Chapter 3: Why The Hell Do I Have His Jacket?

ELENA’S POV

The North Dorms’ lobby was a haven of fluorescent lights and the smell of different fragrances but it felt like a sanctuary compared to the suffocating luxury of that Mercedes. I didn't stop to catch my breath or to shake off the water. I sprinted for the elevator, my heart slamming against my ribs in a rhythm that felt dangerously like panic.

When I finally reached room 402, I fumbled with my key card, my hands still shaking so hard it took three tries to get the light to flash green. I burst inside, the door rebounding off the wall with a loud thwack.

"Whoa! Ghost of Christmas Past, is that you?"

Lora was sprawled across her bed, a sheet mask stuck to her face and a bag of salt-and-vinegar chips in her lap. She looked up, her eyes widening behind the white fabric of the mask. "Elena? You look like you just crawled out of a swamp. Also, since when do you wear sports merch? Is that, wait..."

She sat up so fast her chips did a somersault onto the duvet and squinted at the gold embroidery on my chest. "Is that a Ravens varsity jacket?"

"Don't," I gasped, finally dropping my laptop bag onto my desk. I peeled the heavy, damp fabric off my shoulders as if it were made of lead. "Just don't."

"Elena Voss, if you don't start talking in the next three seconds, I will call your brother and ask him myself." Lora ripped the mask off her face, her expression a mix of horror and glee. "Why are you wearing a jacket that says HALE on the back? As in Noah Hale? The guy who treats you like you’re a plague victim?"

I collapsed into my desk chair, buried my face in my hands, and let out a long, muffled scream. "Ethan. It was Ethan."

"Ethan sent Noah?" Lora’s voice hit a pitch only dogs could hear. "Your brother—the man who knows exactly how much you loathe that arrogant, jaw dropping prick—sent him to pick you up in a monsoon?"

"He said he was gonna be stuck in a conditioning session," I groaned, looking up. The room was spinning slightly. "He said someone was leaving early. I thought it was going to be Miller or one of the freshmen. I got in the car, Lora. I sat there and thanked him before I even realized whose face was behind the wheel."

Lora was already off her bed. "And? Did he say anything? Did he apologize for being a colossal douchebag for the last three years? Did he mention how he looked like he was carved out of marble by a frustrated god?"

"He told me I was ruining his leather seats," I said flatly. "Then he called me pathetic, told me he was a 'monster,' and forced me to wear his jacket because I was shivering too loudly for his liking."

Lora stopped mid-stride, her mouth hanging open. "He gave you his jacket? Elena, that’s not 'hating you.' That’s ‘I hate you but if you get a cold I’ll burn the world down’ territory."

"It’s not!" I stood up, grabbing the jacket and holding it out like it was a biohazard. "It was an insult. He told me to keep it because he didn't want it back after I'd touched it. He wants me to know that I’m so toxic I ruin everything I come in contact with."

I threw the jacket onto the end of my bed. It landed with a heavy thud, the scent of him immediately beginning to colonize my room. Cedar wood and Peppermint. And a hint of something warm and deep that made my stomach flip in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with anger.

"He’s such a prick," I whispered, though the fire in my voice was dying out replaced by a dull, aching exhaustion.

Lora walked over and put a hand on my shoulder. "Go take a hot shower. Forget about Noah Hale for tonight. Tomorrow, you go to the athletic center, you drop that jacket at the front desk, and you never have to speak to him again."

"You're right," I said, squaring my shoulders. "I’ll return it tomorrow with no words and eye contact."

"Exactly. Power move," Lora agreed, heading back to her chips.

I spent the next hour trying to scrub the night off my skin. The hot water helped but it couldn't wash away the memory of his voice—that low velvety rasp that seemed to have settled permanently under my skin. I tried to focus on my notes for the Ridgewood Daily, on anything that wasn't grey eyes and matte-black Mercedes.

By the time I crawled into bed, the dorm was silent. Lora was snoring softly, the blue light of her phone still glowing on her pillow. I reached over to turn off my lamp, my hand pausing as it passed the foot of the bed.

The jacket was still there. In the dim light, the gold lettering seemed to shimmer, a constant reminder of the debt he thought I owed him. I reached out, my fingers hovering over the fabric. It was high-quality but soft. I told myself I was checking if it was dry. Instead, my hand moved to the inner pocket.

My fingers brushed against something hard and plastic. I pulled it out, expecting a gym pass or a protein bar wrapper or worse, a condom wrapper. I shivered at the last thought, ew!

But it was a small, leather-bound notebook. I knew I shouldn't open it. I knew I should put it back, return it with the jacket, and maintain my shred of dignity but curiosity has always been my greatest sin so I flipped the cover open.

The first page was a date from three years ago. The day I left. Underneath it, in Noah’s jagged, aggressive handwriting, were three words that made the air freeze in my lungs:

I found it.

I turned the page, and my heart stopped. Tucked between the leaves was a polaroid faded at the edges of me. I was laughing, my face turned toward the camera, and we were sitting under that old oak tree but it wasn't just the photo.

Across my face, someone had drawn a heavy, black 'X' in permanent marker and underneath the photo, scribbled so hard the pen had nearly torn the paper, was a timeline of my life at Ridgewood.

Noah hadn't just been " the sending someone" to pick me up. He hadn't been an accidental saviour. My brother hadn't sent him because he was the only one available. Noah had been watching me and as I looked at the black 'X' over my smiling face, I realized he didn't just want his jacket back. He wanted the three years I’d stolen from him.

And according to the notebook, he was already halfway through his plan to take them.