Declan’s hand finds mine. He doesn’t lace our fingers. He just shifts so the back of his hand brushes mine.
Heat pools low in my stomach. I lean a little closer.
Zoë grins. “Look at her. Captain of the Chaos Crew.”
Even Maya gives a crisp nod. “It works.”
Then Declan stands.
The whole room locks onto him like gravity. He looks at each of them—his team, my team—and says:
“He thinks he can threaten our families and we’ll just fold.” A pause. The temperature of the room drops. “He has no idea who he picked a fight with.”
A shiver runs through the room.
I reach out without thinking—my fingers brushing his. Just a touch. Soft. Deliberate. His breath stops. His hand turns, catching mine fully. I hold on.
By the time Genny calls a halt, my brain is buzzing—half adrenaline, half exhaustion.
I stand to grab my bag, ready to walk back to my dorm alone, but the second I shift my weight, Declan is there. One big hand wrapped gently around my elbow.
“Come on,” he murmurs. “I’ll drive you.”
I don’t argue. I don’t want to.
Outside, the air is cool and sharp. He opens the passenger door for me and waits until I’m buckled before circling to the driver’s side.
He drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh. The silence feels different tonight. Not heavy. Not awkward. Just… charged. A live wire humming between the seats.
Finally, halfway to my dorm, I speak.
“Is this really happening?” I whisper. “All of us going after your dad?”
His jaw tightens. “Yeah. It’s happening.”
I watch him out of the corner of my eye. The strong line of his profile. The bruise on his cheekbone from Friday’s game is darkening now. He looks like he was carved out of dusk and trouble.
And yet—my body feels safe with him.
He turns into the parking lot behind my dorm and pulls into an empty space, leaving the engine running. He doesn’t move to open his door. He just sits there. Waiting. Letting me decide.
I take a breath that feels like stepping off a cliff.
“There’s something I should tell you.”
His head snaps toward me instantly. Eyes sharp. Focused.
The reaction alone almost makes me stop—like old fear remembering how to coil in my lungs. But I push through it.
“My ex,” I say quietly. “At my old school.”
Every muscle in his body goes still.
“He…” I start, and my voice fails. Tears prick my eyes. “He never hit me. Not… technically. But he would hit walls, throw things when he got angry, jealous, possessive. He scared me.”
Declan doesn’t speak, but he turns fully toward me, his whole body listening.
“One night at a party, I told him I was done. That I wanted out.” My hands twist in my lap, knuckles white. “He didn’t like that. He pushed me into a spare bedroom and locked the door.”
