Paige’s eyebrows shot up. Gideon’s mouth twisted, like he’d just swallowed glass. They exchanged a look—one of those silent,what the hell do we do now?glances that made my skin crawl.
Gideon rubbed his temple. “You realize this isn’t just aboutyou, right? This is theteam. Theprogram. Thegirls?—”
“Don’t.” My voice was a blade. “Don’t youdareact like you give a shit about them when all you care about is the goddamnoptics.”
He flinched. Actually flinched.
Paige stepped forward, her voice low. “Calder. Think about what you’re doing. If you walk away now, you’re burningeverything?—”
“Iknow.”
She faltered.
I turned back to my truck, hand on the door handle. “But I’m not walking away fromher.”
The silence that followed was heavier than any hit I’d ever taken.
Then Gideon’s voice, quiet. Rough. “You’re really gonna throw it all away?”
The elevator doors hissed shut behind me, my reflection staring back in the polished metal—wild-eyed, jaw set, knuckles split from where I’d punched the wall in Gideon’s office. The numbers ticked down, slow as a funeral march.
Floor 10. 9. 8.
My phone buzzed again. Another text. Another voicemail. Another goddamn reporter asking for comment. I silenced it without looking.
The doors opened.
I stormed through the lobby, shoulders hunched, head down. The security guard at the front desk didn’t even glance up. Probably already seen the headlines. Probably already knew.
Outside, the Detroit wind hit like a slap. Cold. Wet. The sidewalk glistened under the streetlights, the neon glow of the bar across the street bleeding into the puddles. I didn’t have a plan. Didn’t have a next move.
Justher.
I yanked my keys from my pocket, thumbed the fob. My truck beeped, lights flashing in the dim parking garage.
I didn’t look back. Just opened the door, swung up into the seat, and slammed it shut behind me.
The engine roared to life.
I peeled out of the garage before they could say another word.
The tires screamed against the pavement as I took the corner too fast, the truck fishtailing before I wrenched the wheel straight. My knuckles were white on the steering wheel, the leather creaking under my grip. Every red light was a goddamn eternity.
I didn’t bother with the parking lot. Just jerked the wheel onto the curb outside her dorm, the truck lurching to a stop half on the sidewalk. The engine died with a shudder, but I was already out, already moving, my boots hitting the pavement hard enough to jar my teeth.
Her building loomed ahead, brick and sterile, the windows dark except for a few flickering with the blue glow of TVs or laptops. I didn’t know which one was hers. Didn’t care. I’d kick down every damn door if I had to.
The front entrance was locked. I pounded on the glass, my fist a blur against the reflection of the streetlights. "Billie!" My voice cracked on her name, raw and desperate. "Billie,open the fucking door!"
A face appeared behind the glass—some kid in a hoodie, eyes wide. He fumbled with the lock, and the door swung open just enough for me to shove past him. "Which room?" I demanded.
He stumbled back, hands up. "Dude, I don’t?—"
I grabbed the front of his shirt, yanked him close. "Which.Room."
His Adam’s apple bobbed. "Third floor. End of the hall."
I let go. Didn’t wait for him to move. Just took the stairs three at a time, my breath burning in my lungs. The third-floor hallway smelled like stale ramen and laundry detergent. I didn’t knock. Just pounded on the last door on the left, the wood rattling under my fists. "Billie!Open up!"
