A long, horrified silence stretches across the room.
“She’s bluffing,” I whisper to Blake out of the corner of my mouth.
Doc looks directly at me and deadpans, sliding the key cards across her desk with two fingers. “I already bought the shirt.”
“But,” Blake is frantic. “Wecan’tlive together! He’s aboy.”
“Man,” I correct her. “And if you’re curious, I’ll be more than happy to give you a full demonstration.”
She glares up at me, opens her mouth to say something else, but Doc interrupts.
“We’ve stuck teammates up there before—coed, same deal—and it worked. You’re not special. You don’t have to like eachother, but youwilllearn to act like normal functioning human beings who aren’t constantly at each other’s throats. Living under the same roof tends to fast-track that lesson.”
Blake groans again, but this time it sounds more like a death rattle.
I smile.
Best punishment ever.
Chapter 3
Blake
Ishove a handful of questionably expired protein bars into my duffel bag and try not to scream.
The room is starting to look so empty now.
Mayson’s half has been bare since the beginning of the Rites. One day, I came home from class and all her stuff was just… gone. No warning. No apology. Just a text that said,“Don’t be mad, I swear I’ll explain later,”followed by a photo of her annoying-as-hell stepbrother gripping her favorite throw pillow like a trophy, stone-faced and smug.
He didn’t even bother with a smile—just that blank, self-satisfied look he wears when he thinks he’s being clever. The kind of face that says he knows he’s inconvenienced someone and he’s proud of it. That’s Colin’s whole thing—power plays. Stealing, hiding, dragging things out just to remind people he can. Everyone knows he thrives on control, the kind that doesn’t matter to anyone but him, and somehow that only makes him more unbearable.
I hate that he chose her as his mark, and I hate even more that both of us are in these ridiculous situations.
She’s been living with him ever since. Claims it wasn’t her idea. That it’s “just temporary.” But she still sends me blurrymorning selfies inhishoodies, and even her complaints—“he eats like he’s prepping for the apocalypse,” “his room smells like the inside of a gym bag”—have started to sound suspiciously not-mad.
Which is exactly whatthisfeels like now. Not quite a kidnapping, but close. A premeditated relocation, at best. Because even though Mads couldn’t haveknownDoc would go full scorched-earth and exile us to the Birch Unit, I’d bet everything in my Venmo balance that hewantedit. That hecountedon it.
Sometimes I wish he’d just taken a damn scholarship back in the UK instead of coming to Northgate. Played for one of those universities where the jerseys have crests and the fans chant in complete sentences.
And now I’m about to be stuck in a team-issued apartment with one bathroom, no Wi-Fi, and the human embodiment of my last fucking nerve.
Packing your entire life away in the span of a few hours should be illegal. I swear I justunpackedall of this. Organized my shelves, folded my clothes, figured out which drawer doesn’t stick. And now I’m cramming everything back into a duffle I didn’t plan on touching again until winter break.
It’s whiplash. Emotional whiplash. Drawer emptying induced whiplash.
I’m too irritated to do this with any kind of methodological approach. If it fits, it’s coming. If it doesn’t, it’s getting left behind.
The best I can hope for is that Coach releases us from our punishment (banishment) on good behavior sooner rather than later. I have too much on my plate and mind right now to also have to deal with being in such close quarters with Madsen Keller.
There’s a knock at my door, and I let out a frustrated breath that blows a sweaty strand of hair off my forehead.
I open it expecting maybe Mayson would come to rescue me with snacks and commiseration since I texted her about this shitshow. What I get instead is Mads.
Leaning on a dolly.
Stacked with empty boxes.
And standing just behind him, looking deeply apologetic and somehow still angelic despite the context, is Luca Marquez—sweeper, actual cinnamon roll, and the only guy on the men's team I’d voluntarily share oxygen with.
