Chapter 55 Blackmail Begins
(Micah POV)
The hallway outside Coach Dante’s office was too quiet, the kind of quiet that made every sound feel like a confession waiting to spill out of me. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, so I stuffed them into the pockets of my jacket, hoping no one passing by would notice how out of control I felt. I kept seeing Max’s face worried, determined, too perceptive for my comfort and the way he looked at me like he was trying to save something already drowning. I didn’t ask him to follow me. I didn’t ask him to notice. But he did, and now every step echoed with the guilt of almost letting him see too much.
I leaned against the wall beside Dante’s door, breathing slow, trying to calm the tremor under my skin. His voice still clung to me, a low vibration behind my ribs, the ghost of his hand on my waist replaying every time I let myself blink. I should’ve hated how he touched me in front of the team. I should’ve pushed him away. But my body betrayed me, as it always did, and I’d leaned into him like gravity had chosen him for me. That terrifies me more than anything Alison could do.
My phone buzzed, a single vibration. Then another. I didn’t want to look. That’s how I knew I had to. People don’t fear what’s harmless; they fear what already has teeth in them.
I pulled the screen up. UNKNOWN NUMBER: Check your email. Now.
My chest tightened. I opened my inbox with numb fingers. The subject line hit me like cold water down my spine.
YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN MORE CAREFUL, MICAH.
My breath stuttered. I tapped it open.
Screenshots. Dozens. Maybe more. Image after image of private messages, headlines from the scandal I’d spent years running from, blurred faces of people I never wanted to remember but could never forget. Clips. Snippets of audio. Pieces of the worst months of my life stitched together like a threat with no intention of subtlety.
I scrolled with a tightening throat.
At the bottom of the email was a single line: Do exactly what I say. Or everyone sees this.
My vision tunnelled. My legs wobbled. For a moment I thought I might slide down the wall completely, but the thought of someone seeing me break in front of Dante’s office made me snap upright again. I couldn’t breathe. My lungs felt tied up in rope. Everything was spinning too fast, too close, like the walls were pressing in.
The phone buzzed again. UNKNOWN NUMBER: Did you read it? Another. Fast, impatient. UNKNOWN NUMBER: Answer me.
My fingers hovered over the keypad.
Typing felt like walking into a trap but staying silent felt like feeding it.
I typed. MICHAH: Who is this?
Three dots appeared immediately, tapping out my fear in real time. UNKNOWN NUMBER: Alison. Don’t pretend you didn’t guess.
I closed my eyes. My stomach twisted in a way that made it hard to stay on my feet. I had noticed the way she watched me all week, the way she lingered near rooms I walked out of, the way her smile never reached her eyes anymore. I kept telling myself I was imagining it. I kept telling myself I was paranoid.
But paranoia isn’t paranoia when it becomes proof. Another text came through before I could think. ALISON: You disappeared after that little meeting. I wondered where you ran off to. Guess I should’ve known. You always go straight to him.
A cold drop of dread trickled down my spine.
She knew. Or she suspected. Maybe she just wanted to push until I broke. Still trembling, I typed again.
MICAH: What do you want? Her reply was instant.
ALISON: I’ll tell you tomorrow. Something simple.
Something you won’t say no to… if you care about staying on the team.
The phone dimmed in my hand as I stared at the floor. I felt sick. Sicker than I had the night the scandal first broke, sicker than any time Dante’s voice pinned me in place, sicker than when Max reached for my shoulder and I couldn’t let him touch me because he might feel how close I was to shattering.
I didn’t know who I was supposed to run to now.
I didn’t know who I could trust.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway. My heart jumped to my throat. Dante’s voice floated closer, low and unmistakably calm.
“Micah?”
I straightened instantly, too fast, like someone had yanked puppet strings in my spine. My phone nearly slipped from my grip. Dante’s shadow stretched long across the floor before he stepped into view, expression unreadable but eyes sharp enough to carve through me.
“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly.
“I...I was just…” I swallowed hard. “Catching my breath. Before heading out.”
His gaze lowered to my hands. “You’re shaking.”
“No, I’m fine.” The lie collapsed under its own weight even before I finished it. “Just cold.”
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, the air around him shifting into something that made every nerve in my body stand at attention. I hated how easily he could do that. I hated how warm the world felt when he was only inches away.
“You shouldn’t lie to me,” he murmured.
“I’m not.
” I started, but he cut me off with a soft, pointed hum that silenced me better than any firm command.
“Something happened.” His eyes searched mine like he had the right to see whatever was breaking inside me. “Tell me.”
I turned my face away, heart slamming against my ribs hard enough to bruise. He couldn’t know. He couldn’t see the email. If he saw what Alison had, if he realized I was a liability if he decided I wasn’t worth the trouble. I didn’t want to find out what he would do.
“I just need to go home,” I whispered.
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Micah.”
“I said I’m fine.”
He took another step forward, so close I could feel the warmth of his breath on my temple. My pulse jumped, confused by the mix of fear and comfort his proximity always forced out of me.
“Look at me,” he said.
“I can’t,” I breathed.
“That’s not an answer.”
I closed my eyes. “Please, Dante. Not right now.”
Silence stretched, heavy and charged.
Then a soft exhale left him, not frustrated concerned. That part scared me more. Dante’s concern always came with consequences.
He touched my wrist, barely, just the brush of his fingers against my pulse. The contact shot straight into my chest like a warning. Or a promise. I couldn’t tell which.
“Come with me,” he said.
“I can’t,” I repeated, firmer this time.
He paused. “Is this about Max?”
My breath caught. “What?”
“He talked to me earlier,” Dante said, voice controlled but edged with something darker.
“He’s been watching you. Worried about you. Asking questions.”
I felt my stomach twist painfully. “What did he say?”
“Nothing I didn’t already know.” Dante’s eyes flickered. “But he’s paying attention in ways I don’t like.”
I shook my head quickly. “He’s not the problem.”
“No?” Dante’s voice dipped into something that made the hallway feel smaller. “Then who is?”
I took a step back without meaning to. His eyes narrowed at the movement like I’d just confirmed a suspicion he wasn’t ready to voice.
“Micah,” he said quietly, “if someone is bothering you, if someone is threatening you.”
My heart lurched. “No one is..”
He lifted a hand, stopping me. “Don’t lie. I know you too well to accept that.”
The words “I know you too well” burned hotter than they should have. I hated that they felt true.
I hated even more that part of me craved the safety they implied. But Alison’s email flashed in my mind again, cold and venomous.
You should have been more careful, Micah.
No. He couldn’t know.
“I have to go,” I whispered, voice cracking.
He didn’t move to stop me physically, he didn’t need to.
His voice alone pinned me in place.
“Micah.”
I froze.
“You’re not running from me.”
I swallowed, throat tight. “I’m not.”
“You are.” His footsteps were quiet but closing in.
“Something scared you. And you won’t tell me.”
“Because you’ll make it worse,” I said before I could stop myself.
The silence that followed was instant and deep. Dante’s expression didn’t change, but the air around him did tensing, darkening, sharpening into something too focused.
“Explain,” he said softly.
I shook my head. “I can’t.”
“You think protecting someone else is worth lying to me?”
His voice wasn’t raised. It didn’t need to be. Disappointment from him felt sharper than anger.
“I’m not lying,” I said weakly.
“You’re hiding.” Dante angled his head. “And you’re terrible at hiding things from me.”
“I’m trying,” I whispered, and the words slipped out like a confession I never intended to give.
He stared at me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Then, slow enough that I had time to feel every second, he reached up and brushed his knuckles down my cheek not possessive, not controlling, but devastatingly gentle.
“I don’t want you scared,” he murmured. “Not of me. Not of anyone.”
I felt my resolve waver dangerously, I almost told him. Almost showed him the email, almost let him take this from my shaking hands the way he had taken every other burden I didn’t know how to carry.
But then Alison’s voice echoed in my head, cold and smug: You always go straight to him. If I told Dante, he would go to her.
And if he went to her, she’d release everything before he even spoke a word.
My life, my career, my family everything would explode again.
“I have to go,” I said, firmer this time, stepping back.
Something in Dante’s gaze darkened, shifting into something more dangerous. Not anger—calculation. He saw the fear I was trying to hide. He saw the way I kept glancing at my phone. He saw enough to start forming conclusions I wasn’t ready for.
But he didn’t try to stop me again.
“Tomorrow,” he said quietly.
My breath hitched. “What?”
“Whatever this is,” Dante murmured, “you won’t keep it from me tomorrow.”
I backed away, pulse hammering. “Dante...”
His eyes locked onto mine, unblinking. “Tomorrow, Micah.”
The centinty in his voice terrified me.
Because I had no idea what tomorrow would bring.
Not from him, not t from Alison, not from the secrets closing in around me like tightening wire.
I turned and walked away before my legs gave out. But halfway down the hallway, my phone buzzed once more.
I shouldn’t have looked, I looked anyway.
ALISON: Don’t forget. Tomorrow. You’ll do something for me. And you won’t tell anyone.
Especially not him.
My blood ran cold, I didn’t stop walking.
I didn’t look back.
But the world felt like it was tilting, shifting, sliding into something darker than either of them understood. Tomorrow was coming and I wasn’t ready.