Chapter 14: Practice

Enzo’s threat hung over me for days, a physical weight pressing down on my chest. Every time Aleera laughed, or turned her back to a door, I saw my brother’s fingers tracing her carotid artery. I had to work faster. I had to give my father something on Vesper, or the people I cared about would start suffering for my incompetence.

But I was paralyzed. Everything I tried wasn’t working. I was failing at everything and time wasn’t on my side.

I was sitting on a cold stone bench near the library quad three days after Enzo's visit, staring blankly at a textbook, when a shadow fell over the page.

"You know, if you stare at the words any harder, they might actually catch fire."

I jumped, nearly dropping the book. Ryder Miles was leaning against the statue behind the bench, arms crossed, watching me with amusement. He was the anti-Vesper: blonde, casually charming, with a smile that seemed practiced in a mirror but was nonetheless disarming.

"Ryder," I managed, closing the book. "I'm just studying."

"Are you?" He pushed off the statue and sat down on the other end of the bench, invading my personal space just enough to be noticed. "Because to me, you look like someone who’s terrified of their own shadow. Or maybe someone else’s shadow."

My heart skipped a beat. "I don't know what you mean."

"Please. I've been watching you, Sylvania. You spend half your time stalking Vesper Bianchi like an obsessed ex, and the other half jumping out of your skin whenever your phone buzzes." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping. "And I saw that guy at the coffee shop the other day. The slick one in the suit. You looked like you were about to throw up when he touched your friend."

I went rigid. "That was my cousin."

"Sure it was." Ryder laughed, not unkindly. "Don’t think you can lie to me. I know more about you than you realize and you know it. Luckily for you, I don't care what your drama is. But I know what it’s like to want something you can't have. Or to hate someone you're supposed to respect."

He nodded toward the athletic center in the distance, Vesper’s domain. The bitterness in his eyes was unmistakable. Ryder hated Vesper. Everyone knew it. Vesper had the starting spot, the glory, and the legacy that Ryder believed he deserved. That was the main reason he switched his allegiance to another thing. He wanted to prove a point. Yet, Vesper always seemed to outshine him despite all his efforts.

"What do you want, Ryder?"

"Mutually assured destruction," he smiled, a shark showing its teeth. "You want Vesper’s attention for whatever weird reason. I want to knock Vesper off his high horse. Let's help each other."

I stared at him. "How?"

"Date me," he said calmly. "Fake it. We go to a few parties, hold hands in the quad. Vesper is used to everyone bowing down to him. He hates me. If he sees me with the new girl he’s been weirdly fixated on... it’ll drive him insane. It’ll break his focus before the championships."

"And what do I get out of it?"

Ryder’s expression softened into something that almost looked genuine. "Safety. Vesper is intense. Dangerous, even. People leave me alone. If you're with me, you're under my umbrella. And maybe that 'cousin' of yours will back off if he thinks you’re busy having a normal college social life."

It sounded like a lifeline. A twisted, manipulative lifeline offered by a guy that’s been stalking me since the moment I stepped foot in this school, but a lifeline nonetheless. Ryder felt... manageable. He was just a jealous jock, not a monster with abductees or a mafia enforcer.

It sounded like a tempting offer, but I wasn’t interested. I stood to my feet, gathering my books into my bag.

“I’m going to think about it,” I said, then walked past him.

“Don’t think you’ve gotten out of this, Rodgers,” he said from behind me.

I paused, took a deep breath and continued walking away from him with hastened steps.

Later that afternoon, I was forced to attend practice. Mrs. Halloway insisted I be on the sidelines with the emergency kit in case of dehydration or injury.

The stadium was bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun. The team ran drills, a symphony of grunts and clashing pads. Vesper was a machine on the field—precise, brutal, commanding. But today, he was off.

Every time I shifted on the bench, his head turned. He missed a snap. He overthrew a pass. It was like I controlled him in some crazy manner.

"Get your head in the game, Vesper!" the coach screamed.

Vesper ignored him. He was looking at the stands.

I followed his gaze. My blood ran cold.

Standing near the tunnel entrance were two men in dark suits. They stood out against the sea of students in hoodies and jerseys like ink stains on a white page. One of them tapped his wrist watch as he met my eyes.

A little surprise from my father to remind me that he was watching, just three days after Enzo came with his threats. He knew I hadn't made progress and he was tightening the screws.

I felt a wave of nausea rippled through me at the sight of them. Tearing my eyes away from them, I looked back at the field and found Vesper standing still, the ball forgotten in his hand. He wasn't looking at me anymore; he was looking at the men. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle feathering beneath his skin. He looked from the suits back to me, his expression shifting from annoyance to calculation.

He knew. He didn't know what they were, but he knew they were for me.