Chapter 55: Don’t Freak Out

The cold evening wind swept off the lake, smelling of damp pine and incoming autumn frost.

Standing by the hood of Knox’s black truck, the gravel road was quiet and felt far from campus. Knox didn’t move his hand from my face. His thumb rubbed against my lower lip, warm and rough against the chill, sending a stubborn shiver straight down my spine.

"So tell me right now, Bennett," he murmured softly. "Whose jersey are you wearing on Friday night?"

I didn’t flinch; instead, I reached up and swatted his wrist away.

"Are you asking as my fake boyfriend, my economics student, or a guy who desperately needs a lesson in personal space?"

Knox’s lips twitched, but he didn’t step back. He closed the remaining inches between us on the gravel, crowding me against the front bumper until the cold air had nowhere left to circulate.

"I’m asking as the guy who just drove you up a mountain."

"You drove up a mountain because you were too scared to sit in Rusty’s Diner and face Denise," I shot back, keeping my eyes locked on his.

He exhaled roughly. His jaw tightened, the muscle flexing sharply in the dim sunset light reflecting off the water.

"I drove up here because if I sat across from you at Rusty’s, I wouldn’t have been able to look at a single page of economics without pulling you across the table," Knox growled softly. "And because Miller thinks he can send one in the morning texts to my girl."

"I told you this before, Sheridan, and you know it," I said, leaning forward just enough to match his heat. "I’m not your girl. That contract in my desk says ’tutor’ and ’girlfriend’, not ’property’."

Knox smirked, his gaze dropping to my mouth before snapping back to my eyes. "Contracts can be rewritten, Bennett. Let him look up from the ice on Friday and see you in Section 102 wearing nineteen."

I let out a short, genuine laugh right in his face.

"You think because you press me against your truck hood I’m going to swoon? The last time I was on your ice, I sniped your nose with a puck from my knees. Unless you’re offering to teach me how to balance on skates without falling on my ass, keep your jersey."

The ridge was quiet for a moment, filled only by the wind moving through the trees. Then, Knox threw his head back and laughed.

"That’s a deal, Bookworm," Knox said, his eyes gleaming with cocky admiration. "If I beat State clean on Friday, you let me take you onto the empty rink. Just you, me, and a pair of skates. And I’ll teach you how to stay on your feet."

"Focus on not getting benched by Coach Brennan first," I said, stepping around him toward the passenger door. "Take me back. I have actual homework."

—

By eight-thirty, I was sitting at my apartment desk with a steaming mug of peppermint tea.

Priya was in the living room humming along to a law podcast while folding laundry. The quiet routine of the apartment usually grounded me, but my mind kept drifting back to the heat out on that gravel overlook.

I hated how easily Knox shifted my focus. I hated his arrogant smirk, his possessive streak, and the way he treated high-stakes chaos like a casual sport. I was supposed to tolerate him for a paycheck... that was the agreement.

Yet every time I tried to lock him inside the boundaries of our contract, he tore the hinges off.

Reaching into my drawer for a stack of blank index cards, my fingers brushed against an old spiral notebook from high school AP Chemistry.

I pulled it out. Folded neatly in the back cover was a yellowed piece of lined paper from two years ago.

You’re going places, Nora. Keep winning. - Drew

I stared at the neat, rounded handwriting. Drew had been safety. He was the quiet boy two rows ahead of me who brought extra pencils and smelled like apple orchards.

But as I held the paper, Knox’s words from the lake echoed in my ears.

Drew Miller. State University center number eleven.

Drew had spent thirteen hours baking sourdough with me in Oakhaven. He had hugged me goodbye at the bus station. And through all of it, he had never mentioned that he was the star center for State’s team.

The bedroom door pushed open and Priya walked in holding her laptop, her long dark hair tied in a loose clip.

"Okay, don’t freak out," Priya said, turning the screen toward me. "But your captain is officially starting psychological warfare."

On the screen was a fresh post from Knox’s main social media page. It was a close-up photo of his custom purple-and-silver game skates resting on the locker room bench.

The caption was a single line: 4 Days.

"The comment section is already a war zone," Priya said, hopping onto the edge of my bed. "State fans are talking trash, Briar students are losing their minds, and half the hockey team commented puck emojis. Why does he look like he’s preparing for battle?"

I leaned back in my chair, tapping my pen against the desk. "Because he is. He found out who State’s new starting center is."

Priya blinked. "Who?"

"Drew."

Priya froze, her eyes widening. "Wait. Drew? Your hometown Drew? The apple orchard guy?"

"The very same," I said flatly. "Turns out he’s State’s number eleven."

Priya dropped onto her elbows, stunned. "Are you kidding me? Drew is a collegiate hockey star and he just... forgot to mention it while piping pumpkin cupcakes with you?"

"Apparently."

"Are you going to call him out?" Priya asked, watching my expression closely. "You look like you’re calculating a homicide."

I looked down at the old AP Chem note in my hand, then slid it back into the drawer and shut it firmly.

"No," I said with cold clarity. "If Drew wanted me to know he was State’s star center, he would have told me. He kept it a secret because he thought it was a fun little surprise for game day. So if he wants to play games, I’m going to pretend I don’t know a single thing."

"Ooh," Priya whispered, grinning. "I love when your 4.0 brain turns devious."

"It’s not devious, it’s efficient," I replied, standing up to fetch more hot water. "I have some charts to draw, and I’m not getting dragged into a dick-measuring contest between two hockey players."

Before I reached the bedroom door, my phone on the desk buzzed.

The screen lit up, and the caller ID stared at me.

Incoming Call: Drew Miller

Priya looked from the phone to me, raising an eyebrow. "Well, Bookworm. You answering?"