopped running the North route, and I’m stuck at the far end of campus. Please tell me you’re near your car."

"I... okay, so, funny story," Lora shouted back. I heard someone in the background yelling something about a "legendary" beer bong hit. "I am currently at the Sigma Delta house. And by 'at,' I mean I am legally a citizen of this dance floor. Also, I’ve had three of those 'Blue Voodoo' punches. If I try to drive, I’ll end up in the campus fountain, and frankly, I look too good to die in a pond."

I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the wall. "Great. I’ll just grow gills and swim to the dorms."

"Ugh, don't be a martyr, it doesn't suit your bone structure," Lora chirped. "Call your brother! He’s probably just 'studying' and by studying, I mean ruining some freshman’s life. Tell him I’ll let him flirt with me for five minutes if he rescues you."

"Ethan? He’s probably dead to the world but fine. Stay safe. Don't drink anything else that looks like radioactive waste."

I hung up and scrolled to the contact that was always my last resort. Ethan was my brother and the school’s most charming headache. Since he’d made the varsity basketball team, his ego had its own zip code.

I hit dial. It went to voicemail twice. On the third try, he picked up, but the sound that came through the speaker wasn't a greeting. It was a soft, feminine giggle followed by a muffled, "Ethan, stop it!"

"Ethan!" I yelled, my patience evaporating faster than the puddles around me.

"El?" He finally answered, sounding exactly like a guy who had been interrupted mid-makeout session. "This better be an emergency. I’m uh in the middle of a art study."

"Unless that 'art' is a romantic comedy starring you and whatever girl you're currently traumatizing, I don't want to hear it," I snapped. "I’m stranded at Humanities. It’s a monsoon and I’m freezing. Please tell me you can come get me."

"Crap, El, I can't. Coach has us on lockdown at the athletic center. Conditioning starts in ten. If I leave, I’m benched." I heard a rustle of sheets and another giggle. "But stay put. I’m sending someone. One of the guys is heading out because he wants to grab something . He’s already in the lot and will be there in five."

Relief flooded me. "Thank you. Who is it? Should I look for a specific car?"

"You'll know it. It’s the car that probably costs more than our parents' house. Black Mercedes-AMG G 63. Just get in, okay? I gotta go, Coach is—babe, stop—I gotta go!"

The line went dead. I tucked my phone away and hugged my bag tighter. Five minutes. I could survive five minutes of shivering if it meant a heater and a ride. I stared out into the sheet of grey, watching the way the streetlights reflected in the growing puddles. A pair of headlights cut through the gloom, turning the rain into falling diamonds. A sleek, matte-black car rolled up to the curb. It was a beast of a vehicle and looking entirely too clean for a night like this.

The car didn't stop directly in front of me. It lingered about two feet away. I waited for the driver to hop out, or at least roll down the window. Nothing. I stood there for thirty seconds, the rain soaking through my coat, until the passenger window slid down just a crack.

"Are you planning on taking root, Voss? Or were you waiting for me to come out and carry you in like a bride?"

The voice hit me like a bucket of ice water. A gravelly tone that I would have recognized anywhere, even after three years of trying to scrub it from my memory.

I didn't move.

"The door isn't going to open itself," the voice drawled. "Unless you’ve decided you prefer the hypothermia."

I lunged for the handle, yanking the heavy door open and scrambling into the cabin. The warmth hit me instantly, an expensive, cedar-and-mint-scented embrace but the tension in the air was so thick it felt like I was breathing in smoke.

I slammed the door shut, shivering violently as my wet coat bled moisture into the pristine, black leather seats.

"Geez," the driver muttered. "You’re getting water everywhere. Do you have any idea how much this interior costs?"

I turned, my hair plastered to my face to find Noah Hale staring at me. He looked exactly the same yet entirely different. His jaw was sharper, shadowed by a dark stubble that made him look less like the boy who used to steal my snacks and more like a man who destroyed reputations for fun. He was wearing a black team hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms corded with muscle. His grey eyes swept over me with a look of pure, unadulterated annoyance.

"Nice to see you too, Noah," I said, my voice trembling with a mix of cold and panicked adrenaline. "I’m so sorry my near-death experience is inconveniencing your upholstery. Should I have asked the rain to wait until I found a plastic bag to wrap myself in?"

He didn't look at me. "You’re soaking wet, you’re late, and you’re currently ruining a six-figure car. Ethan owes me a massive favour for this."

"Ethan owes you? I’m the one stuck in a car with a guy who has the personality of a cactus," I snapped, fumbling with my seatbelt. "If I’d known Ethan was sending the campus grinch, I would have walked."

"Then get out." Noah turned his head then, his gaze locking onto mine. There was no warmth there. "The doors are unlocked, Elena. Go ahead. Walk."

I looked at the torrential downpour, then back at his stony, gorgeous profile. My pride was screaming at me to leave, but my frozen toes and my expensive laptop won the argument.

"Drive the damn car, Noah," I whispered, turning to stare out the window.

"Buckle up, Voss," he replied, his voice smooth and dangerous. "It’s going to be a long ride."

As the car pulled away from the curb, I realized with a sinking dread that the rain was the least of my problems. The storm wasn't outside anymore.

It was sitting in the driver’s seat.