"I didn't choose them over you. I said no to you long before they were in the picture."
"Bullshit." His chin dips, his eyes locked on mine. "I've been watching, Iris. Not just Milo's scent giving him away. I've seen Quentin leaving your apartment building at six in the morning. I saw the three of you at The Crimson Vine leaving together after the auction. I know what this is."
I should have known that he had been watching and waiting for a moment to strike. Fear spreads through my chest as I desperately try to find a way out of this conversation.
"You told me this goes both ways," he continues. "Fine. Let's see how far both ways goes. Because I'm not the one sneaking around with my coach's players. I'm not the one hiding a relationship that violates every conflict-of-interest policy in the athletic department handbook." He pauses, letting it sit. "So maybe your records scare me a little. But what I know about you should scare you a lot more."
My pulse hammers in my throat. My scent is right on the edge of spiking, and I have about thirty seconds before it becomes obvious to both of us that I'm not as calm as I look.
So I do what I do best. I do the math.
"You paid Marcus Webb three hundred dollars to write your ethics paper last semester." The shift in Chad's expression is immediate. The smugness drains, replaced by something whiter and colder. That was a cheap shot but I’m paid to make sure Dad’s players make it to the fieldandplay well. That means knowing their grades, ensuring they’re passing,andthat they don’t end up on any kind of probation. "I found it in the printer queue. Same paper, his name on the file metadata, your name on the submission. The timestamps are four minutes apart."
He takes a step back, forced to realize I have more aces up my sleeve than he has up his. "That's — you can't —"
"I'm the team bookkeeper, Chad. I see the printer logs, the equipment records, the locker inventories." My voice stays level, delivered the way I'd present a line item at a budget meeting. Regaining my composure, I straighten up and run my hands down my shirt. I will not lose toChad.He still doesn’t have anyproofother than what he’s seen. He’s not smart enough to have taken a picture. "I also see the supplements in your locker that aren't on any approved list. I haven't identified what they are yet, but I'm sure the athletic department would be interested in finding out."
His face goes pale. His mouth opens and closes twice, the bluster collapsing in on itself.
"I told you on the phone that I keep records. You should have believed me." My chin lifts. "Dates, times, documentation. That's what I do. So if you want to have a conversation with my father about my personal life, go ahead. And I'll have a conversation with the athletic director about yours."
The silence between us stretches. A group of students passes on the nearby sidewalk, laughing about something, completely unaware of what's happening ten feet away. Chad's hands fist at his sides, his nostrils flaring, his scent souring with a cocktail of anger and something that smells a lot like fear.
"Don't speak to me about this again." I hold his gaze until he's the one who looks away. "Not at practice, not on campus, not through Kevin's phone. My personal life is not one for you to dissect regardless of what you think is right or wrong."
I turn and walk away but the moment I round the corner of the arts building, my hands start shaking. The tremor starts in my fingers and works its way up through my wrists, my forearms, until my whole body is vibrating with the adrenaline crash. I press my back against the brick wall and close my eyes, my breath coming in short, shallow pulls that I have to consciously slow down.
I handled it. But handling it and being okay are two different things, and right now my hands won't stop shaking. My phone is out before I've consciously caught up with what I’m doing. Quentin picks up on the second ring.
"Iris?"
"I'm fine." My voice comes out steady, and I'm mildly impressed with myself. "Chad confronted me between classes. In person this time. He's been watching us, Q. Tracking when you leave my apartment, when Milo's there. It's more than the phone call."
"Where are you?"
"Walking home."
"We'll be there."
He hangs up. There’s no follow-up questions, instructions, or reassurances. Just the promise of their presence, delivered in three words and a dial tone.
They're both at my apartment when I get there. Milo is sitting on the kitchen counter with his legs swinging, his scent already filling the room with a surge of protectiveness he probably isn’t aware of. Quentin is standing by the window with his arms crossed, his gaze tracking me from the moment I come through the door. He doesn't move toward me, waiting to see what I need first.
When I don’t say anything, just sitting my bag by the door, Quentin breaks the silence. "So, he's been watching your apartment," Quentin says, the words coming out flat in a way that makes them more dangerous than if he'd shouted. "That's not a threat anymore. That's harassment."
"I know."
"We should go to Coach now. Tonight."
That’s the best and worst idea. "The rivalry game is in two days." I settle onto the arm of the couch. "Scouts are coming. If I go to my father now and he pulls Chad from the roster, orbenches him, or does anything that disrupts the lineup two days before the biggest game of the season—"
"So Chad gets to keep playing because the timing is inconvenient?" Milo's voice is harder than I expect, his usual warmth compressed into something darker. "He cornered you, Iris! He's following you!"
"I'm not protecting Chad. I'm protecting the team. And my father." My fingers twist the edge of my sleeve. "If he's emotionally compromised during this game, if he's dealing with the fact that his daughter has been hiding a relationship with two of his players while also processing that another player has been... following her — that's a lot to put on someone right before the most important night of the season."
I hate the logic of my argument but I also know that doing anything now won’t just ruin my father. It might very well ruin what I have with Milo and Quentin and I want to be selfish a little bit longer. Chad won’t get physical, I know that much. He’s stupid but not that stupid.
"Fine, we’ll wait," Milo says after a long beat. "We wait until after the game. You go to your dad that night, before Chad has a chance to get to him first. Me and Q will face Coach the next morning. Together."
