Or so I thought.
I realized something was wrong the moment I stepped up to the mat. The atmosphere in the room felt off. Ignoring the odd fluttering in my stomach, I faced my opponent, looking into a set of unnervingly friendly, warm blue eyes. The ground shifted, like the earth’s axis had shifted a degree to the side, and my heart clogged my throat. The first period was a mess, a technical failure of awkward grappling that ended with a near fall and barely avoiding getting pinned. I started the second period in a daze, on my knees with the heat of my opponent at my back. His breath brushed the hairs on the back of my neck, and then my body betrayed me. I couldn’t breathe or get my limbs to cooperate. Every muscle in my body locked up, and out of nowhere, I was pinned down, looking up into wide, disbelieving blue eyes.
Eyes thatknew.
Eyes that are staring back at me now, recognition sparking and then transforming into something terrifying. Something like… happiness. Over my discomfort? Over the reminder of my loss, not just of the championship title but my goddamned dignity? Of remembering exactly how I fell apart under him?
One dark blond eyebrow raises, turning his grin cocky and cruel. And I know.
I know this man is going to ruin me. Again.
He’s going to dismantle everything I’ve built. Take away everything I’ve earned after clawing my way back from shame.
He’s going to rip it all away from me.
Just like he did before.
CHAPTER 2
BRODY
A murmur of appreciation rumbles out of me as I follow my new roommates into the Howlers Wrestling Club for our first team orientation. Stepping inside the state-of-the-art facility has me feeling excited for the year ahead despite how chaotic the summer, and my decision to transfer, have been. I could wallow in the unfairness of needing to move closer to home, but I’m choosing to focus on the opportunity that landed in my lap. I’m extremely lucky that there was a place for me here, and one that my existing scholarships mostly cover.
Huntston University is a great school. It competes with the Ivy League in academic prestige and has an incredible athletics department. I’m transferring from another Division One school in the Midwest, where wrestling is practically a religion, but this place isfancy. Standing in the building now, I honestly can’t believe my circumstances led me here.
The building is a large rectangular structure on the far side of the main athletic complex. From the outside, it looks like most of the rest of the campus—red brick and pristine white pillars with gabled roofs, surrounded by sprawling lawns and lush greenery. Inside, it’s sleek and modern. There are two entrances.One at the front of the building facing the parking areas, where spectators and visitors enter. The team enters through the back entrance that faces the dorms, where there’s a small lobby with a desk and sitting area, and two open doorways on either side of the desk. One leads to a large meeting room, study area, and back entrance to the spectator section of the main floor. The other leads to the lockers and athletic training offices. We walk through the locker rooms first, which has my mouth gaping. I knew that Huntston University had money, but this place looks like a locker room I would expect professional sports teams to have.
While I’m sure the team will eventually stink up the place, everything is pristine, shiny and new-looking. A grin spreads across my face at my name on a little engraved nameplate on one of the lockers. Inside, it’s packed with a brand-new sports bag, water bottle, several practice and competition uniforms, sweat bands, a hat, and a bunch of other team swag, all emblazoned with the Howlers Wrestling Club brand.
After touring the locker and shower rooms, we walk through a recovery and sports-medicine suite, where there are treatment rooms and offices for various trainers and physical therapists, hydrotherapy and cryo-chambers, and a sauna. Then we walk through a gym with all kinds of strength and conditioning zones, cardio equipment, free-weights and kettlebells, plyometric boxes, and everything else a gym could need. And that’s all before we finally spill out to the main floor.
It's a vast space with high ceilings and bright lighting surrounded by acoustic-panels to reduce echo. There’s a catwalk above the main floor with a running track that circles the room, and wide staircases leading up to the coaching staff’s offices and a large team briefing area. The center of the roomis dominated by three competition mats, surrounded by several smaller practice mats, easily enough space for all weight classes to practice.
My new roommates lead me to the spectator stands, where the team and staff are gathered for the orientation. Since I arrived later in the day yesterday, I haven’t had much of a chance to meet anyone outside of Aaron and Jay, but they seem like really great guys. I can easily see myself making friends and fitting in here.
We reach the group, and Jay starts the introductions. I shake hands and exchange easy conversation about stats and excitement about the season. Everyone seems decent—loud, and obviously competitive, but welcoming enough.
This is a good thing. A great opportunity!
I have to remind myself of that several times when I come face-to-face with someone from my past. And since I look pretty much the same as I did in high school, with some added height and muscle mass, he doesn’t even need an introduction.
“Holy shit, it’s Miller Time!” Pierce Jamison crows, bringing back a taunt I’d hoped to never hear again. A couple guys laugh automatically, not knowing the history behind the joke. Why would they? To them, it’s probably just a beer brand tagline. A harmless joke. Funny.
Ha. Ha.
I thought I’d left this bullshit behind when I moved halfway across the damn country for school. I knew there was a possibility of seeing people who knew the old me, and you’d think that we’d all matured out of the bullying stage. But seeingPierce and that smug, amused smirk proves otherwise. It sours the positive spin I was using to take the edge off my situation.
I force a chuckle and bump my old high school rival’s shoulder like we’re old friends, even though the contact makes my stomach twist. “Good to see you, Pierce. You look well.”
“So do you, man. I assumed you would have dropped out or followed in your old man’s footsteps by now!” He laughs. “I’m just kidding! Didn’t you get a scholarship and move out to Oklahoma or something?”
“Nebraska,” I correct with a forced laugh, my stomach twisting into a painful knot.
“Right, right. One of those armpit states.” He snickers. “So what the fuck are you doing back here?” His tone is so light, you’d think he was actually being friendly if you didn’t pay too much attention to the words he’s saying, or understand the malice behind them.
“I thought I might move closer to home,” I answer cryptically. The last thing I’d ever want is for this douchebag to know the truth.
“Yeah, but how the hell didyouend uphere?” He says pointedly, guffawing at his own joke.
