Chapter 4

I didn’t sleep a single wink. Every time I closed my eyes, my brain played a chaotic mashup of Michael’s bare chest, Nathan’s mocking laugh, and Hudson’s cold, piercing gaze, the reaction I will be getting once I step to Fiat. Everything is a chaos in my mind, and I do not know how to control it.

By the time my alarm finally went off, my head was pounding, and the reflection in my bathroom mirror looked entirely ghostly.

I carefully pulled Michael’s shirt out of the dryer. I had spent an extra hour meticulously ironing it, making sure it was crisp, spotless, and completely white, exactly as he had demanded. Folds perfectly aligned. Not a single trace of the dark coffee stain remained. I placed it gently into a clean paper bag, handling it like it was a live explosive device. Because if anything went wrong with it today, it might actually blow up my entire life.

“You look like you’re walking to your execution.” a voice drawled from the kitchen island.

I paused, clutching the paper bag tightly against my chest. Hudson was sitting there in a fresh training jersey, sipping a protein shake. He didn't even look up from his tablet, but the smug aura radiating off him was impossible to miss.

“Good morning to you too Hudson.” I mumbled bitterly, rushing past him toward the front door before he could drop another sarcastic comment to ruin my mood. “Morning.” He answered back. But before I could left the kitchen, he spoke something that made me stop for a moment, and re-think everything for the last four years.

“Don’t forget what I said, Niel,” his voice cut through the quiet house, cold and serious. “Keep your head down. If anyone connects you to me, I’ll make sure your life at that school gets a whole lot harder than what you are getting now.”

I didn't answer. I just slammed the door behind me and walked out into the crisp morning air.

I don’t know what is his problem. Sometimes he is a brother, but sometimes he is a dick. A pain in my ass. Acted like he is the real son of my father when he is just adopted for the sake of my father’s legacy.

The walk to Fiat Locke Academy felt entirely too short. The closer I got to the grand iron gates, the tighter my throat became. And the moment my sneakers stepped onto the campus concrete, I realized my fears from last night weren't an exaggeration.

The whispers started almost immediately.

"Hey, look, it's him."

"Is that the guy from the Freedom Wall video?"

"Oh my god,it’s embarrasing. Bumping to Hudson Monette yesterday? What a show."

I lowered my head, my messy bangs falling over my thick glasses as I walked down the hallway. I could feel dozens of eyes boring into my back. Giggles and hushed taunts echoed from the benches. The viral video of me crashing into my own hidden stepbrother had turned me into the school's prime morning entertainment.

I don’t get why people laugh at something embarassing when it is not even funny.

But maybe it is funny, because it is me. The nerd this school ever know.

I practically bolted up the stairs to the main building, desperate for the relative safety of the crowded hallway. But as I reached the lockers, a heavy arm suddenly slammed against the metal right next to my head, blocking my path.

"Well, well, look who decided to show up," Nathan's voice sneered right into my ear.

My heart did a violent flip. I turned my head slowly, looking at Nathan and his two usual cronies smiling down at me. Nathan’s phone was already in his hand, tapped open to his gallery.

"Did you check the student page this morning, Niel? You're famous," Nathan chuckled, leaning closer. "But honestly, your little collision with Hudson the star hockey player is nothing compared to what I’ve got right here." He tapped the screen, flashing a thumbnail of the video from yesterday, mocking it in front of me, the one with my nose practically buried in Michael's shirt.

"Nathan, please," I whispered, my voice shaking as I glanced around frantically, terrified someone would see the screen. "I washed his shirt. It's clean. I’ll do anything you asked of me. Just delete it."

"Delete it? And lose my best leverage?" Nathan laughed, patting my cheek roughly. "Not a chance, nerd. And yes, you will do anything I say. You’re going to be very useful to me this year. If you don't want the captain or the whole school to see you acting like a total pervert, you better do exactly what I say."

Before I could even respond, the heavy atmosphere in the hallway shifted completely. The students standing near the entrance suddenly scrambled to the sides, parting like the Red Sea.

My breath hitched.

Walking down the center of the hall, slinging his black duffel bag over his shoulder, was Michael Joel. He wore a fresh varsity jacket, his sharp jaw set in a rigid, unreadable line. He looked completely imposing, a force of nature walking through a crowd of underlings. But today, there was an extra edge of tension in his stride. Hudson’s words from last night flashed in my head, the National Hockey Association was scouting.

Michael knew the stakes were higher than ever this season.

As Michael approached his locker, his dark, intense eyes swept across the hallway, effortlessly dismissing the crowd until they landed directly on me. And then, his gaze drifted lower, locking onto the paper bag clutched in my trembling hands.

Nathan immediately stepped back, his nasty grin returning as he whispered to me, "Go on, Niel. Give the captain his laundry. Let’s see how long you can keep your distance with the captain." He whispered on to my ears.

My knees felt weak. I took a slow, hesitant step forward, leaving the safety of the locker wall to face the captain. My hands were sweating against the paper bag, my mind screaming at me to run, but I knew there was no escape.

Michael stopped a few feet away from me. He didn't say a word at first. He just stood there, towering over me, his broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the hallway. The sheer presence of him made the air feel thin.

"Is that my shirt?" Michael asked, his voice low, rough, and completely devoid of any friendliness.

"Y-yes," I stammered, cursing myself internally for the stutter. I lifted the paper bag, holding it out with both hands like an offering. "I washed it. Just like you asked. It's completely clean."

Michael looked at the bag, then slowly raised his eyes to mine. He didn't take it right away. Instead, he reached out, his large, calloused hand gripping the top of the bag. He didn't pull it from my grip; he just held it, forcing me to stay anchored right in front of him.

"Are you sure the stain is gone?" he murmured, leaning down slightly so only I could hear him. "Because if I open this and see even a speck of coffee, Niel, we're going to have a serious problem."

"I'm sure," I said, my voice barely a whisper. My heart was hammering so loudly against my ribs I was terrified he could hear it. Being this close to him brought back the vivid memory of his bare torso from yesterday, and a sudden, traitorous heat crept up my neck. "I spent the whole night making sure it was perfect."

Michael's eyes narrowed slightly, tracking the blush spreading across my cheeks. He gave the bag a firm tug, pulling it completely out of my hands. He uncreased the top, peering inside to inspect my work.

The hallway was dead silent. Even Nathan and his crew had stopped snickering, waiting to see if Michael was going to snap and shove me into a locker.

After what felt like an eternity, Michael closed the bag. His expression didn't soften, but the dangerous tension in his jaw relaxed just a fraction.

"Good," Michael said, slinging the bag into his open locker. He turned back around, fixing me with a sharp, warning glare. "You're lucky. But don't think this makes us even, nerd. You still owe me for the trouble yesterday."

"What? Isn’t the-," I stop, realizing that talking back to him will only make it worst. I just kept my eyes glued to his sneakers.

"Hey, Cap!" Nathan interrupted, sauntering back into the space, his phone safely tucked into his pocket but his eyes gleaming with malice. "If the nerd gave you any trouble, you just let me know. I can handle him for you."

Michael slowly turned his head to look at Nathan. The air between the two hockey stars instantly grew icy. "I don't need your help handling anything, Nathan. Mind your own business before I make you run extra drills at practice."

Nathan’s smile faltered for a split second, but he quickly recovered, raising his hands in fake surrender. "Just looking out for the team, Captain. See you at practice."

Michael didn't answer. He gave me one final, unreadable look, a gaze that lingered just a second too long, before turning on his heel and walking toward the homeroom.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, my shoulders slumping in absolute relief. The shirt was delivered, and I had survived the morning. But as I watched Michael's broad back disappear down the hall, and felt Nathan's heavy glare burning into the side of my face, I knew this was just the beginning of a very long, very dangerous year.