29. Ally

Chapter 29

Ally

I t had been three days. Three days since Nick told Tom everything. Three days since my world upended. I tried not to count the passage of time, but the ticking clock in my head betrayed me. Every second dragged like an anchor, and focusing on class felt like trying to hold sand in my hands.

My photography professor droned on about the rule of thirds, but my mind wandered. I wondered where Tom was now, what he was doing. Rumor had it that he went to Newport Beach for a possible coaching position. The thought made my chest tighten. I should feel happy for him, proud even. But all I felt was conflicted.

I missed him more than I cared to admit. The warmth of his touch, the intensity in his eyes, the way he made me feel seen—like I mattered. My fingers itched to scroll through old photos of us on my phone, but I resisted. The memories were too raw.

"Ally, are you with us?" Professor Marks' voice cut through my haze.

"Yeah, sorry," I mumbled, snapping back to reality. A few classmates shot me sympathetic glances.

I decided I'd stop by River Styx and grab something after class. Anything to get out of this room that felt like a prison cell today.

The moment Professor Marks dismissed us, I practically bolted out of the classroom. His parting words echoed in my mind: "Remember, finals are next week. And then you're done."

My heart skipped a beat. Done. The word carried a weight I wasn't ready to shoulder. What would life look like after this? My future felt like a blank canvas, but instead of excitement, it filled me with dread.

I needed a distraction, something to ground me. River Styx was my go-to for that—a small on-campus café tucked between the art building and the library. Its mismatched furniture and eclectic decor made it feel more like someone's living room than a coffee shop. String lights hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the worn leather couches and vintage posters adorning the walls.

The familiar scent of coffee beans and baked goods enveloped me as I stepped inside. It was busy, students hunched over laptops or engaged in hushed conversations, but the noise felt like a comforting hum rather than an intrusion.

I made my way to the counter, where a barista with purple hair and a nose ring greeted me with a smile. "What can I get you today?"

"Can I get a Strawberry Iced Dream?" I asked.

She nodded and started preparing my drink. The Strawberry Iced Dream was my favorite—a concoction of strawberry puree, green tea, and a splash of lemonade, all over crushed ice. It tasted like summer in a cup.

As I waited, I glanced around the café. A couple in the corner laughed over something on their phone, while a group of students debated politics at one of the larger tables. Near the window, someone strummed an acoustic guitar softly, adding to the cozy ambiance.

The barista handed me my drink with another smile. "Enjoy."

"Thanks," I said, taking a sip. The sweetness of the strawberries mixed perfectly with the tart lemonade and earthy green tea—exactly what I needed.

I found an empty table near the back and sank into one of the plush armchairs. Setting my camera bag on the floor beside me, I took another sip and let out a sigh. The chaos of finals week loomed ahead, but for now, at least in this moment, I felt a small measure of peace even with all the shit inside.

Without warning, someone dropped into the chair in front of me.

I straightened, my grip tightening around the cold glass of my Strawberry Iced Dream. The girl sitting across from me had an air of authority that demanded attention. She had long, blonde hair that framed her face perfectly, and sharp blue eyes that seemed to pierce through any pretense. Her presence was commanding—delicate yet undeniably powerful.

"I heard you were interested in working with the Serpents," she said, her voice smooth and confident.

"I—"

"Sorry, how rude of me." She extended a hand, a small smile playing on her lips. "I'm Minka. Kara reached out and showed me your shots. You're good. Really good."

I shifted in my seat, feeling a mix of surprise and curiosity. Where did a freshman like her get her confidence? "Thanks," I murmured.

"I'd love for you to come in for an interview," Minka said. "In an official capacity."

My eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

Minka grinned, a spark of amusement in her eyes. "Yes," she said. "I think you'd be great to have on the team. Maybe after graduation?"

"I'd like that," I said, the words coming out almost as a whisper. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Minka said, standing up with the same grace she had when she sat down. "Your work speaks for itself." She gave me a nod. "I'll see you soon, Ally."

And just like that, she was gone, leaving me to process what had just happened.

I took another sip of my Strawberry Iced Dream. Feeling a newfound sense of hope, I stood up and grabbed my camera bag. Maybe things would get better after all. Minka’s words echoed in my mind as I walked out of River Styx, my heart feeling a little lighter. An interview with the Serpents was more than I had dared to hope for, especially after everything that had happened.

The walk back to my apartment was brisk. The cool afternoon air nipped at my cheeks, but I welcomed it. It felt like a reminder that I was alive, moving forward, despite the weight of my past.

When I turned the corner to my street, though, my steps faltered. There he was—Nick—leaning against the brick wall outside my building. My muscles tensed immediately.

“Ally,” he called out as soon as he saw me, pushing off the wall and straightening up.

I kept walking but slowed my pace, trying to gauge his intentions from a distance. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that made me wary.

“What do you want, Nick?” I asked when I got close enough. My voice sounded steadier than I felt.

“We need to talk,” he said, taking a step closer.

I clenched my jaw, every instinct screaming at me to turn and run. But this was Nick—part of a chapter I thought I’d closed long ago. “About what?”

“About us,” he said, his tone softening, as if that would make everything okay.

“There is no us ,” I replied sharply. “Not anymore.”

He looked down at his feet for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “Please, Ally. Just give me five minutes.”

Five minutes? After everything? My heart raced as memories of our turbulent past flashed through my mind—the good times overshadowed by betrayal and heartbreak. But there was something desperate in his plea that made me pause.

“Five minutes,” I said finally. “That’s all you get.”

"Let's go inside," Nick said, glancing around nervously. "Come on, Ally."

I shook my head, the weight of his request settling heavily on my shoulders. "No."

"Ally," he pleaded, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Please. I don't want to make a scene."

"Then don't," I shot back, my eyes narrowing.

He stepped closer and grabbed my shoulders, his grip firm and insistent. "I heard you're moving to California with him," he said, desperation creeping into his voice. "Is that true?"

His words caught me off guard. "What?"

Nick brought his face close to mine, his breath hot against my skin. "Answer me," he demanded. "Ally, you can't leave. I cannot live without you. I love you."

"Are you serious?" I retorted, anger bubbling up inside me. "You told your father my deepest, darkest secret that you've been blackmailing me with. That's not love, Nick." I struggled against him, trying to break free from his grasp. "Let me go."

"I can't," he insisted, his voice breaking. "Not until you tell me you won't go with him. Not until you tell me you don't love him."

"I can't," I replied, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

"What?"

"I do love your father," I said firmly. "And no matter what you do or say or think, that isn't going to change."

His grip tightened painfully on my shoulders, and I winced. "Nick," I said through gritted teeth, "you're hurting me."

"I'm hurting you?" Nick demanded, his eyes wild with a mix of anger and desperation. "You're hurting me! Tell me you love me!"

His hand lifted, the threat clear.

"Or you'll what?" I challenged, refusing to let fear take hold. "Hit me again?"

I knew what was coming. The look in his eyes was all too familiar, but I wouldn't cower.

"You're nothing but a spoiled child playing the victim, Nick," I spat out, my voice steady despite the pounding in my chest.

"Stop it," he said, his voice trembling. "You sound just like him."

"If anyone would know, it's your father," I retorted.

His face contorted with rage. His hand came down, but before it could connect, someone grabbed his wrist.

It was Tom.

Tom stood there like a storm ready to unleash hell. His tall frame loomed over Nick's with an intimidating presence—commanding and unyielding. His leather jacket clung to his broad shoulders, dark and imposing, while his eyes burned with a ferocity that promised retribution.

"Let go of her," Tom growled, his voice low and menacing.

Nick's bravado crumbled in an instant. He looked like a child caught stealing cookies from the jar. His wrist trembled under Tom's grip, and for a moment, he seemed to shrink before my eyes.

Tom didn't move an inch. His grip on Nick's wrist tightened until Nick winced in pain. "You heard me," Tom said through clenched teeth. "Let her go."

"No," Nick said. "I won't let you take her from me."

Before he could tighten his grip, I kneed him in the crotch. The impact made him double over, his hands releasing me as he crumpled to the ground.

"You stupid slut!" Nick groaned through clenched teeth, his face contorted in pain.

Tom's eyes darkened. He stepped forward and swung a fist, connecting with Nick's jaw. The sound of bone meeting bone echoed through the alleyway. Tom didn't stop there. He punched Nick again, and again, each blow fueled by a rage I hadn't seen before.

"You hit her, didn't you?" Tom's voice was a growl, raw and dangerous. "The other day? You motherfucker."

Nick tried to shield himself, but Tom was relentless. Each punch landed with brutal precision, and I stood there, breathing heavily but unable to move. For the first time, I saw their relationship for what it truly was—volatile and destructive. It had nothing to do with me.

It was only then I realized how small my role had been in their ongoing war. Their anger and resentment were like wildfires that had been smoldering for years, waiting for the right moment to erupt.

Tom finally stopped, chest heaving with exertion. He looked at Nick's bruised and bloodied face before turning to me. His expression softened slightly when our eyes met, but the tension in his body remained.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

I nodded, still catching my breath. "Yeah," I managed to say.

Nick lay on the ground, groaning in pain but too defeated to move. Tom turned away from him and took a step toward me. His hand reached out gently to touch my cheek where Nick's grip had left its mark.

"Let's go inside," he said softly.

I nodded again, feeling exhaustion washing over me as we walked away.

This was all my fault.

Three days had passed since the Masquerade Ball, but the images played on repeat in my mind. Tom's fists flying, Nick's bloodied face, the chaos and shouting—everything. I touched the nasty bruise on my cheek but dismissed the pain. It was nothing compared to the ache inside me.

Tom and Nick… they were destroyed because of me.

I sat on the bathroom floor, knees drawn to my chest. The stick lay flat on the counter, an unspoken accusation. I couldn’t bring myself to look at it again. Not yet.

The second I found out who Tom was, I should have stopped. I should have walked away from that night and never looked back. But I hadn’t, and now I bore the weight of this destruction.

My breath hitched as guilt clawed at me. I had come between them, shattered whatever fragile bond they had left. Tom arrested, Nick out for weeks, his NHL career hanging by a thread—it was all too much.

And now…

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the suffocating guilt. It didn’t work; nothing did. The stick on the counter screamed for attention, but I couldn’t face it. Not with everything else collapsing around me.

This was my fault. All of it.

On top of that, I had been so stupid. Birth control wasn’t a guarantee, but I had taken the risk, anyway. It felt so good, feeling him in a way I hadn't felt anyone before. The way he groaned when he came inside me—it was like feeling whole, complete.

But now…

I sucked in a breath. I couldn’t run away from my problems. My phone rang, the loud shrill echoing in the small bathroom. I jumped.

Tom.

Again.

I wanted to answer. It took everything in me not to. What could I even say? That I didn’t want to be the reason his relationship with his son was broken? At least they had an opportunity, unlike with my dad who left without saying goodbye.

I didn't want anyone to go through that if I could help it.

The ringing stopped, and guilt weighed heavier on my chest.

I sucked in another breath.

I knew I had to look.

Standing slowly, my legs felt like jelly beneath me. How do you prepare for something like this? How do you brace yourself for news that could completely shift everything?

And there…

Two pink lines.

My entire world shifted off its axis.

In the blink of an eye, everything changed.

And I had no idea what I was going to do about it.