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The Devil Bleeds Too

last update publish date: 2026-05-21 06:26:02

Dante was missing in practice, which shocked everyone. The football team trained under gray afternoon skies while Coach screamed himself hoarse across the field, but Dante never showed. Phones exploded with rumors within the hour.

Dante suspended? Ariana really broke him omg. They definitely hooked up.

No way he skipped practice over a girl.

But Ariana ignored all of it, or at least she tried to. She sat alone behind the campus library editing photos with headphones on and coffee growing cold beside her. The problem was that every picture reminded her of him, Dante running across the field, Dante glaring at reporters, Dante looking at her like she was something dangerous. It was exhausting.

Worse, part of her felt guilty, which was ridiculous. He had humiliated her publicly. So why did his face after she walked away keep replaying inside her head, like she'd actually hurt him?

A shadow fell across the table and Ariana looked up, then relaxed slightly. Mason.

"You look miserable," he observed.

"Thank you."

He sat across from her casually and held out a small paper bag. "Peace offering."

Ariana frowned before opening it. Chocolate muffins. Her favorite. She looked at him suspiciously. "You trying to poison me?"

"Depends. Did you finish your half of the semester project?"

She snorted softly, and for the first time all day, a real laugh escaped her. Mason smiled faintly at the sound.

"You okay?"

The question was gentle enough that it almost broke something inside her. Ariana looked away quickly. "I'm fine."

"Liar."

"Professional liar."

"That explains why you keep pretending Dante presence doesn't affect you."

Her fingers tightened slightly around the muffin bag. Mason leaned back in his chair carefully. "You know he skipped practice, right?"

Ariana's stomach betrayed her instantly. "No, I didn't."

"Coach is losing his mind."

She forced herself to shrug. "Not my problem."

"Maybe not." Mason studied her quietly. "But I don't think he's okay."

Something uncomfortable twisted in Ariana's chest. She hated hearing that, hated that she cared, because despite everything, Dante had looked shattered earlier. And Dante Cole wasn't supposed to look shattered.

Before she could respond, raised voices echoed nearby outside the library entrance and students moved aside quickly. Ariana already knew who it was before she looked up. Dante, in black hoodie, hands shoved into pockets, expression unreadable, but something about him felt off, more dangerous than usual, like anger was the only thing holding him upright. His eyes landed immediately on Mason sitting beside her, and just like that the temperature around them dropped.

"Oh, good," Mason muttered. "The devil found us."

Dante ignored him completely and looked only at Ariana. "We need to talk."

"No." The answer came instantly, and Mason looked impressed.

Dante's jaw tightened. "Ariana."

"No," she repeated calmly. "Try bullying someone else today."

Pain flashed briefly across his face, tiny but unmistakably there. Dante stepped closer to the table. "You think this is funny?"

Ariana crossed her arms. "You think emotional manipulation is flirting?"

Mason quietly gathered his things. "I'm gonna leave before one of you commits a felony." Neither of them answered, because neither of them could stop staring at each other.

After Mason disappeared inside the library, silence settled heavily between them. Wind moved through the trees overhead while students nearby pretended not to watch. Dante spoke first.

"I didn't make that bet because I wanted to embarrass you."

Ariana laughed softly. "You're right. You succeeded accidentally."

His expression darkened. "I was drunk."

"Oh, fantastic defense."

"I already liked you when they started talking." That caught her off guard, and Dante noticed. "They kept saying you hated me," he continued quietly. "That you'd never look at me unless you were forced too."

Ariana frowned despite herself. "So you made me a challenge."

"No." His voice roughened slightly. "I made you an excuse."

The honesty in that answer hit her harder than she expected. Ariana looked away briefly, because this conversation felt dangerous. When Dante stopped acting cruel, he became harder to hate.

"I don't understand you," she admitted quietly.

Something almost sad moved through his expression. "Yeah," he murmured. "That makes two of us."

Silence stretched between them, and then Dante sat down across from her without invitation.

Very typical of him.

Ariana stared at him. "What are you doing?"

"Existing in public."

She almost smiled. Dante noticed, of course, and his gaze softened briefly before dropping toward the untouched muffin bag beside her laptop.

"You still eating chocolate muffins when you're stressed?"

Ariana froze. That was an old detail, a personal detail. "You remember that?"

"I remember everything about you."

The words landed softly and honestly, and somehow that scared her more than all his anger ever had.

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  • Touchdown For The Devil    After

    The dinner did something neither of them expected.It wasn't the food, though the small place Zoe found was good. It was just being four normal people at a table on a Tuesday night. Nobody mentioned Richard. Nobody mentioned the lawyer's call. Zoe knew about it, Ariana had told her before they left, but she kept the evening light, steering conversation toward safe ground. By the time they left, Ariana had laughed more than she had in two weeks, and Dante's shoulders had finally relaxed.That was three days ago.Walking across campus toward the media center, Ariana realized something had changed. The dinner had reminded them that their life wasn't only the difficult parts.Dante found her at her desk that evening.He sat down, pulled his chair beside hers, and set two coffees down, hers first, then his."You're quiet," she said."I'm just thinking.""About what?"He turned his cup slowly. "The lawyer called me back today. About the NDA challenge."She turned to face him properly. "And

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    Three weeks after their Saturday in the city, Ariana knew the layout of Dante's room better than her own dorm. She knew the room by heart. She could walk through it in the pitch dark without tripping over a single thing. She knew the exact spot where the floorboards groaned under a heavy step near the closet. She knew the way the winter cold leaked through the window glass, making the air smell like frost. She knew the tiny desk lamp gave off a soft, golden light that was much better than the ugly overhead bulbs. She knew the third shelf of his bookcase had a small gap right next to a row of thick football playbook binders. That gap was his personal landing pad. It was the exact place where he dropped his phone charger, his heavy car keys, and his loose pocket change at the end of every grueling day. She knew he brewed his coffee way too strong, using double the normal grounds. He did it every single morning, he saw absolutely no problem with it, and he was never going to change his

  • Touchdown For The Devil    Just Saturday

    Her phone buzzed against the wooden nightstand at exactly eight fifteen on a Saturday morning. Ariana buried her face deeper into the pillow, ignoring the vibration and pulling the thick blanket up over her shoulders to block out the sound. The phone went off a second time, followed immediately by a third sharp vibration. Giving up on the idea of sleep, she reached out of her warm cocoon, her fingers brushing the cold laminate surface, and grabbed it. There were three text messages from Dante, each sent precisely a minute apart.Are you awake.Actually don't answer that. Stupid question. It's eight fifteen.Okay but are you awake. Ariana turned onto her back, her eyes tracking across the small, shadowed room. Zoe's bed was completely empty, the sheets tossed back in a rushed scramble. She had stayed over at Eli's house the previous night and hadn't made the slightest attempt to hide the fact when she left. The dorm room felt hollow and cold, the morning light filtering through the

  • Touchdown For The Devil    Richard's Move

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    The facility was not what he had expected. For two agonizing years of dead ends and quiet searches, Dante had built a specific version of this place inside his mind. He had envisioned something clinical, cold, and deliberately anonymous—the kind of high-walled institution explicitly designed to keep someone unfindable. Instead, at the end of a long, forty-minute drive through a winter countryside that had turned entirely flat, bare, and grey, the GPS directed him to a narrow country road. Behind a low, weathered stone wall sat a large, converted house. Wrought iron gates stood open, offering a clear view of a dormant winter garden, and beside the intercom hung a small brass nameplate. The letters engraved into the metal were modest enough that a person could easily drive right past the entrance without ever registering they were there: Hillcrest Recovery Centre. He sat in the idling rental car outside the gates for exactly four minutes. The engine purred quietly against the win

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    Dante Cole was having a terrible day, which meant everyone around him was having a terrible day too. "Again!" Coach's voice echoed across the practice field as another player crashed into the turf, hard. The whistle blew immediately. "Cole! What is wrong with you today?" Dante ripped his helmet

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