The spray cooled my skin, but the burn inside stayed hot. “She said ‘drug him.’ Like she meant it.”
“I’m hoping that was desperation talking. Not a plan.” Her voice stayed even, but I could hear the tight thread underneath. “These people don’t care about consequences. They deal in perception and power. My guess is if she thinks a rumor, or a threat, will do damage—she might run with it. Just to get leverage. I hope not drugs.”
I stared at the water, my pulse skipping. “That’s not leverage. That’s psychotic.”
“Mila, when girls like Elise fall apart, they don’t just cry—they cut everyone around them.”
I couldn’t tell if Elise had meant it—if it was a threat or just fury bleeding through pressure. But I knew one thing for sure—the girl I’d just overheard wasn’t scheming; she was spiraling. Desperate. Someone cracking under the weight of expectations she couldn’t carry anymore.
I exhaled.“Mom, I need to tell Luke what I heard. And about Dunn.” I flinched, realizing I’d already done that last night. “And about me, why we left in the first place.”
Silence. Then,“Honey, be smart. He’s a King. We don’t really know what side he’s on, but I doubt it’s ours.”
I exhaled hard, deciding she might not need to carry the weight of all my confessions. “Mom, I’m going to tell him what I overheard. And about Elise.” What I left out was I was going to tell him everything.
Her silence stretched. “That’s your call. Just… be smart.” Her voice was soft. Protective. It wasn’t permission. But it wasn’t discouragement either.
I turned away from the water and walked back to my car. I’d driven here to think. Now it was time to decide.
I wasn’t sure how Luke would take it. That we came back for reasons we’d hidden. That we were entangled in something bigger. But he’d risked something real for me today—he deserved the truth.
The waves hissed behind me, and I drew in a breath.I’m going to tell him.
It was the beginning of honesty. Because if we were going to build anything from the wreckage... we needed to know exactly what we were building.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
LUKE
Practice was over. The locker room was quiet. For once. No shouting. No gear clattering. No barking from Coach. Just the distant hum of the lights and the low thud of blood in my ears.
I sat on the bench, elbows on my knees, gear bag at my feet. My fingers hesitated over the small zippered flap on the inside pocket. The one I hadn’t opened in months. Maybe longer.
I didn’t know why I reached for it now. Maybe I’d run out of other distractions. Or maybe I already knew what I would find.
I slid the zipper down and reached in. Felt the cool press of metal against my fingers. When I pulled it out, it was just as I remembered. A white-gold chain. Thin. Barely there. And dangling from the center—a single star. I didn’t breathe for a second. Just stared at it. Let the weight of it settle in my palm.
She never told me she’d left it. Didn’t need to. I’d found it right before a game—months after she disappeared. Just a glint of metal buried beneath mouth guards and tape. I didn’t ask how it got there. I didn’t tell anyone I kept it. I just… did. It felt like the only piece of her that hadn’t vanished when she did—even if leaving it behind was its own message.
I pressed the charm between my fingers now, thumb brushing over the edges as if summoning her from memory.
This necklace was everything—a reminder of that night on the roof. Of the shooting star that cut across the sky, a promise we didn’t know how to keep. Of a dream whispered into darkness. It was a symbol of distance. Of fate. Of something bigger than us—but still undeniablyus.
I stared at it and asked myself the question I hadn’t dared before. Could we survive this time? Could we hold on long enough to rewrite what we broke? Or would the chaos swallowing us—family, secrets, expectations—tear us apart all over again?
I didn’t have the answer. But I clenched the necklace in my fist, held it tight as if it still meant something. Because it did. Because she did. Even if I couldn’t say it out loud yet.
For so long, I’d told myself I was over her. That Mila Callahan was just a scar I’d learned to live with. But the proof sat in my hand. Thin chain. Small star. Every lie I’d fed myself burned away in the weight of it.
If I opened my fist and she left again, I wouldn’t crawl back out this time. There’d be nothing left to put back together.
The air in the locker room pressed heavy, metallic, suffocating. I bent forward, necklace biting my palm, breath dragging rough through my chest. I hated how easy it would be to follow her if she ran again.
That was the real weakness. Not her leaving. Me.
I tucked the necklace in my pocket, shouldered my bag, and headed up to the roof, thumbing off a text to Mila:I’m up. Meet me.
It was getting late, and my stomach growled, but I didn’t move. I wasn’t leaving this roof until I saw her. Until I knew.
