Chapter 85 Mercedes

Chapter 85 Mercedes
Mercedes

⛸️

The first day back to school after fall break felt like walking to my own execution. The familiar routine of getting dressed, the sound of my mom making coffee downstairs, none of it brought any comfort. It all just felt like a countdown. Every minute that passed was a minute closer to seeing him, or not seeing him, and both possibilities felt equally terrifying.

My phone had been a brick in my hand for days. Dozens of texts, countless calls. All swallowed by a silent void. Luke had vanished.

When Brianna's car pulled up, I practically dove into the passenger seat, desperate for a distraction. She handed me an iced coffee and a bacon, egg, and cheese from the drive-thru. "Eat," she commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument. "You look like a ghost."

I took a bite, but it tasted like cardboard. We drove in a heavy silence, the low hum of the radio doing little to fill the space. We parked in our usual spot in the senior lot, the engine ticking as we sat there, sipping our coffee and scanning the cars as they filed in.

"I don't see his Sportscar," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

"He's probably not here yet," Brianna said, but she didn't sound convinced.

Just as she said it, a flash of red cut through the rows of boring sedans and SUVs. My breath hitched. It was his sportscar. 

It was real. It was here.

Our eyes went wide, a jolt of pure adrenaline shooting through me. "Oh my god," I breathed. "He's here."

We watched, transfixed, as the car pulled into a spot a few rows away. It was a tangible piece of proof. He was real. He was back. The relief was so potent it made my head spin.

Just then, another familiar car, Mitch's beat-up Camry, rumbled into the spot right next to us. He killed the engine and was already typing on his phone. A second later, my own buzzed.

Mitch: You see that?

I typed back, my fingers shaking. Luke. Yeah.

Mitch: Holy shit.

The car dooe behind Brianna swung open and Mitch slid into the back seat, slamming the door behind him. "Well?" he asked, leaning forward between our seats. "Are we just gonna stare at it all day?"

Brianna rolled down her window, and the three of us sat there, a united front of anxious anticipation, our eyes locked on the red car. It felt like we were waiting for a celebrity to step out. The driver's door opened.

And there he was.

It was Luke. But it wasn't.

He swung his legs out of the car and stood up, and for a second, my brain refused to process what I was seeing. He looked... fine. Not just fine. He looked incredible. He wasn't hurt. He wasn't broken. He was standing taller than I'd ever seen him, his shoulders back, his chin held high. There was a new confidence in his posture, a poise that was almost unnerving. He was dressed differently, too. Instead of his usual hoodies and jeans, he wore a crisp, dark button-down under a tailored jacket, and clean, expensive-looking jeans. He looked like a man. A man who owned the ground he walked on.

He slammed the car door with a solid, expensive thud, slid a pair of sunglasses on, and without a single glance in our direction, started walking toward the school entrance with his backpack. He moved with an easy, deliberate stride, completely unaware, or completely uncaring, of the three of us staring at him with our mouths practically on the floor.

The moment he disappeared through the doors, the three of us slowly turned to look at each other. The silence in the car was deafening.

Brianna spoke first, her voice a hushed, disbelieving whisper. "What in the world was that?"

Mitch just shook his head, his eyes wide. "That's not the same kid."

I couldn't speak. The boy I had been dreaming about, the boy I was so worried about, was gone. In his place was this stranger. This confident, untouchable man. And I had no idea who had made him, or what had happened to the Luke I used to know.

"I have to go talk to him," I said, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I could stop them.

"Mercedes, wait," Brianna started, but I was already shoving the car door open.

I didn't look back. I didn't need to. I could feel their shocked stares on my back as I half-ran across the parking lot, my sneakers squeaking on the pavement. 

The familiar chaos of the school hallway hit me all at once—the slam of lockers, the roar of overlapping conversations, the shrill bell signaling the start of first period. I pushed through the crowd, my eyes scanning frantically. And then I saw him. He was at his locker, calmly swapping out a book, his movements unhurried and precise.

I took a deep breath, my heart hammering against my ribs, and strode over. I leaned my shoulder against the cool metal of the locker next to his, then reached over and pushed his door shut with a soft click.

His head turned. His blue eyes, the ones I used to get lost in, locked onto mine. And in that moment, a cold dread washed over me. He was looking at me, but he wasn't seeing me. It was like looking at a photograph of Luke, a perfect, handsome, but completely empty replica. The light was on, but nobody was home.

"Luke," I said, my voice softer than I intended.

He didn't smile. He didn't frown. His expression was a perfect, blank slate. "What do you want, Mercedes?" His voice was flat, devoid of any warmth or recognition.

The casual cruelty of it stung. "What do I want? I want to know why you've been ignoring me. Why you went completely ghost all of fall break. We were all worried sick."

He let out a small, impatient sigh, like I was a salesperson bothering him. "It's not your business," he said, his tone dismissive. "We're not together anymore, remember?" He paused, his eyes hardening just a fraction. "Besides, I have a girlfriend now. So you need to leave me alone."

Girlfriend.

The word hit me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. I felt my face flush, a hot, prickly wave of humiliation and shock. He had replaced me. Just like that. And this new, cold, confident version of him was because of her.

"Girlfriend?" I scoffed, my voice shaking with a mix of anger and disbelief. "What the fuck, Luke? Is that why you're a completely different guy now? She turned you into this?"

I tried to step closer, to get some kind of reaction, but he held his ground, his posture unwavering. "I was worried about you! We all were! I thought something was wrong, that you were hurt. And I still feel like something isn't right. My gut is always right about you, Luke."

For a split second, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes. A crack in the facade. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by an even colder wall of indifference.

"This time," he said, his voice dropping to a low, warning growl, "it's not." He leaned in just a fraction, his eyes boring into mine. "Leave me alone. I have hockey to focus on."

He turned away from me, effectively dismissing me, and started walking down the crowded hall. I stood there, frozen, my body buzzing with a cocktail of fury, hurt, and confusion. He hadn't just moved on. He had erased me. He had erased the boy I knew and replaced him with this stranger, this hollow shell who talked about hockey and girlfriends and boundaries. The Luke I loved was truly gone. And I had no idea how, or if, I could ever get him back.

⛸️

The lunch bell was a shrill, unwelcome sound. For the past year, my path to the cafeteria had been automatic. I'd walk in, grab my tray, and head straight for the long table by the windows where the hockey players sat, where Luke always saved a seat for me. Today, I stood in the doorway, my tray feeling heavy in my hands, completely adrift.

The hockey table was already loud and boisterous. And there he was. Luke was at the head of it, leaning back in his chair, a small, confident smile on his face as he said something to the guys around him. He wasn't just sitting with them; he was holding court. He was wearing one of those ridiculously expensive-looking sweaters, the kind you'd see in a magazine, not a high school cafeteria. He looked like he'd been teleported from a different world.

My chest tightened. I couldn't go over there. I couldn't sit across from him and pretend everything was normal while he paraded his new, superior self around. My eyes scanned the rest of the cafeteria, but all the other tables felt like islands of strangers. With a sigh of defeat, I found a small, empty table in the corner, tucked away near the trash cans. I sat down, poking at the sad-looking pile of fries on my plate, feeling completely and utterly alone.

A shadow fell over my table. I looked up, expecting to see some random kid looking for a seat, but it was Mitch. He'd left the popular table. He'd left Luke. He slid into the chair across from me, dropping his own tray with a clatter.

"Hey," he said, his voice low. He glanced over at the hockey table, then back at me. "Saw you sitting over here."

I just shrugged, unable to find the words.

Mitch shook his head, his brow furrowed in frustration. "I don't know what happened to him, Merc," he said, keeping his voice down. "The guy is acting like he's better than everyone. Like a total rich asshole." He gestured vaguely with his fork. "And what's with the clothes? He's dressed like he's about to go host 'The Bachelor' or some shit."

A small, bitter laugh escaped my lips. "I know, right? It's insane." I pushed a fry around my tray, my appetite completely gone. I looked up, meeting Mitch's concerned eyes. "But my gut is telling me something just isn't right, Mitch. This isn't just him being a dick because we broke up. This is... something else."

I leaned forward, my voice dropping to a near-whisper. "And you know my gut is always right about him."

Mitch didn't hesitate. He nodded, his expression serious. "That's true." He looked over at Luke again, who was now laughing at something one of the other players said. "I don't know, man. It's like he's a robot or something. He's not even talking hockey, not really. Just... holding court."

I shook my head, the worry in my chest solidifying into a hard, cold knot. "I don't know either," I admitted. "But this isn't him. The Luke I know would never act like this."

Mitch looked back at me, his jaw set with determination. "Okay," he said firmly. "Then we need to find out what's going on with him."

⛸️

Me and Brianna were parked across the street, a perfect vantage point to watch the players trickle out after practice. One by one, their cars—beat-up sedans, sensible SUVs, a couple of souped-up trucks—pulled out of the lot and disappeared into the evening traffic.

But two cars remained. Luke's sportscar, parked cockily near the entrance, and a massive, gleaming black Escalade sitting in the shadow of the far corner of the lot.

"Wait," I said, my voice suddenly sharp. I pointed a finger, my heart starting to thud against my ribs. "There's a black Escalade."

Brianna followed my gaze, squinting. "Yeah, so? It's a parking lot, Merc. There are probably hundreds of those in our town. We can't just narrow it down to this one in the parking lot."

"I know, but still," I insisted, a frantic energy building inside me. "It's too much of a coincidence." Emma's words from the restaurant came rushing back to me. They left in a black Escalade.

We waited, the engine ticking, our eyes locked on the rink's entrance. The last of the stragglers had left. The parking lot was nearly empty. Then, the doors swung open, and Luke walked out. He wasn't alone. He was smiling, a genuine, easy smile I hadn't seen in weeks, and laughing at something the woman next to him was saying.

And there she was. The blonde.

She was exactly as Emma had described. Short, petite, with a toned, athletic build that even her simple athletic wear couldn't hide. Her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, and even from a distance, she radiated an air of effortless confidence. She looked older, definitely late twenties or early thirties.

"Oh my god," I breathed, my hand flying to my mouth. "Who the fuck is that woman? That has to be the woman from the restaurant. "

We watched, frozen, as they stopped beside their cars. Luke turned to her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck in a brief, familiar hug. It wasn't romantic, not overtly, but it was intimate. It was the hug of two people who were completely comfortable with each other. They pulled apart, shared one last smile, and then they were gone, each sliding into the driver's seat of their respective vehicles.

The engines roared to life. Luke's red car peeled out first, turning in the opposite direction. The Escalade waited a beat, then pulled out of the lot, its headlights cutting through the dusk.

"Follow her," I said, my voice a command.

"Merc, I don't know if this is a good idea," Brianna started, but the look on my face must have silenced her.

"Just do it, Bri. Please."

With a sigh, she threw her car into drive and pulled out onto the street, keeping a careful distance behind the massive black SUV. We didn't know where she was going, but we knew one thing for sure: this wasn't just a random Escalade. This was her. And she was the key to whatever had happened to our Luke.

We followed the Escalade at a safe distance, our hearts pounding with a mixture of fear and adrenaline. She drove with a confident precision, never hesitating, never checking her mirrors. She wasn't trying to lose anyone; she was just going home. She made a quick stop at a small, upscale deli, emerging a few minutes later with a brown paper bag, before continuing on her way.

Finally, she turned into a quiet, manicured subdivision of large, stylish houses. The Escalade glided into the driveway of a stunning modern home with clean lines and floor-to-ceiling windows. She got out, looking completely relaxed, and disappeared inside. The garage door slid shut behind her, and she was gone.

"That's it," Brianna said, killing the engine. "We know where she lives."

I quickly typed the address into my phone's notes, my fingers shaking. "Okay, let's see who she is." I pulled up a property records search and typed in the address. A moment later, a name popped up on the screen. "Shayla Greene," I read aloud. "Well, at least we got a name."

We sat there for a moment, the pieces of the puzzle feeling both closer and more confusing than ever. "Let's go get Mitch," I said, my voice firm. "He needs to see this."

The drive to Mitch's house was a blur. We pulled up and I was already tapping out a frantic message to him. Get outside. Now.

A minute later, his front door opened and he jogged over to the car, leaning down to the passenger window. "What's up? You guys look like you've seen a ghost."

"We saw her," I said, shoving my phone in his face. First, I showed him the picture I'd managed to snap of the woman getting out of the Escalade. "This is her. The blonde. We followed her to her house." Then, I swiped to the notes app, showing him the address and the name. "And this is who she is. Shayla Greene."

Mitch squinted at the screen, his brow furrowed in concentration. He stared at the picture for a long moment, his eyes widening in dawning recognition. "Wait a second," he said, his voice barely a whisper. He looked up at me, his face pale with shock. "That's our new secondary coach. That's Beverly Colette."

My blood ran cold. "Beverly Colette? Not Shayla Greene?"

"Yeah, Coach Colette," Mitch insisted, his voice gaining a frantic edge. "She just started with the team this season. That's definitely her."

"Are you sure this is your guys' coach?" I asked, my mind reeling. A wave of stupidity washed over me. I'd been chasing a ghost, a name from a property record, while the answer was right there on the ice with Luke every day. "Oh my god, I feel so stupid now."

"But why would she register her home under a fake name?" Brianna asked from the driver's seat, voicing the exact thought that was screaming in my head. "That's so odd. It doesn't make any sense."

Mitch just shook his head, his eyes wide with a fear that mirrored my own. "I don't know," he said, his voice hollow. "But it's not good. Why would a high school hockey coach be hiding who she is? And why the hell is she with Luke during fall break?”