Chapter 5
1414 Words
The bus engine vibrated through the floorboards, but it was the heat radiating from the seat next to her that made her stomach twist. The air inside the chartered coach smelled of stale diesel, damp wool, and the metallic tang of adrenaline. Outside, a violent northeastern snowstorm swallowed the highway in a blinding sheet of white. Inside, the claustrophobia was absolute.
Julia sat pressed against the freezing glass of the window. Theodore Thorne took up the rest of the space. His massive frame was a physical wall blocking her from the aisle, his broad shoulders easily eclipsing the narrow confines of the seat. He wore a heavy black winter coat, unbuttoned, the thick fabric draped over the armrest and spilling across Julia's lap.
It was the perfect cover.
Beneath the heavy wool, Theodore's large, heavily taped hand rested flat on her bare thigh, just above the hem of her oversized sweater. The contrast between the freezing draft from the window and the burning, calloused heat of his palm made her pulse hammer against her throat. He was not caressing her. His fingers were clamped down with a bruising pressure, a steady, territorial weight that demanded her complete awareness.
Three rows back, Chase was stewing. Julia did not need to turn around to know. She could feel the pathetic, frantic energy radiating from the back of the bus. Every few minutes, Chase shifted, his knee knocking aggressively against the plastic back of the seat in front of him. He could not see what Theodore was doing beneath the coat. He could only see that Julia was boxed in, claimed, and entirely out of his reach.
The revenge was working perfectly. Chase was unraveling. But the victory tasted like ash in her mouth.
"You are grinding your teeth."
Theodore's voice was a low, deadpan murmur. It barely carried over the hum of the tires on the icy asphalt. He did not turn his head to look at her. His dark, impenetrable eyes remained fixed on the whiteout conditions beyond the windshield.
Julia swallowed hard. She stared at the sharp line of his jaw. "The scout from yesterday," she whispered, her voice tight. "He saw my face. He saw the way you were holding me in the hallway."
"He saw what I allowed him to see."
"You are a top draft prospect," she pushed, her fingernails digging into her own palms. "They want machines, Theodore. They do not want players with messy liabilities. If he thinks I am a distraction, your stock will drop."
Theodore's thumb moved. Just a fraction of an inch higher on her thigh. The slow, deliberate drag of rough skin against her bare leg sent a vicious spike of heat straight to her core. She hated her body for the betrayal. She clamped her knees together instinctively, but his hand was an immovable anchor, entirely unaffected by her resistance.
"My draft position is secure," Theodore said. His tone was entirely devoid of concern. He finally turned his head, pinning her with eyes so dark they looked like voids. "You are not a liability, Julia. You are mine. The league will learn to accommodate my property."
The word dropped like a stone in her stomach. Property.
Behind them, Chase kicked the back of a seat again. The dull thud echoed in the quiet bus.
Chase leaned forward, gripping the headrest of Julia's seat. "Hey," he snapped, his voice tight with false bravado. "Tell him to give you some room, Jules. He's crushing you."
Julia froze. Hearing Chase use her old nickname sent a wave of nausea through her stomach.
Theodore did not turn around. He did not raise his voice. He simply stopped moving his hand beneath the coat.
"Remove your hand from my seat, Chase," Theodore said. The words were quiet, but they carried the heavy, absolute weight of an execution order. "Before I break your fingers."
Chase hesitated. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Slowly, the grip on the headrest loosened. Chase retreated, muttering something pathetic under his breath.
Julia stared at Theodore's profile. He had neutralized the boy who broke her heart without even turning his head. The power of it was a physical blow to her chest. She wanted to hate him for being a monster, but all she felt was the devastating, hollow ache of wanting him to consume her entirely.
Theodore's jaw tightened. A microscopic shift in his terrifying stillness. His hand slid higher beneath the coat, his fingers slipping past the edge of her sweater, brushing the lace of her underwear.
Julia gasped, the sound sharp and involuntary. She slapped her hand over her mouth instantly, her eyes going wide with panic. The bus was packed with thirty hockey players, the coaching staff, and the boy who broke her heart. Anyone could look over the seats. Anyone could notice.
Theodore did not stop. His fingers pressed inward, a brutal, demanding pressure that hijacked her nervous system. He watched the panic flood her gray eyes, and the corner of his mouth twitched, the closest thing to a smile he ever displayed.
"Quiet," he commanded softly.
She wanted to shove him away. She wanted to scream at him. But the terrifying truth was that the danger was a drug. The sheer audacity of his dominance in a bus full of people short-circuited her clinical detachment. She squeezed her eyes shut, her breathing turning shallow and erratic as the friction beneath the coat intensified. She was entirely at his mercy, suspended over a cliff, waiting for him to push her off.
Then the world violently exploded.
A deafening, metallic crack shattered the heavy silence of the bus. The floorboards pitched upward. Julia was thrown forward, her shoulder slamming hard toward the seat in front of her.
Theodore moved with terrifying reflexes. His arm swept across her chest, pinning her back against the seat before she could hit the plastic. The bus lurched, the back end fishtailing wildly across the black ice. The screech of tires tearing against frozen asphalt drowned out the shouts of the players.
The driver fought the massive steering wheel, wrestling the multi-ton vehicle as it skidded sideways toward the embankment. For three agonizing seconds, they were airborne, gravity failing. Then the bus slammed down onto the snowy shoulder with a bone-rattling crunch, leaning heavily to the right before coming to a dead, hissing stop.
Silence rushed back in, broken only by the frantic cursing of thirty panicked athletes and the howling wind outside.
Theodore had not released her. His heavy forearm was locked across her collarbones, his chest pressed firmly against her side. His breathing was completely steady. He had not panicked. He had just secured what belonged to him.
"Everyone stay seated," Coach Thorne barked from the front, pulling himself up by the handrails. He spit his mangled cigar onto the floor. "Driver, what is the damage?"
The driver was shaking, peering out the side mirror into the blinding snow. "Rear passenger side tire is blown out completely. Axle sounds cracked. We are not moving another inch in this storm, Coach."
The storm was intensifying, the snow burying the lower half of the windows. The temperature inside the bus was already beginning to plummet as the engine died completely.
Coach Thorne pulled out a radio. He spoke in low, clipped tones for a minute before turning back to the team. "Tow trucks cannot make it out here until morning. The plows are pulled off the roads. We are two miles from a roadside motel at the next exit. Grab your duffels. We are walking."
Groans erupted from the back of the bus. Chase's voice rose above the rest, whining about his expensive skates freezing in the undercarriage.
The assistant coach, a nervous man with a clipboard, pushed his way to the front. "Coach, I just called the front desk of that motel. The storm stranded a dozen commercial truckers there an hour ago."
Coach Thorne scowled. "And?"
"They only have five rooms left. Total."
The bus went dead silent. Five rooms. Thirty guys.
Theodore slowly withdrew his arm from Julia's chest. He picked up his heavy duffel bag from the floor with one hand. He did not look at the coach. He did not look at Chase. He looked down at Julia, his eyes completely flat, tracking the frantic pulse beating at the base of her throat.
"You are with me," Theodore stated, his voice carrying clearly over the dead silence of the frozen bus.
- Writer
