Chapter 33 The Saboteur Moves
Michas POV
Dante didn’t move. He just stood across the gym, arms folded, gaze fixed on me like he was dissecting every breath I took. The note trembled between my fingers, the ink still sharp, still warm somehow, as if his hand had only just left it. Stop running. You look at me anyway. My throat tightened until swallowing felt impossible, and all I could do was shove the note into my pocket before anyone saw it.
When I looked up again, Dante’s expression hadn’t changed dark eyes steady, unreadable, certain. Like he was waiting for something I wasn’t ready to name. I ducked my head and walked away first. Cowardly. Necessary.
The next day, I tried to pretend I didn’t feel his stare from the moment I stepped into the hallway. Tried to pretend my body didn’t heat under my skin like some traitorous instinct had been installed without my permission. But my nerves were shot. Every sound made me flinch. Every footstep behind me made me think he was there.
So when Alison called my name, I practically jumped. She leaned against a locker with that sugar-sweet smile that never reached her eyes. “Hey, Micah. You look… tense.” Her tone was soft, but there was something sharp under it like a knife wrapped in lace. “I’m fine.” I forced a laugh that sounded more like a cough. “Just tired.”
“Hmm.” She twirled her pen once, twice, like she was deciding where to stab. “You know, people are starting to talk.” She paused long enough to make my stomach twist. “About you and Dante.” My pulse spiked. My fingers curled around the strap of my backpack so tightly they ached. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Sure,” she said lightly. “Except how he stares at you. How he drags you off for extra drills. How he snaps at anyone who gets too close.” She leaned in. “It must be… intense. Being someone’s favorite.” My breath caught. She smiled wider victory. “I have class,” I muttered and stepped around her.
Her voice floated after me, almost sing song. “Be careful, Micah. People get jealous when something’s too obvious.” I didn’t have to ask who people meant.
By the time practice rolled around, I was already on edge. Dante wasn’t even in the gym yet, and I could feel the ghost of his stare anyway, like my body had learned the shape of his attention. I dropped my bag, pulled out my water bottle Gone. I frowned. I knew I’d packed it. In its place was a bright bottle of some neon sports drink I definitely hadn’t bought.
I glanced around, uneasy, but everyone was busy stretching or talking. Alison walked by at that exact moment, smiling innocently. “You should hydrate, Micah,” she said. “Big practice today.” Suspicion flared, but the dryness in my throat won. I opened it and took a long drink. It tasted normal. Maybe a little sweeter than usual, but normal enough.
Warmth rushed to my fingertips. Too fast. Too much. I blinked hard. The room swayed for a breath, then steadied. I set the bottle down slowly, jaw clenching. “What the hell…” Before I could process it, the gym door slammed open. Dante strode in, intense and focused, and my stomach flipped painfully. His eyes scanned the room like he was tracking prey and locked onto me instantly. I straightened instinctively.
“Micah. With me,” he said. Of course. Always with him. I followed him to the baseline, each step a little floaty, a little wrong. The sugary drink churned in my stomach. Dante didn’t notice at first or maybe he did and pretended not to. “Feet wider,” he said, moving behind me. His hand came to my hip, adjusting me with slow, deliberate pressure that sent heat straight through my spine. “You’re stiff.”
“I’m fine,” I breathed out. He hummed, low and unbelieving, and his fingers didn’t move away. The drill started. Sprint. Cut. Backpedal. Sprint again. The world tilted on the second turn. My legs felt like wet paper, my chest buzzing instead of burning. By the third sprint, my knees buckled. I hit the floor hard.
The gym fell silent except for the echo of my body hitting the court. Dante was on me in seconds, dropping to a crouch, one hand cupping the back of my neck, the other gripping my shoulder like he could hold me to the earth by force alone. “What happened?” His voice cracked anger, but the kind that hides fear.
“I don’t…” My breath was a mess, too fast, too shallow. “Dante, I’m fine, I just...” “Fine?” he snapped. “You dropped like your legs disappeared.” He shifted closer, scanning my face like he was searching for something only he knew how to read. His thumb brushed my jaw—barely, but enough to steal my breath for a whole different reason. “Tell me what you drank.”
“What?” “Your bottle,” he said, voice dropping. “Was it yours?” Panic rushed sharp and immediate. My gaze darted toward the benches toward Alison. Her face was a mask of concern. False concern. Her eyes flicked to the neon drink still on the floor. Dante followed my line of sight. His jaw tightened a silent, lethal click.
He leaned down, his forehead nearly touching mine. “You’re not touching anything unless it’s from me. Do you understand?” My breath caught again, this time from the way he said it quiet, fierce, like a promise and a threat woven together. “I, yeah,” I whispered. His eyes softened, only slightly. “Good.” He helped me stand, hand firm around my arm, and didn’t let go even after I was steady.
People watched. Some whispered. Most pretended not to stare. Dante didn’t care. His grip only tightened. Practice ended early for me. Dante told Coach I needed rest. Coach agreed, looking confused but not about to argue with the team captain in that tone of voice.
I left the gym feeling humiliated, furrus, shaken and still, stupidly, thinking about the warmth of Dante’s fingers on my skin. Back in my dorm, I tried to convince myself it was just the drink. Just sabotage. Just… someone being cruel.
But the truth lingered, pulsing under my skin: I remembered the way he’d touched my jaw more clearly than the way I’d hit the floor. When I showered, the steam didn’t wash away the memory of his voice in my ear. When I lay down, my pulse wouldn’t slow.
I shut my eyes, tried to breathe, tried to forget, I couldn’t. Thoughts spun too fast. Dante’s anger when I fell. The way he moved toward me like he was the only one allowed to touch me. The way I didn’t push him away. I didn’t want to think about what that meant.
I rolled over to grab my bag, needing a distraction, anything. Something slipped out and landed on the floor with a soft papery sound. A note. My stomach dropped. I picked it up with shaking fingers and unfolded it.
You don’t fall unless I let you.
My breath vanished. My knees nearly did too. And all I could do was sit there in the dim dorm light, staring at those words, pulse thundering, fear and want twisting together in a way that made it impossible to pretend anymore that I didn’t know exactly who was pulling me in. Exactly who I kept looking at anyway. Exactly who I couldn’t seem to run from. Dante.