Score me, Captain

Chapter 107

Asher's POV

Sophie drags me outside the facility without explanation, her grip tight enough to leave marks. She doesn't say a word until we're in the parking lot, well away from any windows or potential eavesdroppers.

"What the hell is going on?" I demand, yanking my arm free. "You can't just—"

"Jackson," she cuts me off, her voice breathless and urgent. "I found evidence. Documents and plans. He's been orchestrating everything."

My blood turns cold. "What kind of evidence?"

The story tumbles out in a frantic rush.

Jackson's bag spilling open. The printed emails about digital routing services and untraceable messaging platforms. Screenshots of threatening texts that match the ones I've been receiving. But worse, so much worse, is what she tells me next.

"There's a video," Sophie says, her face pale. "Someone texted him about it. Said 'the video about your two gay boys is ready.' Asked when to post it."

The world tilts beneath my feet.

I already suspected Jackson was behind the harassment, had proof of his digital manipulation, but this is something else entirely. This is a coordinated attack designed to annihilate both Blaze and me in one devastating blow.

"A video of what?" I ask, though part of me already knows the answer.

"I don't know the specifics. But given the context..." Sophie's voice trails off, leaving the implications hanging in the air like poison.

My mind races through possibilities, each one worse than the last. Jackson's had years to gather evidence, to position himself as my confidant while secretly documenting every vulnerability I've shared.

The cottage. Our private moments and all our v onversations about my sexuality that I thought were safe because I trusted him completely.

"Why are you telling me this?" I demand. "Why not go to Blaze first? He's the one who…"

Sophie's expression crumbles, and for the first time since I've known her, she looks genuinely broken.

"He won't see me," she whispers. "Won't answer my calls, won't open his door. We're not... we're not together anymore."

"What happened?"

She tells me. The whole sordid story spills out—the arrangement with Blaze's parents, the money they've been paying her to date him, the months of systematic deception designed to "fix" their son. The confession that ended everything between them.

With each word, something dark and vicious rises in my chest. The woman I thought was genuinely caring for Blaze, the person I'd started to respect despite our history, was nothing more than a paid actress performing a role.

"So you're a twisted bitch who used him for cash," I say, the words coming out sharp and cruel. "Got it."

Sophie's eyes flash with sudden fury. "You don't get to judge me. You—the coward who broke his heart because you were too scared to hold his hand in public."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. You had three years with him. Three years to be brave, to fight for what you wanted, to choose love over fear. And you threw it all away because you couldn't handle the thought of people knowing who you really are."

The accusation hits like a physical blow. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't I? You think your reasons for hurting him are somehow nobler than mine?" Sophie's voice rises, months of suppressed anger finally finding its target. "At least I needed the money to survive. You just needed to protect your precious reputation."

"I was trying to protect both of us!"

"Bullshit. You were protecting yourself. You let him believe he wasn't worth the risk, that your comfort mattered more than his happiness. You destroyed him just as thoroughly as I did, but at least I'm honest about being selfish."

"Honest? You've been lying to him for months!"

"And you lied to him for years! Every time you chose hiding over honesty, every time you made him feel like he had to be your dirty secret, every time you walked away instead of fighting for him."

We tear into each other like wild animals, accusations flying like shrapnel. Every wound, every resentment, every bitter feeling surfaces in a verbal bloodbath that leaves us both bleeding.

Sophie calls me a coward. I call her a mercenary. She accuses me of emotional terrorism. I accuse her of selling her soul for money.

The fight escalates until we're both shouting, years of accumulated guilt and rage pouring out in the empty parking lot. Other people might be watching from the facility windows, but neither of us cares.

This confrontation has been building since the moment we first met, two people who loved the same man in fundamentally different ways and failed him in fundamentally different ways.

Finally, exhaustion wins. We stand facing each other in tense silence, breathing hard, both of us wrung out from the emotional violence we've just inflicted on each other.

"This isn't what matters right now," Sophie says quietly, her voice hoarse from shouting. "Jackson is going to destroy him. Destroy both of you. And we're standing here fighting like children instead of doing something about it."

I hate that she's right. Hate that this woman I despise is the only person who seems to understand the scope of the threat we're facing.

"What do you suggest?"

"Call him. Tell him what's happening. Get him somewhere safe before Jackson can release whatever he's planned."

"He won't answer me."

"He will, because it’s you." Sophie's voice is certain. "Whatever's broken between you two, he'll still pick up if you call. He loves you too much not to."

I want to argue, to point out that Blaze made it clear at the cottage that we have no future together. But something in Sophie's expression stops me.

Despite everything she's done, despite the lies she's told, she knows Blaze in ways I don't anymore. She's lived with him, seen his daily rhythms, witnessed the private moments I've been locked out of.

I pull out my phone, staring at Blaze's contact information. We haven't spoken since that afternoon in his bedroom, since we fell into each other with desperate hunger and then fell apart just as completely.

"He's going to want to know why you're involved," I say.

"Then I'll tell him. I'll tell him everything, including what I found in Jackson's bag."

I scroll to Blaze's number, my finger hovering over the call button. "If he hangs up on me…"

"He won't."

I press call. The phone rings once. Twice. On the third ring, Blaze's voice fills my ear, cautious but not hostile.

"Asher?"

"We need to meet," I say, my heart pounding so hard I can barely speak. "All three of us. You, me, and Sophie. It's about Jackson, and it's urgent."

A long pause. I can hear him breathing, can practically feel him processing this unexpected development. "What about Jackson?"

"Not over the phone. Please, Blaze. I know you have no reason to trust either of us right now, but if I'm right about what he's planning, you're in serious danger."

Another pause, longer this time. "Where?" he says finally.

Relief floods through me so intensely I almost drop the phone. "Somewhere neutral. Somewhere he won't think to look."

We arrange to meet at a coffee shop across town in an hour. Neutral territory, public enough to feel safe but quiet enough to talk freely.

As I hang up, I catch Sophie watching me with an expression I can't quite read.