Chapter 14

Since I had decided to live the real college experience, I started going to classes that I would have otherwise skipped. Like the one I currently sat in: Werewolf History.

For whatever the reason, maybe because it was history, very few people actually showed up for it. Even I had only attended a handful of times.

Today, the professor seemed to give me special notice. He called on me a few times during class then asked me to stay after.

“You are a cheerleader, aren’t you?” he asked me, when I approached his desk at the front of the room. Everyone else was filing out of the room.

I nodded.

He slid a pile of paperwork across his desk. It was bound with an alligator clip.

“I need you to deliver this to a tardy student,” he said. “She hasn’t been in class for a while. She’s fallen behind.” He pointed to a note on the top of the pile, where her name was written.

“Sir, I’m not sure I’m the best person to track someone down.” I tried pushing the pile back to him.

He wouldn’t accept it. “Cheerleaders are well-liked. I’m sure you have ways of finding her.” He removed his glasses and rubbed his nose. “I’m giving her one last chance to come in and complete a makeup test. She’ll need this paperwork.”

I still wasn’t sure.

“If she doesn’t come in for the test, she’ll fail the class,” he said.

Guilt crept up within me. If I continued to deny his request, would he simply fail this girl? I didn’t want to be responsible for that.

“Okay,” I said reluctantly, and pulled the pile of papers into my arms.

“Good,” the professor said, returning his glasses to his face. Now that I had seen him without, I could tell he had tired bags under his eyes. “Thank you.”

I hadn’t a choice really, so I didn’t reply.

Back in my dorm room, I opened the register on the official school website and typed her name in the search bar. Before I clicked send, I noticed that down the right side of the main page was the soccer team schedule.

I didn’t want to think of Joseph, but talking to Elena had churned up some memories. I had loved him once, and it was difficult for those feelings to disappear overnight, no matter how hurt I was.

How was he? Had he recovered from the night of the revenge party? Had he changed at all? Or was he still chasing after women and keeping them all secret from each other?

I shouldn’t have cared. I didn’t want to. But I did anyway.

A moment later, I found myself on my phone, opening his social media. I had blocked him after the party, but now I pressed unblock.

His follower count was less than I remembered. And it seemed like he hadn’t posted about any women for a good long time. Scrolling down, I found a cryptic apology post with several angry female replies in the comments.

Since then, he’d only posted pictures of him and the team. Several were in-game photos of him in action.

The comments had shifted too, now mostly classmates congratulating him on his soccer performances. The likes since his apology had steadily climbed as well.

It seemed Joseph’s reputation as soccer star remained intact.

Oddly, the number of girls returning to his posts, liking and commenting, was increasing again as well. The viral posts from the revenge party hadn’t been all that long ago. Did these girls not care about his history?

Curiosity driving me, I clicked through to one of the girls’ accounts. She’d reposted some of Joseph’s pictures, coupled with captions of heart-eyed smiling faces.

I scrolled down, revulsion rising, until a new name made me blink.

A post read, Asher is the hottest thing on ice!!!

No, they couldn’t mean…

I went further down, and pictures appeared, of a man in a white hockey uniform. On the left side of his chest, an upper case ‘C’ was stitched on the jersey. Captain.

Zooming in, I inspected the picture. He was wearing pads that exemplified his shoulders and arms. But even with that added bulk, I recognized the cut of his figure.

His face left no room for doubt. Under his helmet, he gazed forward with an intensity I had come to know well.

I backed out of this girl’s social and found another on Joseph’s page. It was the same. Mixed in with the posts about Joseph, were many, many more of Asher.

Picture after picture was posted of Asher in his uniform, cutting across the ice, making plays, scoring goals.

A few had Asher with his helmet off, under his arm. His hair was damp with sweat. His lips parted for breath.

Each had its own caption.

Asher is so hot!

It should be a crime to be both so talented and so good-looking.

Look at those muscles!!!

Under that caption was a candid photo from the weight room. Asher stood next to the treadmill with a towel draped over one shoulder. Joggers hung low on his hips. He was missing a shirt.

He glared into the camera like he knew the picture was being taken and resented it.

The bare expanse of pale skin ridged with muscles, the curve of where his hip disappeared beneath his joggers, the ice cold focus of his unblinking eyes…

My heartrate skyrocketed so fast I felt dizzy. If I wasn’t already sitting, I would have fallen down.

Before I knew what I was doing, I had saved that photo, and many others to my phone.

What am I doing? I chastised myself, embarrassed, and closed out of everything.

I pressed my hand to my chest, willing my heart to slow. It was just a few photos. There was no reason to act like this.

Suddenly my phone buzzed, and startled, I jumped up from my chair like it had caught fire.

“I can explain!” I said to the empty room, though I had no excuse for saving so many pictures of Asher. And not deleting them after.

I glanced around, realized I was alone, and felt even more ridiculous.

The noise had only been my phone, alerting me of a message. Yet when I checked, my heart continued to pound.

The message was from Asher.

Meet me out front of your dorm in ten minutes. Wear a loose dress, the text read.

He… couldn’t know what I had been doing, right? No. No, that was absurd. I wouldn’t need to wear a loose dress for a reprimand.

I plopped back down on my chair and called him. The sooner I knew what he wanted, the sooner I could be normal.

“You saw my message,” Asher said, in lieu of a greeting.

“You said wear a loose dress,” I said. “What exactly are we going to be doing?”

“I’ve made some arrangements for you at the hospital,” he replied. “You are having a maternity check-up.”

I froze. He set up a doctor’s appointment for me?

“I… what?” I managed, but he’d already hung up.

I stared at my phone, unsure what to think. Why would he do that? Unless he was still trying to take care of me. But his dismissal last time we’d spoken had made it seem like he was going to give me space to take care of myself.

Even so, I wouldn’t turn down a chance to double check that the baby was okay.

My phone buzzed again. Thinking it might be a follow-up from Asher, I unlocked my screen again.

Then I stopped.

Under New Message on the screen was not Asher’s name.

It was Joseph’s.

No, it couldn’t be. He hadn’t tried to reach out to me since the last time I had gone to his room, when he’d shoved me to the floor and wanted me to get an abortion.

Yet there was his name, clear as anything.

Fear stilled me.

I wished Asher was here.

No. I shook my head. I didn’t need him to protect me.

“Don’t be a coward,” I whispered to myself.

Did Joseph know I had just been on his account? How could he?

It had to be a coincidence. Joseph wasn’t some tech genius who could track my web activity.

But why would he contact me now?

My thumb hovered over the messages icon.

To find out what he wanted, all I had to do was press down.