Chapter 53: Knox

KNOX’S POV

Nora stopped on the bottom step of her apartment building, turning around to face me in the dim amber glow of the streetlamp.

"Thanks for walking me back, Sheridan," she said softly.

I stopped on the pavement below her, looking up into her eyes. Without thinking, I reached out, my large hand taking the heavy strap of her tote bag to relieve the weight from her shoulder.

As I did, my calloused fingers brushed against hers on the canvas strap. Her skin was warm in the chilly evening air, sending a sudden, electric jolt straight up my forearm.

Before I could even stop myself, the words spilled out of my mouth.

"I’m picking you up for study tomorrow at four, Bennett," I said in a low, calm voice, though my chest felt tight.

Nora looked down at our hands on the strap, then met my eyes as she asked. "Is that part of the contract, Sheridan?"

I felt a slow smirk spread across my lips, leaning in just an inch until I could smell the faint scent of vanilla on her skin.

"No," I whispered, still keeping my eyes locked on hers. "That one’s for me."

I didn’t wait for an answer.

I unclasped my fingers from the strap before I did something completely reckless... like pulling her down off that step and kissing her right there on the pavement.

I gave her a single, unreadable nod, turned on my heel, and walked away down the quiet, tree-lined street under the glowing streetlamps.

The autumn wind was cold against my face, rustling the fallen leaves along the pavement, but my hand still burned where my fingers had brushed hers.

I reached my truck parked at the corner, leaning my hands against the black driver’s door as I let out a low, rough breath into the cool night air.

I had spent twenty-four hours telling myself that pulling her onto the rubber matting at the bench at Western State had been a strategic move... a loud, public statement to keep the press focused and AD Pierce satisfied.

It was bullshit. And I knew it.

I had done it because seeing Drew’s text light up her nightstand at one in the morning had driven a spike of pure, unadulterated possessiveness straight through my chest.

I wanted every person in that arena, and every guy watching on national TV to know she belonged to me.

I climbed in, slammed the heavy door shut, and stared out at the dark street.

For three years, my life had been simple: hockey, grades, and keeping my father from controlling my future. No distractions. No feelings. No complications.

Now, I couldn’t get my work-study tutor out of my head. Every time I closed my eyes, I tasted her lips, felt the curve of her waist under my gloved hand, and heard the hitch in her breath.

I sat in the quiet truck for ten long minutes, watching the warm yellow light glowing in her third-floor apartment window before I finally turned the key in the ignition.

—

By ten-thirty on Monday morning, the Briar locker room smelled like sweat, ice wax, and loud chatter.

I sat on the wooden bench in front of my stall, unlacing my skates after morning practice, when Bear unceremoniously tossed his smartphone onto my lap.

"Bro," Bear grinned, leaning over his stall with a massive protein shake in hand. "Have you checked Briar Confessions today? You’re literally number one trending on campus."

I glanced down at his phone screen.

A high-definition video was playing on a loop. Some Briar cheerleader sitting in row two at Western State had filmed the entire Kiss Cam sequence, capturing the exact second I unlatched the glass bench door, pulled Nora by her waist onto the rubber matting, and brought my mouth down on hers.

The video was everywhere. The caption had over fifty thousand likes: ’Captain Sheridan doesn’t just score breakaway goals. He claims his girl on national TV.’

Milo let out a loud bark of laughter from two stalls over, wiping down his helmet. "Fifty thousand likes, Sheridan. Half the athletic department thinks you’re a secret romantic, and the other half thinks you’re completely whipped."

"Shut up, Milo," I grunted dryly, sliding Bear’s phone back across the wooden bench.

"I’m just saying," Jake chimed in, tossing his wet towel into the hamper. "You skated off the ice in the middle of a game stoppage just to kiss her. I’ve played line with you for three years, Knox. You don’t do public displays of affection. You don’t even like people standing near your bench."

"It was for the cameras," I said flatly, pulling my skates off.

Bear raised a brow, chuckling softly. "Right. Whatever you say, Captain." ℴℴ𝘮

I didn’t answer them.

I just pulled my pullover over my head, grabbed my phone from my locker, and walked out of the locker room before they could keep digging into things they had no business knowing.

—

Stepping out of the training center after my shower, I walked through the main hallway of the athletic administration building. A familiar voice stopped me near the glass display cases.

"Knox."

"Knox."

I turned around slowly.

Vanessa Orwell stood by the donor plaque wall in a tailored cream coat, and with her arms crossed. Her blue eyes locked onto mine, and for once, her condescending smile was nowhere to be found.

"Orwell," I said flatly, keeping my hands in my tracksuit pockets.

Vanessa took a slow step closer, her heels clicking against the polished marble floor. "I saw the video on Briar Confessions, Knox. The whole campus is talking about it."

"Glad we gave them something to watch," I replied dismissively.

Vanessa’s jaw tightened under her polished makeup. "Come on, Knox. Stop playing games. We both know that Kiss Cam stunt was just a spectacle to keep up appearance. You don’t actually care about a work-study girl who sweeps diner floors for a living. A Sheridan doesn’t end up with a girl like her."

I stopped dead in my tracks.

The air in the hallway instantly plummeted ten degrees. I turned my head, looking down at Vanessa with an ice-cold, lethal stare that made her falter backward half an inch.

"Listen to me very carefully, Vanessa," I said, my voice dropping into a quiet, dangerous growl that carried zero room for argument. "You don’t know a damn thing about Nora. And if I hear you speak her name with that condescending tone again, I can’t promise what will happen or not."

Vanessa’s face went completely pale. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

"Stay out of my business," I added coldly. "And stay away from Nora."

I didn’t wait for a response. I turned on my heel and walked away down the corridor, leaving her standing frozen by the display cases.

—

Later that afternoon, the team filed into the darkened film room for our tape breakdown.

The projector hummed overhead, casting a bright rectangle of light onto the white screen at the front of the room. Coach Brennan stood by the wooden podium with his laser pointer, clicking through video clips of our next upcoming opponent.

"Alright, listen up," Coach Brennan barked. "We’ve got State University coming up on Friday. They’re fast, they’re physical, and they’ve won four straight games on the road."

I sat in the middle row, leaning back in my leather chair with my broad arms crossed over my chest, staring absently at the screen. My mind was already counting down the minutes until four o’clock when I was picking up Nora for diner study.

"Their power play is dangerous," Brennan continued, clicking his remote control. "And it’s driven by their new transfer center. Kid transferred from Oakhaven’s regional program over the summer and he’s already leading their division in assists."

Brennan hit play on the video clip.

A broadcast feed of State University’s last game filled the projector screen. A player in a green-and-gold State jersey dragged the puck across the blue line, made a smooth backhand pass, and celebrated as his teammate scored.

Brennan hit pause, freezing the frame directly on the player’s face as he unclipped his helmet on screen.

"Pay attention to number eleven," Brennan instructed, red-circling the player’s jersey number with his laser pointer. "His name is Drew Miller."

My entire body went completely rigid in my seat.

The air in my lungs froze. My eyes locked onto the screen, staring at the sharp jaw, hazel eyes, and dark hair of State’s number eleven.

It was the exact same guy who had driven all the way to Briar to ’see the game’, sitting beside her in Section 102 while she wore my jersey. The guy whose text lit up her nightstand at one in the morning, and who called her on Saturday night after the Kiss Cam.

Drew.

He wasn’t just some high-school friend from back home... he was State’s star center.

In the shadows of the room, a slow, dangerous smirk pulled at my lips while a cold, competitive fire ignited in my chest. My hands curled into white-knuckled fists against my ribs as I glared up at the screen.

Game on, Miller.