Page 36

CHAPTER 36

ARIELLA

W hy couldn't anything ever be easy?

The sharp crack of hockey sticks against ice echoed through the empty arena, making me flinch. The familiar glow of Kacie's MacBook login page mocked me as I tried her third password combination.

Access denied.

Again.

Zaiden and Sterling's skates carved violent figure-eights into the ice as they fought over a puck. I wasn't a regular at the ice arena, but currently, it was the only place I knew I wouldn't run into anyone from the football team. I knew I'd eventually have to face them, but I'd already been disowned. I wasn't sure how they'd react when they saw me again, and I wasn't ready to find out.

I shifted in my seat, the laptop wobbling on my knees as I keyed in another password attempt. The rhythmic scraping of blades against ice had become almost hypnotic over the past half hour, but it couldn't quite drown out the voice in my head asking why Kacie would suddenly change her password after using the same one for years.

Today was the first day since the shooting that they'd opened the rink and the sports hall where everything had gone down. I wasn't ready to go back into the sports hall yet, but thankfully, the rink had an exterior entrance, so I didn't have to.

"Still playing digital detective?" Mila dropped into the seat beside me, immediately pulling one knee up to her chest and wrapping her arms around it. Her dark hair was tied in a messy bun, and her baggy sweatshirt hung below her cutoff shorts, making it look like she wasn't wearing anything but the hoodie. "Any luck?"

I shook my head, running a finger over the laptop's edge. "Kacie used the same password for everything. Like, literally everything." I glanced at Mila. "Why would she decide to be security-conscious with her cloud?"

"Maybe because—" Mila trailed off, her usual quick comebacks absent. She slumped lower. "I don't know. But if anyone can crack Kacie's mind games, it's you. You were her person." Her voice caught on the past tense, and she quickly pulled out her phone, hiding behind her screen.

Sighing, I sank back in my seat, letting the laptop teeter on my lap. “Have you heard anything about practice?"

"Yeah," she said, scrolling through her phone. "We are meeting with the sports director in about an hour on the field."

"What do you think he's going to say?"

She shrugged. "He's either going to tell us they found a new coach, or we are taking the rest of the season off."

"Honestly, if it weren't for my scholarship, I'd be okay with taking the rest of the season off."

"Is that because you've been banished from the team?"

"Pretty much," I nodded.

Movement on the ice drew my attention to where Zaiden was "practicing" with Sterling – if you could call it that. Zaiden circled Sterling like a shark, all fluid grace and predatory focus. Each stolen puck came with a flourish meant for the empty stands - meant for me. I caught him watching between plays, that familiar smirk playing on his lips. The same smirk he'd worn at the party, right before he'd grabbed my wrists and said those three words: "You're mine now." Sterling might think they were practicing, but Zaiden was performing, showing off his power. His control.

"So, what's going on with you and the hockey God down there?" Mila's eyes narrowed like I was a puzzle she needed to solve. "Everyone saw you leave the party with him."

I gripped the MacBook harder, the plastic edge pressing into my palms. "According to him, I'm 'his' now."

"His?" Mila's whole body stiffened. "Like his girlfriend?"

"No…" My phone chimed with a new email, distracting me. My gaze narrowed to see that it was my school email. My eyes zeroed in on the name. Scott Hillard. Coach Hillard was not only the head football coach, but he was also the sports director. "Coach Hillard just emailed me."

Mila perked up. "What does it say?"

"He wants me to meet him in his office—now." My gaze lifted, meeting hers. "Why would he want to meet with me before the meeting?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. Do you want me to go with you?"

"No," I shut the laptop, "I'll meet you at the meeting." I pushed out of the seat. "If Zaiden asks where I went—" My eyes lingered for a long minute on the ice. "lie." The last thing I wanted was for Zaiden to show up and stick his nose where it didn't belong.

I held up the computer. "I'll take another crack at this after practice today."

"I'll see you on the field," Mila said, gathering her things. "I'm gonna meet Journey at the smoothie cafe, grab a smoothie, and head to the field."

"Bring me back a strawberry lime?" I tried to keep my voice light, but my eyes were already fixed on the heavy metal door at the top of the stairs. The same door we'd been standing near when everything went down.

The MacBook felt like lead in my arms as I climbed. Each step brought me closer to the door that led to a hallway filled with memories of fear.

Behind this door, sneakers had squeaked against polished floors, and voices had echoed off high ceilings. Behind this door, those ordinary sounds had been replaced by screams and gunshots and?—

I pulled my hand back, wiping my palm against my jeans. The shooter was dead. The hallway was just a hallway now. I repeated these facts like a mantra, but my heart still hammered against my ribs.

Three deep breaths. I forced air into my lungs once, twice, three times, then pushed the door open before I could change my mind. The lights hummed overhead—a sound so normal it felt wrong. My footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, each one a reminder that I was alone here. That I was safe. Yet my shoulders remained tense, my body ready to run, as if it remembered something my mind was trying to forget.

"Ms. Ledger." Coach Hillard's voice cut through the empty hallway. He stood in his office doorway, shoulders rigid, lip in a tight line instead of his usual easy smile.

"Hey, Coach." The words stuck in my throat. Every instinct screamed at me to turn around, but my feet carried me forward anyway. "I got your email."

"Come in." He didn't step aside right away, his massive frame blocking most of the doorway. When he finally moved, it felt less like an invitation and more like a trap closing.

"Is something wrong?" I asked over my shoulder, but froze when my gaze shifted forward and landed on Dean Sweeney sitting behind Coach's desk. "What's going on?" I flinched when the door slammed behind me.

"Ms. Ledger," Dean Sweeney forced a smile. "Why don't you have a seat?"

I shook my head. "No, thank you." I crossed my arms over my chest. "What's going on?"

Dean Sweeney pushed out of her chair, pressing her hands flat on the desk as she squared her shoulders. "A video that's been circulating on campus was brought to our attention."

Video.

I pressed my lips into a tight line, and my eyes closed on an exhale. There was only one video she could be talking about, the one of Coach Palmer and me.

"Unfortunately," Dean Sweeney's manicured nails tapped against her desk, "This kind of behavior is unacceptable. It reflects poorly on our institution." Each tap felt like a countdown.

My brows slammed together. "Behavior like what?" In my peripheral vision, Coach Hillard shifted his weight. "Being forced—" I stopped myself because Coach Palmer hadn't technically forced me. I knew what was required to make the team, and I knew what was required to get a full scholarship. Even though I didn't want to, I'd willingly gotten on my knees because if I hadn’t, college was off the table for me. The dance team I'd dreamed about being part of since I was a little girl would be gone.

"Are you saying Zaiden Knight forced you?"

"Zaiden?" I shook the confusion out of my head. "What are you talking about?"

The photo slid across the polished mahogany. My fingertips went numb as the image came into focus. Me—on my knees in the dim light of the football party. The grainy quality didn't hide what was happening, didn't blur the shame that rose like bile in my throat.

It didn't surprise me that someone had videoed it, but until then, I'd been able to pretend there wasn't video evidence of Zaiden forcing me to my knees in front of everyone. Of him claiming me as his, in front of my entire team.

"Where—" My voice cracked. I tried again, tasting copper where I'd bitten the inside of my cheek. "Where did you get this?" My hands shook as I flipped the photo over, but the image was already burned into my retinas.

The memory rushed back, the weight of Zaiden's hand on my head, the feel of him deep in my throat, the taste of his cum on my tongue, the music thumping overhead where the party continued without us as everyone watched.

"It doesn't matter." Dean Sweeney's voice cut through my spiral. "Now that it's been brought to our attention, we have to deal with it."

A laugh bubbled up in my chest, high and hysteric. Deal with it? Like this was a missed homework assignment or a dress code violation. Since when did a blow job become a concern of the school?

"I don't understand." My voice sounded distant, like it belonged to someone else. "Why is this a school issue?"

"You are a dancer." Coach Hillard said, squaring his shoulders. "You represent this school."

Represent. The word echoed in my head.

My vision blurred as I stared at Dean Sweeney.

"You're off the team, Ms. Ledger, and you're suspended pending further investigation."

Dean Sweeney's words hit like physical blows. Off the team. Suspended. Possible expulsion. Each pronouncement drove another nail into the coffin of my future, the dance scholarship I'd spent years earning.

"What do you mean by further investigation?" My voice came out smaller than I intended, a scared kid's voice, not the confident dancer I was supposed to be.

Dean Sweeney's face remained unfazed as if she hadn't just blown up my entire life. "At best, your suspension will be lifted. At worst—" She let the words hang there, heavy as storm clouds. "You will be permanently expelled."

"And what about Zaiden?"

"Mr. Knight is fortunate that we can't see his face."

A laugh bubbled up in my throat, sharp and bitter. "Are you fucking serious?"

"Ms. Ledger." Dean Sweeney's voice cracked like a whip. "Do not make this worse than it already is."

"Worse?" The word tore from my throat, raw and ragged. My vision blurred, but I refused to let them see me cry. "You've taken everything from me, but Zaiden, the God of Hockey, can do no wrong." I spat his name like a curse, remembering his smirk when he'd told me I was 'his.' I pursed my lips. "What if he had forced me? What would you have done?"

"That's enough, Ms. Ledger," Coach Hillard snapped.

"No, really?" Anger radiated off me. "Would you have kicked out your star hockey player? Or would I have been punished for that, too?"

She squared her shoulders, lifting her chin. "We will contact you once a decision has been made."

"This is such bullshit," I growled, whipping around and storming out of the office. My chest was heaving with anger.

This was all Zaiden's fault.