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Chapter Fourteen

S he’s walking out of the hospital doors when I pull up, and the second she spots me, her jaw tightens like she’s already bracing for a fight.

Perfect.

I stop the car directly in front of her and roll down the window. "Get in."

She levels a glare at me. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." I lean over the center console and push the door open. "Aidric’s driving your car home. Now get in."

Her laugh is short and humorless. "That’s cute but I’m not some stray you can force-feed and leash."

"No, you’re a target," I snap. "And I’m done watching you self-destruct in real time so get in the fucking car."

For a second, she just stares at me, fire burning behind her eyes. Then she sighs and climbs in without another word. Her arms cross and she folds in on herself, turning toward the window and keeping her body as far from mine as possible.

I hate it.

The ride to the house is oddly quiet. No fired insults, no eye rolls. She just stares out the window, lips pressed tight, hands fidgeting in her lap.

Something’s wrong. And I hate that I notice—hate that I care.

When we pull up to the house, she drags her feet like she’s headed to her own execution.

The silence is deafening now. This isn’t the sharp-tongued, relentless Avery I know.

This version of her feels wrong. It’s the one I was worried about, the Avery I see before she breaks down on herself, questioning everything, including her sanity.

I grab her bag from the back seat and push the front door open. The house is its usual blend of chaos, but still quieter than usual.

"Come on," I say, leading her upstairs. I toss a warning look at a couple of guys eyeing her ass as she goes up. Great. As if I didn’t already have enough to worry about.

I'm starting to think maybe this was a terrible idea. Something tells me I'll be keeping an extra close eye on her while she's here. I know these guys, and they're starving for a feisty and hot as fuck girl like her. The perfect bullet to the heart for any hockey player looking for a challenge.

When we reach the guest room, Avery looks inside, nose scrunching. "Let me guess, this the house fuck room?"

I smirk. "Not officially, but it's happened a time or a hundred."

She scoffs. "There is no way in hell I’m sleeping in that germ-infested, cum-soaked bed."

"Suit yourself. Couch is all yours."

Instead of responding, she steps out into the hallway and glances toward the last door. "I’ll take Callan’s room."

I blink. "Terrible idea."

"Don’t care. You kidnapped me, deal with the consequences." She shrugs, heading to his door.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Avery?—"

"You said I’d be safe here," she cuts in as she walks down the hall. "And I’ll feel safer in his room."

I want to argue, but it’s a battle I won’t win, so I don't even try.

"Fine." I step around her and open the door, dropping her bag beside his desk.

She stands at the foot of his bed, arms limp at her sides, staring at the space like it might swallow her whole.

Then she drops to her knees and covers her face with her hands.

Shit. I knew something was off.

"Hey." I move fast, crouching in front of her. "What’s going on?"

Her voice breaks. "I kissed him."

I freeze. "What? You kissed who?"

"Callan. In the hospital." Her voice echoes out between sobs and I have no clue what to do. "He was asleep and I kissed him because..." She sniffles. "I thought maybe it would help him remember."

I look away, jaw grinding. She’s holding onto hope like it’s the only thing keeping her upright, and I can’t lie to myself, a piece of me doesn't want him to remember. Not the crash, or Evan, Not the lies we've buried—and more importantly, her.

If he remembers her and everything they were, then I lose whatever sliver of her I’ve started to get close to.

Fuck. What am I even thinking right now? Am I seriously admitting to myself that I'd rather my boy lose two months of his life just so he doesn't remember falling in love with the girl who grates on my nerves more than anyone ever has in my entire life?

"I plan to do it again," she whispers, snapping me out of my thoughts. "And again and again, until he remembers me."

I force a breath. "That’s a terrible plan, Little Lamb."

"It’s all I’ve got." Her shoulders lift. "I’m losing everything. I can’t focus on class. I have no independence because I’m never safe. My mom is locked away from the world and my dad is playing house with Barbie while pretending nothing else exists."

She rubs her fingers on her temples. "And I know it sounds insane, but for a second, I swear he looked at me like I was someone worth remembering."

I can't respond to that without saying something I shouldn’t. So, I just pull her against me. She doesn’t fight it. Instead, she presses her face into my chest and lets me hold her. I don't like the way it feels holding her. It's too natural. Too comfortable.

My arms hold her close as she cries, shaking her head slowly as if she can’t believe what is happening around her. To be fair, it is a pretty warped shitstorm, but here she is, in my arms, and for some fucked-up reason that makes everything blowing up around us not feel so intense.

Avery pulls back, wiping at her cheeks like she’s angry at herself for crying in front of me. She doesn’t say anything, just gets to her feet and brushes off her jeans.

"I need to do some homework," she mutters. "Then I’m crashing early."

"Yeah." I nod, stepping back to give her space. "Sounds like a good plan."

She doesn’t look at me when she crosses the room, yanking her bag open and shuffling through it until she finds her laptop and a notebook. She sits on the edge of the bed, already trying to shut the world out again, so I take the hint.

"I’ll be downstairs if you need anything," I say.

She just nods without even looking up.

I hesitate in the doorway, feeling like I need to say more, but instead, I leave the room and her.

When I get downstairs, low music floods through the house. There are a couple stray chicks sitting on the coach with some of the guys who are playing video games, but none of it touches me.

I walk into the kitchen, grab a bottle of water from the fridge, then lean back against the counter and pull out my phone to send a text to our society’s group chat.

Me: Emergency meeting tomorrow night after practice. Dress code, casual. No ceremony. No excuses.

I hit send.

Read receipts begin to pop up and dots appear, likely with guys ready to throw out reasons why they can't make it, but none of them send. They know better.

Ground rules need to be laid out now that Avery is staying here. But more importantly, it's time for us to stop reacting and start hunting. Whoever’s behind this shit has taken too much already and I’m done watching from the sidelines.

Normally I prefer to sit behind a screen and plan my attack, but not this time. Someone hurt one of our own and threatened Avery. For that, I’m going to strangle the fucker with my bare hands as I watch the life drain from their eyes.

No one messes with my family.