Page 16

KATERINA

It’s official—I hate how much I think about him. Ever since yesterday, Aiden has been living rent-free in my head, and I want to evict him. Immediately.

I don’t care about him, or how he looked at me after the qualifier, or that there was something in his eyes last night that wasn’t the usual cocky arrogance. I shouldn’t care. But then I walked into the kitchen this morning, and there he

was—half-asleep, shirtless, standing in front of the fridge glaring as if it had personally offended him. I should’ve turned around and left. I should have.

Instead, I opened my stupid mouth.

“Rough night, Knight?”

He groans, rubbing a hand down his face before shooting me a glare.

“Do you wake up actively looking for ways to annoy me?”

I smirk, loving how this is getting to him.

“Oh, absolutely, it’s the best part of my day.”

He exhaled sharply, grabbing the milk carton and chugging straight from it like a Neanderthal. I wrinkled my nose. “You live with other people, you animal.”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, looking at me entirely too amused.

“You wanna share a glass, Hart?”

I almost throw my coffee at him. Instead, I grab a banana off the counter and launch it at his head. He catches it without even looking.

Of course, he does. “Impressive aim, Angel Face,”

he muses, peeling the banana calmly. Like he wasn’t the most infuriating person to exist. I scowl.

“I hope you choke on it.”

Aiden grins around his first bite. “You’d miss me too much, baby.”

The word of endearment makes me pause. Why do I like it?

Before I can respond—before I can come up with a perfect, cutting remark—Roman and Will walk in, immediately sensing the energy in the room. Roman smirked.

“Are we flirting? Or fighting?”

“Both,”

Will said without hesitation as he continued to eat his cereal.

I throw my hands in the air in defeat. “I hate all of you.”

Aidens smirk grows, shoving the rest of the banana in his mouth before winking at me. Winking.

I storm out of the kitchen, yelling curse words at the boys before I commit a crime.

By the time I get to class, I’ve almost managed to shake off my irritation. Almost.

But, of course, the universe isn’t on my side today because the only empty seat in our biology class is next to him. Aiden looks up as I approach, a slow, taunting grin spreading across his face.

“Missed me already?”

I plop into the seat, dropping my bag onto the desk with a little too much force.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

He leans back, arms crossing over his chest, with a smile on his face. “You’re the one who sat here, Hart.”

He chimes in, his stupid boyish grin making him look handsome.

“It was either this or sitting next to the guy who chews his gum like a goat. Aiden chuckles. “Wow. I feel so special.”

I roll my eyes, pulling out my notebook, determined to ignore him for the rest of class. I can do this.

Except I can’t because halfway through the lecture, I feel something brush against my foot. I freeze. It happens again—a slight, deliberate nudge against my ankle. I don’t react. I won’t react—another nudge. I exhale slowly, keeping my gaze trained on the professor. He wants me to respond.

Fine. I shift slightly and—without warning—kick his shin under the desk. Aiden lets out a quiet grunt, shooting me a glare while I smile sweetly at the board. He leans closer and whispers in my ear.

“You’re evil.”

I scribble something in my notes, feigning innocence.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

His knee presses against mine, just for a second, just enough to send an annoying zing of awareness through me. I stiffen, refusing to move first. It’s a standoff neither of us wants to lose.

By the time class ends, my heart is pounding, and my head is a mess. I practically shove my notebook into my bag, ready to bolt—But Aiden is faster. He blocks my exit with a lazy smirk. “What’s your hurry, Angel Face?”

I scowl. “Move.”

“Say, please.”

I push past him without a word, pretending that my pulse isn’t out of control. He follows me out into the hallway like he enjoys making my life difficult.

“Admit it,”

he says, walking beside me. “You like bickering with me.”

I stop abruptly, turning to face him.

“You are relentless.”

“And you love it.”Before I can respond, Alina and Alexei appear, breaking the

Moment. Alina glances between us, smirking. “What did I miss?”

I groan. “Nothing.”

Alexei snickers. “Nothing? Because it looks like something.”

Aiden stretches like he has all the time in the world.

“She just can’t stop thinking about me.”

I glare at him.

“You stole my coffee this morning.”

Alina gasps cause she knows. She knows how I am about my coffee,

“Again? Aiden, that’s practically a declaration of war.”

Aiden shrugs, entirely unrepentant. “She deserved it.”

“HOW?”

I ask raising my hands up in a question.

“For existing.”

He winks at me, and my stomach erupts in butterflies. Stupid hormones.

Alexei and Alina laugh as I march away, ignoring their teasing. But I do hear Alexei mutter, “They should just make out already.”

I roll my eyes, making my way towards the library. I sit in a corner, my books all sprawled out, as I do my homework when the walls start to ripple. The pages blur, words turning into insects crawling across the paper and into my arms. My throat tightens, my pulse skipping painfully.

‘Katerina. Being alone always makes you think of me.’

I shake my head to clear my mind, Max’s voice echoing in my head. My fingers tremble as I grab my phone, and half of me is unsure who I’m about to text. But my brain knows before my heart catches up.

Angel Face

The reply comes almost instantly.

Grumpy Hockey Player

I stare at the screen, debating how much to say.

Angel Face

Three dots. They disappear. Then reappear.

Grumpy Hockey Player

Angel Face

I expect him to ask questions, to demand answers, to gloat. But all he sends is three words.

Grumpy Hockey player

I try to take deep breaths to get rid of Max’s voice by thinking about anything else, but nothing is working. I hear loud footsteps approaching, and then I see Aiden.

He finds me with my head between my knees, hidden behind a row of books. The second I see him, I want to cry. Not because I’m happy to see him—because I’m not—but because it means I don’t have to hold myself together anymore.

“Breathe,”

he says softly, crouching next to me. “We’ve done this before, remember?”

I nod, tears burning at the edges of my eyes. His hand hovers near my back—not touching, but close enough that I can feel the heat of his hand. It should make my skin crawl. Instead, it anchors me.

“Four in,”

he says, voice steady. “Hold it and four out.”

We breathe together. When my hands stopped shaking, I realised I was clutching his hand pretty hard. I let go like it burns, face hot with embarrassment.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

“I’ve had worse,”

Aiden says, shrugging like it’s nothing. I believe him.

“Thank you,”

I say, but the words feel awkward, like trying to speak a foreign language. “You can hate me again tomorrow,”

he says. “But for today, I’m not going anywhere.”

And the worst part? I believe him.

Aiden doesn’t speak. He just sits there, one leg stretched out, the other bouncing restlessly like he’s still trying to burn off some leftover energy from practice. The only sound is my breathing—uneven but not terrifying —and the faint ticking of my clock. It’s almost unbearable, the silence.

“You can go,”

I say, even though I don’t want him to. “I’m fine now.”

He gives me a look. The kind that says you’re full of shit, and I hate that it makes me want to curl in on myself.

“I’ll leave when I believe that.”

“You’re not my babysitter.” I snap.

“Yeah, you keep saying that, yet here I am.”

My cheeks heat, not from attraction—God no—but from sheer humiliation. He’s seeing me like this. Sweaty. Shaking. Half out of my mind. I can practically hear the stories he’ll tell in the locker room tomorrow. Except…he doesn’t seem like he’s planning to tell anyone. There’s no teasing grin, no obnoxious joke about ‘crazy Kat.’ If anything, he just looks tired. Not bored-tired, but something else. A kind of tired, I recognise. He’s been here before. The realisation punches me so hard in the chest that I almost forget to breathe again.

“Do you—”

My voice snags in my throat. “Do you still get panic attacks?”

He blinks, caught off guard. “What?”

“Nothing.”

I backpedal fast, hating how my voice trembles. “Forget, I asked.”

Aiden’s quiet for a long moment, his jaw working like he’s trying to decide something. Then, to my surprise, he nods. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He shrugs like it’s not a big deal like we’re discussing whether or not it might rain tomorrow. “I get them sometimes. Not often. But enough.”

I should be relieved, knowing he gets it. But somehow, it just makes me feel exposed—like he knows exactly what’s in my head like he’s been here long enough to read me better than I want to be read. “Great,”

I say, voice dripping sarcasm. “Bonding moment complete. You can leave now.”

“Nope.”

He leans back into the bookshelves behind him, making himself way too comfortable in a public library. “You just admitted you’re not fine, and now you think I’m leaving you alone with that mess in your head? Try again.”

I grab the nearest object—a book—and chuck it at his stupid face. He catches it quickly like it’s a puck.

Of course, he does. “I hate you,” I mutter.

“No, you don’t.”

he grins at me.

As soon as I feel good enough to walk, Aiden drives us home. I sigh in contempt when I see my bed, jumping in it and closing my eyes.

The thing about panic attacks is that after they’re over, they leave you feeling like you got run over by a truck. My limbs feel leaden, my brain fogged, and every sound is too sharp. If I look too closely, the shadows are still there, twitching at the edges of my vision like a glitch in reality. I open my eyes and lay back against my headboard, staring at the ceiling. The cracks have stopped breathing, at least. That’s progress. “You want water or something?”

Aiden asks, his voice softer now.

“No.”

“Food?”

“Why are you still here?”

He doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice is quieter than I’ve ever heard it.

“Because you need me.”

That shuts me up.

“Yeah, I do,”

I admit because I have no idea what else to say. Aiden spins in my chair as he leans his head back, staring at the ceiling with a grin.

I must fall asleep at some point because the next time I open my eyes, the room is drenched in early morning light. My head feels heavy, and my body feels sore, like I ran ten miles in my sleep.

The chair is empty. For a second, I think I imagined the whole thing. Maybe Aiden was just another hallucination, some twisted projection of my fried brain. But then I spot something—on my desk, right next to my lamp. A Gatorade bottle and a granola bar. Both are unopened, clearly left there on purpose. I pick up the bottle, and a crumpled piece of paper is under it. There’s writing scrawled across in thick black Sharpie.

Hydrate, dumbass.

I snort, then immediately feel guilty for finding it funny. I should be mad that he stayed, furious that he saw me like that, but I don’t —not at all. Alina was right. I do like him.