The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

Jason POV:

That stupid old goat. I couldn’t get him out of my head. The way he waltzed out of the station with Ella as if the world bent to his will—it made my blood boil.

At the police station, they tried to play it off as a misunderstanding until they realized who I was. That’s when they tripped over themselves, stammering apologies and trying to explain. Some of the officers had been bought off by the Prescott family to intimidate Ella. But, conveniently, those officers had already been fired. Fired or not, it wasn’t enough for me. I demanded their contacts, determined to make sure they’d never get jobs again. How dare they lay a finger on her.

But that wasn’t the end of it. I wanted the Prescotts crushed. I called the King’s assistant, ready to unleash the family’s power on them, but he beat me to the punch.

"You’re too late," the assistant said, his voice clipped and professional. "The Prescott empire has already fallen."

"What do you mean, ’fallen’?" I snapped, pacing outside the station.

"Someone took them down. And whoever it was... well, let’s just say they’re powerful. The Prescotts were wiped out in half a day. Their accounts frozen, their stocks tanked, and their secrets exposed. Even the Kings couldn’t have done it that fast."

Goosebumps prickled down my arms. Half a day? That wasn’t just power; that was a message. And I had a sinking feeling about who was behind it. That old man.

But who was he? What was his connection to Ella? How could someone like her—someone so guarded, so seemingly ordinary—be tied to someone who could bring an empire to its knees in hours?

I couldn’t shake the unease as Max and Dylan dragged me back to my car. They kept throwing worried glances my way when we stared our way back to the packing lot, but I didn’t care. I needed answers.

But the cops didn’t have them. They were clueless, only following orders from their superiors to assist him in any way. It was maddening.

By the time we got back to campus, my frustration had reached a boiling point. Of course, the first thing we ran into was an angry coach. He was livid about us being late, and in my frustration, I talked back. Big mistake.

That earned us triple the punishment. As the team captain, I got the worst of it, with extra drills and activities designed to break me. My legs felt like lead, my arms like they’d been ripped from their sockets. Every muscle in my body screamed as if I’d been hit by a train.

When it was finally over, all I wanted to do was collapse into bed and forget this day ever happened. But no. I couldn’t stop thinking about Ella. The memory of her walking out of that station with him, her expression calm and unreadable—it haunted me.

So instead of resting, I found myself at the diner, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

By the time we dragged ourselves to the diner, I was a mess. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest with every step I took, and I felt like I’d been hit by a freight train. My arms hung limply at my sides, my legs wobbled like jelly, and the only thing keeping me going was the thought of seeing Ella.

But as soon as I called out to her, she snapped at me, her tone colder than the ice water I desperately wanted to drown myself in.

"Jason," she said sharply, not even looking up from the tray she was setting on a table. "If you have something to say, spit it out and leave me alone. I’m busy."

I blinked, stunned. That was the welcome I got after racing to the police station for her? After nearly breaking myself in practice because I couldn’t stop thinking about her and that stupid old man? Stupid love, I thought bitterly. The things I do for love.

Max gave me a smug grin as he slumped into a booth. "What’s wrong, Captain? She’s not fawning over you? Tough luck."

"Shut it, Max," I muttered, plopping into the seat across from him. Dylan slid in next to me, sighing as he dropped his head onto the table.

"Coach really did a number on us today," Dylan groaned. "If I never see another basketball in my life, it’ll be too soon."

"Maybe you should try not running your mouth at Coach next time," Max quipped, shooting me a knowing look. "You really set him off, Jason."

I glared at him. "Don’t push me, Max. Not in the mood."

"Yeah, we can tell," Dylan chimed in, lifting his head just enough to look at me. "What’s with you, anyway? You’ve been on edge all day."

I ran a hand through my hair, leaning back against the booth. I didn’t even know where to start. Was it the Prescotts? The revelation that they’d been crushed not by the Kings, but by someone else—someone powerful enough to wipe them out in half a day? Or was it the way Ella had left with that old man at the police station, looking at him like he was the only person in the world she trusted?

That old man... The way the police had practically groveled to assist him, the way the Prescotts’ empire crumbled as soon as he got involved—it gave me goosebumps. Who was he? And what was his connection to Ella?

The thought gnawed at me, and I clenched my fists, frustration bubbling to the surface.

"She left with that old man again," I finally said, my voice low.

Max and Dylan exchanged glances. "The guy from the police station?" Dylan asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. And get this—when I asked the cops about him, they said they didn’t know who he was. All they knew was that their superiors told them to assist him with anything he needed. No questions asked."

Max frowned. "That’s... weird. You think he’s some kind of big shot?"

"Obviously," I snapped. "But that’s not the point. The point is, Ella keeps running to him, and I don’t even know who the hell he is. She won’t tell me anything."

"So... you’re jealous?" Dylan asked, raising an eyebrow.

I shot him a glare. "I’m not jealous."

"Sure," Max said, smirking. "Because rushing to the police station, chewing out the cops, and practically tearing your hair out over some old guy definitely doesn’t scream jealousy."

I groaned, rubbing my temples. "You guys don’t get it. This isn’t just about him. It’s about Ella. I know you also like her but... I think you understand when say. She won’t let me in. She acts like I don’t matter to her at all, and it’s driving me insane."

Max shrugged. "Maybe you don’t matter to her. Ever think of that?"

My jaw tightened, and I looked away, the weight of his words settling on my chest like a boulder. What if he was right? What if I didn’t matter to her? What if all my efforts—the confession, the running to her rescue, the endless thoughts of her—were all for nothing?

I glanced toward the counter, where Ella was busy taking an order from another customer, her expression calm and unbothered. She didn’t even spare me a glance.

And yet, despite everything, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting her. From wanting to be the one she turned to, the one she trusted. Even if it meant enduring her cold shoulder, even if it meant running myself ragged trying to prove myself to her—I couldn’t stop.

"Stupid love," I muttered under my breath, slumping back in my seat. Max and Dylan didn’t say anything, and for once, I was grateful for the silence.

I didn’t know how much more of this I could take but I wasn’t giving up. Not yet.

The caffeine was finally kicking in, and with every sip of the coffee Ella had served us, I felt a little less like I’d been hit by a train. Max and Dylan, too, seemed to be recovering. We ordered some food, grumbled about the coach, and eventually started to feel human again.

But as we left the diner, I couldn’t stop myself from turning back. My feet moved before my brain could catch up. Max called after me, probably to ask what the hell I was doing, but I ignored him.

Ella was still at the counter, wiping it down with a focus that made it clear she was trying to pretend I didn’t exist. I approached cautiously, not wanting to startle her.

"Hey," I greeted her softly, leaning on the counter.

She didn’t even look up. "Go home, Jason." Her tone was flat, dismissive, and so her.

"I will," I said, trying to sound casual. "But not before I talk to you."

She rolled her eyes, finally glancing at me. "Talk to me? About what, Jason? How you and your little friends decided to play the hero and show up at the station uninvited?"

I winced. "Look, we were just trying to help—"

"Well, I didn’t ask for your help," she snapped, cutting me off. "I handled it just fine on my own."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "I know you didn’t ask, Ella, but I care about you, okay? I was worried."

Her eyes softened for the briefest moment before her walls slammed back up. "Well, don’t. I’m fine. Now, go home."

Instead of leaving, I leaned closer. "Help me with your number."

That made her pause. She blinked, then laughed—a short, sharp sound that was more disbelief than amusement. "You’ve got to be kidding me."

"I’m not."

"No," she said flatly, returning her attention to the counter she’d already wiped clean.

"Come on, Ella," I persisted, my voice dropping to a teasing tone. "How else am I supposed to check on you if something like this happens again?"

"Here’s an idea," she said dryly, finally looking up at me. "Don’t. Stop checking on me, stop worrying about me, and stop bothering me. Problem solved."

I grinned, undeterred. "Not happening."

She sighed heavily, clearly exasperated. "Jason, I’m not giving you my number."

"Then I’m not leaving," I said with a shrug, crossing my arms.

Her eyes narrowed. "You’re serious?"

"Dead serious."

She stared at me for a long moment, like she was debating whether or not to strangle me. Finally, she groaned. "Fine. If I give you my number, will you leave me alone?"

"Absolutely," I said, nodding eagerly.

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And you have to promise not to give it to anyone. Not Max, not Dylan, no one."

"Deal," I said quickly. Like I’d ever share her number with anyone, especially those two idiots.

She sighed again, pulling out a pen and scribbling something on a napkin. "Here," she said, sliding it across the counter. "Now go home."

I snatched the napkin, a triumphant grin spreading across my face. But I wasn’t about to leave without making sure she hadn’t given me a fake number.

"Hold on," I said, pulling out my phone. I dialed the number, holding my breath as I waited.

Her phone rang. She shot me a glare, snatching her phone from her pocket to silence it.

"Happy now?" she asked, her tone dripping with annoyance.

"Very," I said, pocketing the napkin with her number like it was the most precious thing in the world.

"Now leave," she said firmly, pointing toward the door.

I chuckled, holding my hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. I’m going."

I walked out of the diner feeling like I’d just won a small victory. Sure, she hadn’t exactly been thrilled about giving me her number, but progress was progress.

As I climbed into my car, I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face. She might act tough, but there was something about her that made me want to keep trying. And now, with her number saved in my phone, I finally had a way to do it.