Chapter 4: Trapped Together

Even though we had Computer Architecture together, Shane and I kept our distance—opposite sides of the lecture hall, no eye contact.

Half a month went by, March to April, and Shane didn’t confront me.

Maybe he’d let it go? Moved on to a new target?

Ohio State was huge—how could he possibly find me in a sea of 50,000?

Homecoming week rolled around—scarlet and gray everywhere, campus buzzing.

I signed up for a three-day Outdoor Adventure Club trip in Hocking Hills.

Showed up late at the Student Union—CABS bus drama.

Everyone at the Holiday Inn already had keys.

President pointed at a guy in the corner: "There, you’re rooming with him. Room 237."

I looked over—Shane. His eyes were darker than the coffee he was holding.

I froze, backpack suddenly heavier.

"President, any singles left?"

"Nope. All paired up except you two. Don’t be weird about it."

Big problem. Huge.

I was terrified he’d recognize my body—especially my waist.

After a burger and sweet potato fries at a local diner, the president set up games in the hotel lobby.

I sat as far from Shane as possible, hiding behind a fake plant.

Next to me was Marcus Chen, always gentle, making sure the shy freshmen got included. Marcus always wore those Fisher College hoodies and had a habit of organizing everyone’s Venmo payments after club events.

He helped me dodge drinking game punishments when I lost too much at Cards Against Humanity.

Across the crowd, Shane sipped orange juice, watching me with that patient, wolfish stare.

I didn’t get it—why he kept looking at me like a puzzle.

That night, after everyone scattered, I went to our room. Shane closed the door with a click, locking it.

I came out of the tiny bathroom in a thin hotel robe, and there he was—waiting right outside the door.

I tried to slide past on the narrow carpet, but he blocked me, gaze landing right on my waist.

"Hey, you know a Connor Mitchell from Cleveland, don’t you?"

"Huh? Who’s that?" My voice shot up.

I tried to act calm, but my mind was spinning. How did he know Connor’s full name?

Wasn’t Connor my childhood friend from St. Ignatius?

Shane stepped closer, herding me toward the window.

"Luke, cut the act. I saw your high school track team pic on Instagram. You and Connor were teammates."

"Or should I call you Tyler? Tyler from the law program?"

Tyler—the fake name I used to catfish him.

I was toast.

I stepped back, slipped on a wet spot.

He caught me, arm tight around my waist.

His eyes were stormy, jaw clenched like he was holding back a punch.

"Thought your waist mole looked familiar back at the rec. Luke, did you have fun messing with me? Do you know how many nights I wondered what I did wrong?"

"Remember what I said would happen if I caught you?"

My throat was dry as dust.

"Didn’t you say you’d—what, kill me? Come on, do your worst. I’m not scared."

He sneered. "Don’t cry later."

I balled my fists, remembering my freshman boxing class.

I wasn’t about to get bullied—Ohio boys don’t back down.

But Shane stepped forward, closing the bathroom door behind us.

He picked up a bottle of body wash, eyes never leaving mine.

He closed the bathroom door with a click, and for the first time, I realized there was no escape.