Heart of Thorns (Shadow Valley U Book 2)
Heart of Thorns: Chapter 9

Hockey is faster than football, but the game is still exhilarating. The crowd rushes the field after the win, a tidal wave of red flocking to the end zone. Marley tugs me to follow. I glance around, suddenly feeling guilty for wearing the other team’s colors, but I swear Thorne saw me from the field and bristled.

I could be making that part up. But he’s the entire reason I did the stupid stunt to begin with—as if he’d even care if I was rooting against him.

The chants are so loud on the field, I can’t hear myself think. I glance around after Marley’s hand slips from mine. I search for blonde hair in between my peers but I come up empty-handed. My leg slows me down, and before I know it, I’m trapped. Shoulders rub against me from both sides. I move forward and trip into someone’s hard back, hitting my forehead on their spine.

I pop up quickly with loose strands of hair falling from my bun. Air leaves my lungs. There’s no way out. I spin three times before dizzying myself.

“Move,” I grit, bumping into an auburn-haired girl with a big red bow in her hair.

She shoots me a dirty look before brushing me off. I curse under my breath and turn to the left.

My eyes spark to life when I see the small opening between football players.

Go.

I rush over, ignoring the dead weight of my leg and squeeze in between their pads. They’re unforgiving. I hardly make it through without falling to my knees.

“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter.

A gasp escapes when pressure falls to my hips. Hands squeeze me, and I’m hoisted to my feet quickly. I turn and peer at whoever pulled me upright.

“I got ya,” he says.

“Thank y⁠—”

My gratitude falls short when I eye the guy standing beside my rescuer. Both of them are football players, but the one who picked me up is wearing the visiting team colors. He eyes me curiously when the words die on the end of my tongue.

“You’re welcome?”

I blink a few times.

The one who helped me smirks. “Are you starstruck?”

What?

Ignoring him, I swing my gaze to his friend. He has suddenly disappeared. My attention latches on to his backside as he quickly storms away from us. His last name and number are obscured by a towel.

Dread digs into my lower stomach, and my heart is like sludge. It slips to the ground and leaves me feeling empty. I blink through the memory of the night of the fire fighting to get to the forefront of my brain.

“Wh—who is that?” I ask, nodding to my rescuer’s fleeing friend.

The dark-eyed guy peers over his shoulder and shrugs. “Not sure. He plays for Shadow Valley.”

My nose scrunches with confusion.

“I’ve never seen you on campus before. Are you a freshman? What are you doing at an away game?”

The realization hits me. I’m wearing the other team’s colors.

The crowd thins, so instead of making small talk and explaining myself, I head in the same direction as the other guy. Hesitation creeps into the back of my mind but instead of listening to the warning, I continue moving forward. It’s as if there’s a rope pulling me toward danger and the tattered threads are woven with fear and curiosity.

What if it was him?

Ever since I was purposefully trapped in that burning building, there’s been a black cloud following me around. Whoever it was is faceless in my head. I never got a glimpse of his face, and I’m pretty sure the dean suspects I’ve made the entire thing up—as if I’d trap myself in a burning building and fling out of a window for funsies.

I follow the broad-shouldered guy, weaving in and out of the crowd and pausing every few seconds to rest my knee without ever losing sight. The emptiness in my stomach goes deeper with every step in his direction.

If I could just get close to him and get a feel for his height and presence, then maybe I’d be able to give myself some self-assurance that I’m wrong.

I was in a panic.

Maybe I’m just attaching any sort of panic to the night of the fire.

Pressing against the side of the bleachers, I do a quick sweep of the fans exiting the field. I dip inside the tunnel when no one is watching.

It’s quiet and dark, which does nothing but unsettle me even more.

Choppy breaths fill the air, and I move in the direction of the weight room. The team is loud, following after me. They’re hollering and clapping, bustling with excitement from their win.

It’s a little nostalgic. The girls and I did the same thing after a tough game on the ice.

I recognize Thorne’s voice and I’m instantly irritated that it settles me. He’s going on about how well they did, and I’d never admit it, but he’s definitely captain-like. Very motivating and encouraging, while also touching on a few areas of improvement.

I roll my eyes and stay pressed against the side of the hallway until some guys chatting about the party they’re going to head to seem to get closer. I panic and slip into the weight room. The lights are off so it’s hard to see me, but I can see them perfectly.

If only Thorne could see me now—he’d absolutely think I was a stalker.

And I sort of am, except I’m not stalking him.

I’m stalking a potential arsonist.

Several of the players, most of whom I recognize, walk down the hall with their bags slung over their shoulders. Their hair is damp, and I can smell their manly body wash through the door as they head to a campus party.

By the time my heart rate slows, it picks right back up when a tall-framed guy walks down the hallway with a few players I don’t recognize. They must be freshmen or sophomores. I stare at the quiet one to the left with his hood pulled up over his head and a lump forms in my throat.

My eyes shut on their own.

Goosebumps rush to my skin.

The sound of broken glass is far enough away in my memories that I know it’s not real, but I cover my ears anyway and try to hide from the debilitating fear that comes with the sound.

I sink to my butt and wrap my arms around my knees. Quick breaths rush into the empty weight room from behind my lips.

“You’re fine, Briar,” I whisper. “You’re being ridiculous.”

I’ve convinced myself before that my head is playing tricks on me or that my eyes are being deceitful. All it takes is one little reminder and I’m back in that building. One sense of familiarity with some stranger, and I find myself wondering if they’re my arsonist.

The feeling in my stomach, though? That’s new.

Deep breaths work in and out of my lungs for so long, my ribs ache. I wince when I stretch my legs out in front of me, pressing into the hard wall. My eyes stay shut; I’m too afraid to open them and find myself in a panic again.

I don’t have a choice, though.

The door opens, and the overhead lights flick on.

My teeth sink into my lower lip when I spring to my feet. The grinding of my knee is loud enough to draw attention.

I take off in the opposite direction. I have nowhere to go and I’m terrified to look backward. What if it’s him?

The PTSD counseling is nowhere to be found as panic shocks me to the core.

I spin and latch on to the door.

Shit. I backed myself up into a corner.

“Briar?”

A rush of relief cools my clammy skin.

Thorne.

I recognize his voice, and just like earlier, it calms me.

There is no rhyme or reason to it, but it’s there.

His soothing, smooth authoritative voice stops me in my tracks. I gaze into his eyes from across the weight room, and then… everything goes black.