Semua Bab Stuck between Hockey Player and his Quarterback Brother: Bab 21 - Bab 30

The drive home was a blur of paranoia. I kept checking the rearview mirror, my hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. The black sedan—Atlas’s car—was gone, but the image of it pulling out of the darkness burned into my memory. It felt like a physical threat. It felt like I was being hunted.I burst into the house, slamming the door shut. My sister, Clara, was sitting on the couch, watching a loud cooking show.“Relax, Tamine, the house isn’t on fire,” Clara said, glancing over.“I think I was followed,” I whispered, leaning against the door, trying to get my breath back.Clara muted the TV, her expression changing instantly. “Followed? By who? Did you tell that creep who works at the library to leave you alone again?”I couldn’t tell her the truth. I couldn’t tell her I was on a secret date with a Thorpe.“No. Just... some guy in a big black car. He was watching the parking lot when I left the mall.” I kept my voice flat, minimizing the terror.Clara frowned. “Probably just someo

The rearview mirror had transformed from a safety feature into an instrument of torture.For the entire twenty-minute drive from the school parking lot to the crumbling apartment complex I called home, my eyes moved to the reflective glass every four seconds. One, two, three, check.I had seen him. Atlas.He had not been looking at his phone, not really. He had been leaning against the hood of that sleek black sedan, his silhouette shone under the dim orange light of the sunset. He had been watching the library exit the exact spot I was supposed to be walking out of. When I had driven past, exiting the lot from the gym side the side closest to the equipment shed he hadn’t waved. He had not smirked. He had just turned his head, slowly, tracking my car like a predator watching a gazelle separate from the herd.Does he know?The question popped in my brain, syncing with the movement of my tires on the asphalt. If Atlas knew about the shed about the way Evans had pulled me into the dark,

The morning sun hit Blackridge Academy like a spotlight on a stage where everyone knew their lines except me.Friday. The day before the Showcase Game. The air in the hallways wasn't just oxygen and nitrogen; it was pure, distilled adrenaline. Streamers in gold (for football) and black (for hockey) draped every locker, twisting together like toxic vines. The cheerleaders were out in full force, their skirts swishing in unison, their voices pitched to a frequency that shattered my headache into a million sharp pieces.I walked through the chaos like a ghost, clutching my binder to my chest. My beanie—the orange beacon of our secret date was stuffed deep at the bottom of my bag, hidden beneath layers of textbooks.I felt hungover, though I hadn't touched a drop of alcohol. I was drunk on the memory of Evans’s hand in mine, the smell of his popcorn, the way he had looked at me in the flickering dark of the theater. We win, he had said.But in the harsh fluorescent light of the school cor

The girls' bathroom on the second floor was the only place in Blackridge Academy that smelled like industrial lavender and teenage desperation. I locked myself in the handicap stall, sliding the latch home with trembling fingers, and leaned my forehead against the cool, graffiti-covered metal.I don’t play games.My own voice echoed in my head, distorted and amplified by the microphone. I had actually said that. To Atlas Thorpe. In front of the entire student body.My hands were shaking so hard I had to grip the grab bar to stay upright. It wasn't fear, exactly. It was the terrifying, electric buzz of having just poked a sleeping bear in the eye with a sharp stick. I had broken the script. I wasn't the scared ex-girlfriend anymore; I was the girl who had publicly rejected the king.The bathroom door swung open, bringing with it a burst of hallway noise—excited chatter, the distant thump of the band still playing."Did you see his face?" a girl’s voice squealed. "He looked like he was

The "Victory Party" was held at the massive off-campus house the hockey team rented. By the time I arrived at 10:00 PM, the place was vibrating. The bass from the speakers rattled the windows, and the lawn was littered with red solo cups and students spilling out the front door.I hated parties. I hated the smell of cheap beer and sweat. I hated the way people looked at me like I was a stain on their perfect, wealthy tapestry.I pulled my beanie down low (yes, I was still wearing it; it was my armor now) and pushed through the front door.The heat hit me like a wall. Bodies were packed shoulder to shoulder. I squeezed past a group of football players who were already drunk and reliving the afternoon game, trying to find a corner where I could disappear.I scanned the room for Evans. He wasn't here yet. Or maybe he was in a back room, passed out from the pain.“Well, look who decided to grace us with her presence.”I stiffened. I knew that voice.I turned slowly. Atlas was standing by