I didn’t want to go home yet. I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts, or to have my mom hovering because she felt helpless. The only place I felt safe and centered was in Luke’s arms. So we went to our spot—the arena rooftop.
Luke pulled me into him the second we reached the rooftop, one arm wrapped tight around my shoulders. The other cupped the back of my head, pressing my face against his chest, protective. His heart hammered beneath my cheek.
“I’ve got you.”
The words weren’t dramatic. They were steady.
I felt the tremor in my hands before anywhere else. He did too. His grip firmed almost imperceptibly, palm tracing once along my spine as if cataloging damage.
I sat wrapped in Luke’s hoodie, my torn shirt folded in my lap. The fabric felt heavier than it should have. I’d wanted to throw it away, but it was evidence. Proof of Logan’s attack.
The adrenaline had worn off. What remained was the tremor. Aftershock.
“I’m okay,” I said, though my voice came out thinner than I intended.
He leaned back just enough to look at me. His knuckles were split. Swollen. Red. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine.” I tried to smile, but my lip protested. “I got a couple of hits on him too.”
His jaw hardened, but he didn’t argue. He pulled me back against him instead, one hand settling at my waist, the other firm at my shoulder—solid and safe.
The night air cut harsher than it should have. I stared at the torn shirt pooled in my lap, fabric split where Logan’s hand had ripped it.
Luke followed my gaze. Slowly, deliberately, he took my shirt from me and set it aside.
“They don’t get to touch you. No one does.” There was no rage left in his tone. Only promise. “You shouldn’t have been alone.”
“I wasn’t going to be there for long.”
He turned to me. “Avery texted when she left. She said you were still there.”
My stomach coiled.
“Logan wasn’t at practice,” he continued. The pause that followed said the rest. “Something didn’t feel right. You alone. Him not where he was supposed to be.”
“You put it together.”
“Yes.”
“The administration will downplay it,” I said quietly. “They already are. But they might not with what happened between you and Logan.”
His expression didn’t change. If anything, it hardened. “I don’t care about that part.”
“You should,” I pressed. “There could be consequences for you.”
His jaw flexed once. “They don’t get to put their hands on you and walk away.”
There was no heat in his tone. Just finality. And I believed him. Not because he’d hit Logan—he hadn’t hesitated.
Below us, the town’s lights blurred into distance. Blackwood had always felt political. Strategic. Manipulative. Now it felt something else. Dangerous. Because someone had decided I was leverage.
Luke drew me closer and rested his forehead against mine. “We’re done pretending this is school drama.”
We weren’t minimizing anymore. We weren’t waiting it out. Logan made it physical. That changed everything. And anyone who thought it would end there was wrong.
Blackwood wasn’t just a game of alliances. It was a battleground. And someone had crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.
CHAPTER NINETEEN