Page 4 of Hero After Midnight (Gibson Hollow)

Alia

T he sun was too bright, the bleachers too cold, and the heat from my coffee had long since seeped through the cardboard cup.

My laptop sat open on my thighs, screen dimmed but untouched.

I’d told myself I’d get through my Con Law reading while Bodie was at practice, but so far all I’d managed to do was reread the same sentence twelve times without absorbing a single word because my brain was still circling around Jeff’s reply to my breakup text, fanning the flames of the temper I basically never let off leash.

That would’ve been easier if my eyes didn’t keep drifting to the field, where the man who’d cheated on me was running drills like nothing had happened.

I absolutely didn’t want to be here. If I’d had my own car, I wouldn’t have been.

But I shared one with Bodie, and he had football practice—as he did most afternoons.

I hadn’t had a chance to tell him everything that had happened yet.

I could have texted him and asked him to get a ride home with Ramsey, but then he’d have wanted to know why, and I didn’t want to get into all of that over text.

I also didn’t want to face Ramsey again after last night.

So here I was, perched in the stands like I was fine.

“Okay.” Blair slid her sunglasses down her nose so she could peer at me over the top of them. “You gonna tell me why you’re trying to burn holes in your screen with your mind?”

I blew out a slow breath and finally looked at my bestie.

Chill, stylish, and sparkly, she was everything I wasn’t.

We’d met first week of freshman year and immediately hit it off.

We’d been inseparable ever since. She lounged beside me like this was her own private spa, one long leg tucked under the other, bright pink nails wrapped around a drink from the campus cafe.

She was the only person I could stand to be around right now.

“I saw Jeff last night.”

Blair raised a brow at my flat tone. “Like, on purpose or…?”

“At Whiskey Jack’s.” I glanced away, fingers tightening around my cup. “With his tongue down someone else’s throat.”

Her gasp was cinematic. “No. No! That walking shit stain! Are you kidding me?”

“I wish.” I stared out over the field, at the lines painted across the grass, the players gathered at midfield. “He wasn’t even trying to hide it.”

By the time I finished telling her the rest of it, she practically vibrated with righteous fury. “You should’ve dumped a drink on him.”

“That would’ve meant making a scene. I’d rather set him on fire quietly.”

Blair’s eyes flashed. “We could key his truck. Or his soul. Your choice.”

Despite myself, I huffed a short laugh. I had to appreciate her well-developed sense of vengeance.

She sobered. “Seriously though. You just left?”

“I just left. Ramsey walked me home.”

“Ramsey was there?”

“I literally walked into him when I turned to leave.” And it had been like hitting a massive, warm, really good smelling wall. Not that I was thinking about that. “He saw, too.”

And God, that made my cheeks burn with further embarrassment. Certainly, plenty of other people there had seen. But there’d been no one else whose opinion I actually cared about. How foolish did I look for being with Jeff in the first place?

“And he didn’t do anything either?”

“Oh, he would have. But that would have been more of a scene, and the last thing his football career needs is an arrest for assault.”

God, that would kill his mom. And who knew what kind of legal fees would be involved in something like that? I wasn’t saddling him with that. Not even for the satisfaction of seeing my ex flattened.

Blair scowled. “I wish I’d been there. I’d have clawed his face off.”

“Seriously, B, he’s not worth ruining your manicure.” But the mental image of my statuesque bestie opening a very stylish can of whoop-ass did give me the warm fuzzies. What did that say about me?

She draped an arm around my shoulders. “You’re worth it, my darling. Have you at least solidly ended things?”

I leaned into the embrace. “I texted him this morning. Told him we were done.”

“And?”

I pulled out my phone, brought up the message thread, and handed it over.

Blair read the message exchange—his smug little reply about how it was ‘no skin off his nose’ and how we’d ‘barely been together anyway’—and looked like she was ready to commit an actual felony.

She shoved my phone back into my hand. “I swear to God. What an absolute hemorrhoid of a human.”

“It didn’t wreck me,” I said quietly, more to myself than to her. “It pissed me off.”

“Good. Pissed off is way better than heartbroken.”

“I wasn’t in love with him. I wasn’t even close.

Truthfully, a part of me is relieved. I have so much to juggle this year with my course load, keeping my scholarship, doing my internship at the firm.

I honestly don’t have time to date. Now I don’t have to feel like he’s another thing to add to my checklist.”

Blair gave me a long look out of perfectly winged eyes. “Baby, if that’s how you were thinking about your relationship, y’all definitely weren’t doing it right.”

I snorted. “It’s further proof we weren’t actually a good fit. I think I knew that. I just… didn’t feel like dealing with the drama of ending it or with getting back out there to date anyone else. The more fool me.”

“You’re not a fool. Not even a little bit. But maybe you aren’t exactly in the right headspace for dating.”

“At this point, I feel like avoiding the whole thing until after law school. I’m too busy.”

“Let’s put a pin in that before you make a sweeping declaration that’s going to last the next four and a half years.”

The corner of my lips curved faintly as I let Blair’s words settle around me like a comforting blanket.

My eyes drifted out to the field, where the team was lined up for a scrimmage.

Bodie was holding down the line at left guard, Ramsey split off the end in position as tight end—Thunder and Lightning, as the team called them.

It started as a joke, something the announcers and campus sports accounts latched onto.

But it stuck because it was true. When they moved together, it wasn’t just offense—it was controlled demolition.

I’d always loved watching Ramsey play. Quietly.

Secretly. The way some people appreciated fine art or ballet or flawless mechanics.

There was something mesmerizing about seeing him move.

Calculated. Focused. Ruthlessly efficient.

Like a predator who knew exactly when and where to strike.

It shouldn’t have been attractive—brutality dressed up as athleticism—but something about it always hit me square in the chest. Blair would’ve called it competence porn. I called it beautiful to watch.

Not that I’d ever say that out loud.

The ball snapped.

Jeff, lined up as outside linebacker, came in hot on a blitz off the edge.

He didn’t get far.

In the space of a breath, Bodie peeled off his block like it was choreographed, and Ramsey was already there to meet him, the two of them converging with ruthless precision. The hit landed like a thunderclap—shoulder to ribs, legs taken out clean—and Jeff crumpled like a folding chair.

I flinched, my whole body recoiling, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim of my cup. Football was a rough game—God knew I’d grown up watching enough of it—but that had been more than a clean tackle.

That had been personal.

Jeff didn’t move right away. For a second, I actually thought he might stay down. But eventually, he rolled to his knees, helmet askew, blinking like he couldn’t quite remember where he was.

“Yikes,” Blair muttered beside me. “Someone’s making enemies on the field.”

I didn’t answer. My eyes were locked on the two players walking calmly back to the line. Bodie and Ramsey, side by side, the very picture of “nothing to see here.”

Only I knew these men, and there absolutely was something to see.

Another snap. Another blitz.

Jeff tried to cut inside this time.

Bodie met him low, Ramsey came in high. Their timing was flawless. The impact was bone-deep—loud enough to echo—and Jeff hit the turf again like the ground had reached up and yanked him down.

This time, he stayed there longer.

When he finally shoved himself up, he was clearly limping, one hand clutching his side. He yanked off his helmet and hurled words at one of the coaches—too far away for me to make out, but the tone said enough. A warning shout came from the sideline, but no one got pulled. No flags. No whistles.

Everything looked clean enough.

And yet, somehow, Jeff was the only one who looked wrecked.

If you didn’t know any better.

But I did.

This wasn’t merely practice. This wasn’t bad luck or even an unlucky matchup.

This was calculated. Planned.

My stomach fluttered—not with nerves, but something wilder, sharper, more visceral.

Ramsey had told Bodie. He had to have. And this—this was retaliation. Silent and vicious. Carried out in plain sight. It was exactly the kind of justice I would’ve dreamed up if I had the physical ability to lay someone out on the fifty-yard line.

Perfectly legal. Painfully satisfying. And absolutely impossible to trace back to me.

Beside me, Blair leaned forward, her posture shifting from relaxed to laser-focused, eyes narrowed behind her oversized sunglasses. “You’re seeing this too, right? That’s not normal practice brutality.”

“Nope.”

“Ramsey told him.”

I didn’t even hesitate. “Yep.”

We sat in silence for a beat, watching Jeff limp back to the huddle with all the grace of a sore loser.

And for the first time since last night, I didn’t feel small. Or humiliated. Or like the punchline to some mean-spirited joke.

I felt seen.

Not pitied. Not rescued. But avenged in a way that kept my dignity intact.

It was beyond satisfying. It felt like justice.

And God help me, I wasn’t even a little sorry.

As the players reset on the field, my gaze drifted instinctively to the far end of the offensive line—drawn there like a compass needle. Ramsey stood tall and unshaken as he waited for the next snap. Calm. Controlled. Like nothing phased him.

But I remembered last night.

His hand had been warm and steady at the small of my back, guiding me home without a word of pressure or questions.

Only quiet presence. It had been the softest touch, but it grounded me more than I could explain.

I hadn’t even realized how much I’d needed that—how brittle I’d felt—until his fingers brushed against my spine like he was holding me together without making it obvious.

And the hoodie.

I glanced down, momentarily remembering the weight of it last night as I’d pulled it over my head. Too big. Soft. Still carrying the warmth of him and that clean, woodsy scent. It had felt like a barrier against the world. A hug I didn’t have to ask for.

Comfort I hadn’t known how to receive.

And before I’d shut the door behind me, he’d said, “It’s gonna be okay.”

Not with forced cheer or vague platitudes. Simply a quiet certainty that had somehow carved space in my chest where the panic had been sitting.

I swallowed hard.

What would’ve happened if I’d stayed on that porch one second longer?

Would he have followed me inside? Said something else? Reached for me the way I’d wanted to reach for him?

The thought barely formed before I shut it down, stuffed it back into the place I kept all the complicated feelings I didn’t have time to unpack. That wasn’t what last night had been about. He was Bodie’s best friend. He was being kind. That was all.

Still, the weight of his voice lingered in my mind.

It’s gonna be okay.

What was it about him saying it that made me think… maybe it would be?

The whistle blew again, and bodies shifted across the field, but I wasn’t watching anymore.

I pulled my laptop closer and opened a blank document—not the brief I needed to draft for my internship or the notes I needed to finish for Con Law. A fresh, empty screen.

My fingers hovered over the keys. Then I began to type.

He didn’t see it at first. The cocky, careless boy, too busy stumbling through the dark, grinning like he owned the night.

But the trees knew. The wind knew. And something else—something old and clawed and hungry—knew too.

It stalked on silent paws, all sinew and shadow, and watched him trip over his own arrogance.

When it struck, it didn’t roar. It didn’t snarl.

It just sank its teeth in deep, relishing the warm copper tang of blood filling its mouth and the high, thin scream of terror that split the night before it dragged him into the earth.

I paused, rereading the paragraph. It was ridiculous and savage and maybe a little bit dramatic—but God, it felt good.

“Girl.” Blair leaned over, peering at my screen behind the blonde curtain of her hair. “That’s some Greek-tragedy level vengeance. I approve. You should keep going.”

“I think I will.” I tapped the space bar once. “I think it would be cathartic.”

The wind picked up, tugging loose strands of my hair into my face. Down on the field, another whistle blew. Another snap.

Another hit. Jeff hit the turf with a grunt that echoed across the stands.

This time, I didn’t flinch. I kept typing, smiling at the sound of the keys clicking steadily beneath my fingers.