I dropped my gaze to my still throbbing fingers, feeling Coach's eyes on my face.
It was the day after the brawl at the rink, and I hadn't even fully entered the school gate before Coach's voice came over the speakers, demanding to see me in his office. "...We had a deal, Myles. What were you thinking?!" I had no clue, but I knew what I thought after it all happened: run! And I did—taking my bag and the strange money home after the biology teacher discovered no one else's was missing. Things to worry about just kept multiplying. Now Coach stood up straight. "All you had to do was lay low." "Which I did." "That wasn’t laying low, Myles." "He fucking came at me!" When Coach said nothing, I quickly toned down my voice. "I know you're trying to help, but goddammit, it gets hard when you're punched in the midsection." Coach sighed and sat down. "I understand." He gestured for me to sit down too, but I didn’t. "That’s why I said it’s going to be hard. George doesn’t want you there. I don’t know why he wants to make your life a living hell, but you can’t handle it by punching him back." I thought sacrificing my dignity was going to be so easy, but it turned out it wasn’t—not in the least. "Lucky for you, George decided he doesn’t want you punished." He paused as if unsure how to relay the next part. "And Tristan wants an apology." My brows knit. What the fuck was he talking about? I wasn’t going to do that! He was the reason I was in this shit—he took my position. But minutes later, I found myself walking toward the team bathroom where Coach said Tristan was. Was I really doing this? Reaching the door, I pulled my hoodie up and reached for the knob. It was just an apology; I didn’t have to mean a word of it. I pushed open the door and walked in just as a locker clicked closed. I froze at the center of the bathroom. Steps away from me was a back turned toward me, with the largest and undeniably the most beautiful tattoo I had ever seen. It was in the shape of a cobra, with gleaming scales that ran up to his upper back and shoulders. Tattoos weren’t allowed here. Had the school seen this? Or did they not care when he was the heir? "Why are you here?" His deep baritone knocked me out of my trance. Why did it sound familiar? I stood straight, trying not to stare as he put on a black shirt, covering the tattoo completely. He turned to me. "I don’t like repeating myself." I grit my teeth. Just say the apology and never cross paths with him again. "I came to apologize for hitting you." My eyes spotted the slight red bruise at the side of his mouth, and my heart did a happy dance. "It was a fight-or-flight situation." He said nothing, continuing to look at me as if I hadn’t spoken. Then his gaze dropped to my bag. Coach said he wanted an apology. So why was I being stared at that way? Finally, he spoke. "Are you apologizing or making excuses?" My fingers clenched into fists. "Perhaps if you hadn’t grabbed my hand, your face would still be intact. Try not to creep up on people next time." He chuckled. "You hate me." "You wish you were that important." "You think I took your position." Quietly, he shut the locker and stepped even closer. "You fail to realize that maybe if you were just a bit as good as—" "You?" I leaned in closer, strangling the thought that, up close, he was even more majestic. "What’s that? Daddy’s money stroking your delusion?" I thought I saw him flinch, but it disappeared quickly, and he chuckled again, turning back to the locker to insert the key. "I accept your apology," he said. "Just don’t be quick with your hands next time." He took out the key and winked. "I know how to hurt people without *daddy’s money.*" He was sly, I realized—maybe even dangerous. I began to backtrack, turning toward the door, ready to get the hell out of his sight. Just as my fingers touched the knob, his voice echoed. "Hey, Myles." I stopped in my tracks, waiting. "Did you get your money back?" he asked. I clutched the strap of my bag like the money was still in it instead of buried in the newly dug hole beneath my bed. The story must have really made the rounds for him to hear about it. "Yeah," I answered. After a pause, I quickly added, "I’ll be taking it to the police." That was a lie. But no way would he know. He sighed. "Now, why would you do that?" I could hear the slyness in his voice. "After all, you worked really hard for it." Silence.....longer silence...then my breath caught in my throat. It was as though I had been bathed in ice, my soul leaving my body as I turned around. The prior amusement had vanished. His grey eyes had become blank, staring at me under lazy lashes as if he had expected me to know. He was the one that night. It couldn’t be… The back tattoo flashed before my tired gaze as he walked out of the room. The familiarity of his voice... 'Not exactly your best move.' I feel my stomach churn. Unable to reach for my rage, immediately the door behind me clicked open, with head lowered, I dashed out of the bathroom. *** The rest of the day, I spend in an empty stall behind the school, my back pressed against the wall, staring wide eyed and breathless at the ceiling as the memories slammed into me. I buried my fingers into my hair, yanking hard as I cursed at myself, anybody but him, any other darn person but him! Time and again, my phone beeped signaling messages from my socials. I don't have to look to know it's Jade, and every second that I don't reply was an hour of berating. "Shit..." I whispered in the dimness of the room, my heartbeat quickening. How was I to ever face him? Most of all, how was he in the party that night?! None of this was making sense. I pinched myself...it was no dream. The phone beeps again and groaning out loud, I yanked it out of my bag, and just like I predicted, Jade's name blared bright. But just before I can tap her unread message, there's another beep, and a message that isn't hers appeared on the screen. 'We need to talk.' it read. The picture on the DP, of a frame sitting lazily on a gym bench is unmistakably, his, Tristan. Shit. My hands tightened around the phone. How did he get my number... What did he want to talk about? Another beep. 'I'll be at the cafeteria in two hours.' First of all, the audacity of the son of a bitch.... Secondly... I began to type, 'There's nothing to talk about. Forget anything ever happened that night. I'll bring your money to you on monday.' Immediately it sends, he begins to type again, then stops, then typing... I wait, sweat streaking into my shirt. The money, ten thousand... It would have done a lot, but I had to protect the remaining dignity I had left. A beep shatters the silence. I look into the screen, another message. 'The money is yours, you worked for it. " 'Stop saying that shit! ' I typed and sent furiously. There's silence, no floating icon, just me glaring at the screen and hating my life. It was the way he made me lose control with just words. I never hated anyone, not even George as much as I hated him. Yet when there's another beep, I'm rushing for the phone. And on the screen are two simple sentence, that leave me struck. 'I have an offer for you. I want another night.'**TRISTAN** My phone buzzed. One new message. *"You're sick… Use that money to get your head checked."* And right below it: *"This person is not contactable."* I pinched the bridge of my nose, holding back a chuckle as the coach stood in front of me. There was something about the brown-haired rascal that amused me—something I hadn’t quite figured out yet. Maybe it was the way he overflowed with emotion. *"You hate emotions."* Maybe. But they suited him—better than those coffee-brown eyes or the slight athletic physique hidden beneath oversized hoodies. *"He hates you."* Why should I care? At first, all I felt was guilt. The morning after, when I placed a hand on his shoulder and he flinched, I realized—his first time. And I hadn't even noticed. It was no coincidence he was the first I laid my eyes on when I walked into the school that evening. The brunette surrounded by friends and staring at the wall. Habits died hard, so once again, like the life I kept a secret from e
**MYLES**I gripped the marble sink, glaring at my reflection. The image of his smug smile wouldn’t leave my head. He’d looked at me like I was some kind of snack. *Snack?* Was that the best I could come up with? Christ, Myles. What the hell have you done?I staggered back until I hit the wall, sliding down to the floor. Never in a million years would I have guessed he was the one. Now that I knew—and had a clue where the money came from—there was only one option left: leave the country.I clutched my hair, frustration boiling inside. But that wasn’t possible. The next choice? Return the money and tell the bastard to back off. But I wasn’t sure I was ready to face him yet.A soft knock pulled me from my thoughts, followed by my mum’s voice. “Myles, are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been acting strange.” I raised my head, catching my pale reflection again. “Yeah... I’ll be out in a minute,” I called back, the words sounding distant even to me. There was a long silence befo
Was I really doing this? I stared at the entrance wide-eyed, hoping it stayed this quiet, stayed this still while I deciphered my thoughts. That was too much to ask. "Hey!" Diego yelled from where he was pressed to his stomach by the men on top of him. "That's you fucking daydreaming again?" One of the men palmed him hard against the back of his head. "Can you just shut the fuck up for once in your life?" Their words were like echoes, shadows. Ones I wished would just cease existing.The old man slowly limped up to me while I struggled with my thoughts, and I wasn’t aware until he placed a hand on my shoulder. "Myles, I hate to tell you this, but stalling won’t help you people." "I'm serious," I insisted, then swallowed when he raised a brow at me. "Wait here," I announced, sprinting back into the room. Hurling the bed up was quick, but at the first sight of the money, I froze again, desperately dragging my hands through my hair. One feel of that money, and I'd have a le
My fingers dug into the edge of the table, knuckles white, as I leaned in. "All I ask is for a chance to prove myself, and you won’t fucking let me!" "Mind your language, Myles Astor," Coach Daniel snapped, his gaze flicking up briefly. The words were cold, indifferent. Like I was some kid throwing a tantrum. Outside the office, cheers roared from the party in full swing. Each burst of laughter and clinking glass grated against me, a reminder that while my life was falling apart, everyone else was having the time of theirs. They were celebrating *him*—Tristan Medici, the golden boy with the golden ticket, stepping right into my spot, *my fucking spot*, on the team. My chest tightened. I wasn’t breathing. "Please." My voice cracked, more fragile than I wanted it to be. I hated myself for it. I took a step closer to his desk, my hand resting on the edge for support. "At least let me play the next match." The next match meant everything. NHL scouts would be there, watching, eval
The shrill sound of my alarm clock wasn’t what jolted me awake. It was the yelling. My stepfather’s voice cutting through the walls. I stared up at the ceiling, straining to hear my mom’s voice fighting back, but it never came. It never will.. “If this was toast, the whole of America would be fucking dead!” His voice boomed again. I sighed, sitting up in bed. Pain shot from my hips and... lower down, a raw reminder of last night. It wasn't a dream. It happened. *“Changing the list?” The phone camera clicked. “You little devil.”* “Listen, it’s not what you think,” I had said, heart pounding. “Oh, I know *exactly* what I think.” His voice dripped with amusement. Shit. “But I’ll keep my mouth shut," he whispered, stepping closer, "if you fuck me." I shook my head, the memories flooding back with nauseating clarity. The worst part was I didn’t even know who he was. Yet, I had agreed. “Myles?” My mom’s voice, soft and hesitant, floated through the door. “You’re late for school
“Yes, Myles, what’s the answer?”I blinked, yanked out of my trance by the teacher’s voice. The whole class turned toward me, eyes wide, some barely stifling laughter. I stood up, trying to shake the fog from my mind.“Sir… could you repeat the question?”“Repeat the question?” He raised an eyebrow. “Caught you smiling. Figured you knew the answer.”If only class made me smile that much. But no, my smile was all because of the little chat I had with Coach Daniel earlier."I had a nap and realized I wasn’t fair to you. There’s a way to get you back on the team, but it’ll cost you your dignity."That “dignity” translated into being the water boy during training, just so I could hold on to a sliver of a chance of rejoining the team. It was humiliating, but at least it was something.“Sir, I have no idea.”“The answer is ‘cell,’” a soft voice offered from behind. “The smallest unit of life.”Natalie. My brows furrowed as I turned to see her offering a small, sympathetic smile. I nodded in