Chapter 297: The Celebration Was Over

Inside the arena, the celebration showed no sign of slowing down.

If anything, it was getting louder.

Ashford’s players were still scattered across the court, some hugging, some shouting, others simply standing there with their hands on their heads as if they were afraid that if they moved, the whole thing might disappear.

They had done it.

For the first time in the school history, Ashford had reached won the finals.

The trophy sat in Lucas’s hands.

It was heavier than he expected.

He shifted his grip as someone behind him threw another handful of confetti into the air.

White pieces drifted down across his shoulders and caught in his hair. Some landed on the trophy. Others stuck to the sweat on his jersey.

"Lucas!"

He barely had time to turn before Devon came charging toward him.

An arm hooked around his neck.

Then another player grabbed his waist.

"Lift him!"

"Wait, wait!"

Lucas laughed as the floor suddenly disappeared beneath his shoes.

"What are you guys doing?"

Nobody listened.

Outside, beneath a row of tired parking-lot lights, the night had taken a very different turn.

The three men had realized they were losing.

That was when they ran.

One broke left.

Another sprinted toward the far end of the parking lot.

The third headed straight for the trees.

They didn’t get far.

A man stepped into the path of the first.

He tried to turn.

Too late.

A hand caught the back of his jacket and yanked him backward.

"Got him!"

The second man made it several more yards before someone stepped out from beside a parked car.

He stopped so suddenly his shoes scraped against the pavement.

"Move!"

The man in front of him didn’t.

Then another figure appeared behind him.

The escape route disappeared.

The crowd around the vehicles had grown larger while they were trying to get away. What had started as a small gathering had become a tight circle of people, bodies filling every open space between the cars.

Voices came from everywhere.

"Don’t let them run!"

"Where do you think you’re going?"

"Get back here!"

The third man kept running.

For a moment, it looked like he might actually make it.

He crossed the edge of the parking lot.

Past the last car.

Past the light.

He was almost at the trees when three people came at him from different directions.

The first caught his shoulder.

The second grabbed his waist.

The third hit him from the side.

All four of them crashed into the grass.

The man twisted desperately beneath them.

"Get off me!"

He shoved at one arm.

Another hand grabbed his collar.

"Get OFF me!"

His voice disappeared beneath the shouting around him.

A few feet away, one of the others was being dragged back toward the cars, his shoes scraping across the pavement as he fought to pull himself free.

The parking lot had become a mess of overturned chairs, scattered belongings, shouting voices, and people rushing from one side to another.

Daisy spotted Mia crumpled beside the rear tire and froze.

"Mia!"

She dropped to her knees, catching her by the shoulders before she could try getting up. Mia’s hair was all over her face, blood stained the corner of her mouth, and a dark bruise was already forming along her jaw.

"Hey, hey. Look at me."

"I’m fine..."

"You are absolutely not fine, you idiot."

Daisy pulled off her jacket and carefully slipped it beneath Mia’s head.

"Don’t move. Just stay there."

Mia gave a weak nod, her breathing still uneven.

Daisy looked around wildly.

"Somebody call an ambulance!"

"We already did!"

"Good!"

Then a scream erupted behind her.

Daisy turned.

The three bastards weren’t getting away.

What had started as a few people trying to stop them had turned into complete chaos. The men were surrounded, shoved back whenever they tried to move, while angry voices came from every direction.

"You ain’t going anywhere!"

"Stay your ass down!"

One of the men tried crawling toward the parking-lot entrance.

Someone grabbed the back of his shirt and dragged him straight back.

"Where the hell do you think you’re going?"

Then the sirens hit.

At first, they were distant.

Then they grew louder.

The police arrived within minutes.

Red and blue lights swept across the parking lot, flashing over the cars and the faces of everyone gathered around the scene.

"Everybody back up!"

The officers pushed through the crowd, separating the men from the people who had surrounded them.

"Move away from the vehicles!"

A few people stepped back immediately. Others needed to be pushed away before the officers finally created enough space to take control.

One of the men was dragged to his feet and placed against the hood of a patrol car.

Another remained on the pavement, breathing heavily, his face twisted with pain.

The third sat against a parked vehicle, too exhausted to say much of anything.

The shouting slowly died down.

The fight was over.

The police had control.

But the story was just beginning.

Inside the arena, the celebration continued as if nothing had happened.

Music blasted through the speakers.

Confetti floated lazily through the air.

Ashford players were still laughing, shouting, taking pictures, and celebrating the biggest win in the program’s history.

Then a phone buzzed.

A student looked down.

His smile disappeared.

"What the hell?"

The person beside him leaned over.

"What?"

"Something happened in the parking lot."

"What happened?"

"I don’t know. Police are out there."

The message traveled.

Then another phone buzzed.

And another.

Within seconds, little pockets of conversation started breaking through the celebration.

"Did somebody get arrested?"

"I heard there was a fight."

"Outside?"

"Yeah."

Then another message appeared.

Some guys tried to mess with Lucas’s car.

That one spread faster than the first.

"Lucas’s car?"

"That’s what they’re saying."

"His Bugatti?"

"Apparently."

The rumor jumped from row to row.

Students who had been screaming about the victory were suddenly turning toward the arena entrance.

Some were already pulling up their cameras.

Others were texting friends outside.

"What happened to his car?"

"Is it damaged?"

"I heard somebody tried to wreck it."

The celebration began losing its rhythm.

Even some of the players started looking toward the doors.

Devon happened to hear the conversation while walking past.

"Wait."

He stopped.

"What did you just say?"

The student showed him the message.

Devon’s eyebrows shot up.

"They touched his car?"

"That’s what I heard."

Devon slowly turned toward the court.

Lucas was still surrounded by teammates, laughing and trying to catch his breath after the celebration.

Then Devon called out.

"Lucas!"

Lucas looked over.

"What?"

Devon hesitated for half a second.

"Someone said there was trouble in the parking lot."

Lucas’s smile faded slightly.

"What kind of trouble?"

"Apparently some guys tried to mess with your car."

Lucas went completely still.

"My car?"

The noise around him seemed to drop a notch.

He looked toward the arena doors.

"Where is it?"

Devon pointed.

"Outside."

Lucas handed the trophy to the nearest teammate.

"Watch that."

Then he started walking.

A teammate called after him.

"Lucas, wait!"

He didn’t.

The farther he went, the faster his steps became.

His mind wasn’t on the game anymore.

It wasn’t on the trophy.

It wasn’t even on the celebration.

Someone had touched his car.

His Bugatti.

His jaw tightened as he pushed through the arena doors.

"That bastard better not have scratched it."