The Nerd Who Stole The Quarterback (Astra and Zayne) novel Chapter 168

The Nerd Who Stole The Quarterback

What Am I?

ASTRA

I sat on the worn leather couch in the living room, a deck of cards scattered across the low table in front of me. He had given them to me that morning with nothing more than a quiet “Keep yourself busy.”

For the first time since I’d woken up in this place, I wasn’t locked in the attic. The freedom felt strange, almost fragile. Ikept expecting the door to slam and the key to turn again.

I was midway through dealing with another lonely game of solitaire when the front door opened.

I flinched hard.

He stepped inside, still dressed in all black, the cap pulled low and the mask covering everything below his eyes. Even with most of his face hidden, something about the way he moved felt different. Lighter and strangely, almost… pleased.

He didn’t speak at first. He walked straight to the television mounted on the wall, picked up the remote, and turned it on.

My stomach dropped.

“Have you seen the news, my dear Astra?” he asked, voice cheerful as he flipped through the channels.

I swallowed. “No.”

“Then we’ll watch it together.” He sat down on the couch beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body. “It concerns you, after all.”

The screen filled with a familiar news studio. The reporter’s face was serious.

the search for eighteen-year-old Harrington Academy student Astra Hawthorne entered its fourth day today. Police confirm they have received a second note from the individual believed to be responsible for her abduction…”

My hands curled into fists on my lap.

Images flashed across the screen: the academy gates, police tape, search dogs, helicopters. Then a photograph of the first note-the one with the picture of me asleep in the blue gown-appeared briefly before the camera focused on a new envelope.

The reporter continued:

“Unlike the previous communication, this second note contains no photograph. Instead, authorities say it holds a short riddle. Police and private investigators working with the family are currently attempting to interpret its meaning.”

The screen cut to a close-up of the paper.

The words were written in the same thick black marker as before:

**I am the first thing she reaches for when the world is too loud.**

**I have listened to every secret she never told another living soul.**

**My ear is broken, but I have never left her side.**

**What am I?**

My breath caught.

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The Nerd Who Stole The Quarterback

I felt the blood drain from my face.

Beside me, the man let out a soft, almost amused sound.

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“Look at them,” he murmured, eyes on the screen. “Running in circles. Holding press conferences. Bringing in dogs and helicopters… and they still won’t solve it.” He turned his head toward me. “Not unless they actually know you.”

I couldn’t speak.

He leaned in slightly, silver eyes studying my face above the mask.

“I might not have fathered you,” he said quietly, “but after obsessively watching you these past months, my dear… I learned a few things.” His voice dropped even lower. “Can you guess what the answer is?”

I stared at the television, heart slamming against my ribs.

He already knew I understood.

“Even your precious Ashtons won’t get it,” he continued, almost gently. “All they know how to do is use you. And when you’re no longer useful… they let you go.”

The words settled over me like ice.

On the screen, the reporter was still talking, but I couldn’t hear her anymore.

All I could hear was the soft, satisfied breathing of the man sitting beside me.

My throat felt tight. Almost no one knew about him. Not really. My mother did… if she remembered. And Zane. Once. Just once, in that quiet moment in my room when I’d told him the story about the torn ear. He had laughed and called me ridiculous.

Would he even remember?

The thought made something twist painfully in my chest.

I forced myself to look at the man beside me.

“What happens if someone solves it?” My voice came out quieter than I wanted. “Is there a clue? Something that leads to me?”

He tilted his head, eyes like daggers gleaming with amusement above the mask.

“Clever girl,” he murmured. “You’re asking the right question for once.”

He leaned back against the couch, completely at ease.

“If someone solves the riddle correctly… they’ll receive the next piece.” His voice stayed calm, almost conversational. “A location and a time. Something useful. I’m not completely unreasonable.”

My hands tightened in my lap.

“And if they don’t?”

He shrugged lightly. “Then they keep running in circles while you stay right here with me.”

The casual way he said it made my stomach turn.

I swallowed hard. “You’re that sure no one will figure it out?”

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The Nerd Who Stole The Quarterback

A soft sound left him-almost a laugh.

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“Look at your life. Astra.” His tone wasn’t cruel. Way worse than that, It was honest. “You don’t have a crowd of people who know the small things. The things that actually matter to you.” He glanced at the television again. “Your mother might… if the disease hasn’t taken that memory yet. But the rest?” He shook his head. “They see the scholarship girl. The nanny. The quiet one who works too hard. They don’t see “you”.”

The words landed heavier than I wanted to admit.

I looked down at my hands.

He was right.

And that terrified me more than the locked doors.

After a moment I forced myself to speak again.

“Why are you doing this?” My voice was barely steady. “If this is about the Ashtons… why play games with riddles? Why not just..”

“Because I can.” he interrupted softly. “And because watching them scramble is far more entertaining than a simple demand.”

He turned his head toward me fully.

“Besides…. I wanted to see if anyone out there actually knows you.” His eyes held mine. “So far, it doesn’t look promising.”

The television continued playing in the background, the reporter’s voice a distant blur.

I sat frozen beside him, the weight of the riddle and his words pressing down on me from every side.

Somewhere out there, people were searching.

But for the first time, a cold thought settled deep in my chest:

What if no one ever solved it?

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09:52 Wed, Aug 5 N.

The Nerd Who Stole The Quarterback

Patches

ZANE

I am the first thing she reaches for when the world is too loud.

I have listened to every secret she never told another living soul.

My ear is broken, but I have never left her side.

What am I?

I had read that stupid riddle more times than I could count, and every single time my head came up empty.

It was driving me insane.

I sat on the edge of the couch with the printed copy crumpled in my fist, jaw locked so tight it ached. Two days. Two whole fucking days of this. Every hour that passed felt like another inch of distance between me and her.

Mom was seated across from me with the same paper spread out on the coffee table, glasses perched on her nose, muttering under her breath as she tried to work through it for the hundredth time.

“Maybe it’s a journal,” she said. “Or a necklace. Something sentimental…”

“It’s not a necklace,” I snapped. “She barely owns jewelry.”

She looked up, her expression tired. “Zane..”

“I’m going upstairs.”

I didn’t wait for her reply.

I needed her scent. I needed something that still felt like her before I completely lost my mind. Breathing had started to feel wrong, like the air itself was thinner without her in it. I was alive, technically. My heart was still beating. But it wasn’t enough.

I pushed open the door to her room and stepped inside.

The familiar strawberry smell wrapped around me immediately. I crossed straight to the wardrobe, pulled out one of her hoodies, and pressed it hard against my face. My hands were shaking. I breathed her in like a man starving for oxygen.

It still wasn’t enough.

I stood in the middle of the room, hoodie clutched to my chest, when the late afternoon sunlight shifted through the window. The beam landed directly on the small brown bear sitting against her pillow.

Patches.

My eyes locked on the uneven stitching of his left ear.

I froze.

The riddle left my mouth in a low, stunned voice.

“I am the first thing she reaches for when the world is too loud…

I have listened to every secret she never told another living soul…

My ear is broken, but I have never left her side…”

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The Nerd Who Stole The Quarterback

My eyes widened.

“Patches.”

The word came out like a punch.

I grabbed the bear, turned, and stormed out of the room.

“Mom!”

Elira looked up sharply as I came down the stairs. “What…”

I held Patches up. “It’s this. The answer is this.”

She stared at the bear, confused. “What is that?”

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“Patches. Her teddy bear. She’s had him since she was little. One ear is torn-broken, just like the riddle says.” My heart pounded so hard I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. “It’s him. It has to be him.”

Understanding slowly dawned on her face.

“Oh my God….”

Within twenty minutes we were at the police station.

Detective Hayes looked at the bear, then at the riddle, then back at me.

“You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

One of the younger officers frowned. “It’s just a toy. How can we be sure…”

I turned on him so fast the man actually stepped back.

“It’s not just a toy,” I said, struggling to keep my temper in check. “It’s the only thing she’s kept with her since she was a child. She talks to it. She sleeps with it. She reached for it every single night I lived under the same roof as her. If you waste another second questioning me, I’ll-”

“Zane.” My mother’s hand settled on my arm.

Hayes raised a hand, silencing the room.

He studied the bear for a long moment, then nodded once.

“Alright. We treat it as the answer.”

He looked at the officers.

“Prepare a statement. We’re going to broadcast it.”

I frowned. “Broadcast it?”

“The kidnapper is watching the news,” Hayes said. “He wants us to play the game. So we play. We announce the answer publicly. If he’s telling the truth about giving the next clue once it’s solved… this is how we force his hand.”

I stared down at Patches in my hands.

For the first time in days, something stirred inside me.

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