Ali.
And this night had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.
Don’t Blame Me
Ali
“Oh my gawd Abigail! Have you lost your ever-loving mind!?” Ali whisper-shrieked to her bestie.
Abigail gave a casual shrug as she sipped her champagne flute, “Not at all. Girls’ Weekend for Shelf Indulgence!”
“An NFL game is not a ‘girls weekend Ab!”
“Ashley would disagree.”
“She doesn’t count. She like sprays her hair and paints her face when she goes to the Atlanta games. Also, I highly doubt she would give up one of her Sundays for the Tritons. You know she’s a season ticket holder in Atlanta.”
“Oh honey, she’ll definitely give it up for you.”
“This is not for me. I’m not even going.”
“There’s four tickets. Four book club members. It’s a no-brainer. Discussion closed,” Abigail declared, like she was an idiot or something.
The final cheer erupted as the auctioneer announced the last winning bid, and the DJ eased back in with something poppy and nostalgic— Lana Del Rey or maybe a cover of it. Ali couldn't tell over the buzz of laughter, clinking glasses, and the sound of people returning to mingling, but she could feel the shift. The party was back on.
Meanwhile, her ears were roaring. She was literally going to throw up. She couldn’t believe Abigail bought those damn tickets to his family's suite. She made a mental note to tell Kellan to hide Abigail’s Diet Cokes from her for a whole week.
She smiled politely at Abigail as she sipped the last of her cherry blossom martini. “Bathroom,” she lied with a little wave of her clutch.
Abigail arched her brow knowingly but said nothing, just gave her a nod and turned back to chatting with a table of other donors. Abigail wasn’t an alum, she went to Georgia U in Macon. And while she knew that Ali went through something while at MBU and dating Dylan, but obviously she had never told her the whole story. She did not need to relive that moment ever again.
Ali didn’t head toward the bathrooms though.
Instead, she veered toward the balcony doors, blending with a small crowd stepping outside to cool off. The air hit her like a breath— hot but breezy and a little salty, the lights of Russell Stadium glowing below like a memory you couldn’t quite forget.She followed the edge of the balcony, heart hammering a little harder than she wanted to admit, before slipping quietly down the stairs that led to the field access.
It wasn’t that she was avoiding Dylan.
Well… okay. Maybe it was exactly that.
She just needed air. Distance. Space from the eyes that might have seen her reaction during his speech— raw and real and a little too close to the truth she’d buried. The turf felt soft beneath her sneakers as she wandered onto Stowers Field. The Reef. Ten years later, and it still had magic.
She wrapped her arms around herself, looking up into the bright halo of stadium lights. Everything looked the same. And nothing did.
Behind her, the party was building to life. But she heard footsteps coming down the steps. Fast.
She didn’t have to look.
She knew.
“Ali.”
His voice reached her, soft but cutting through the quiet like a thread she’d once held too tightly. She tensed but didn’t turn. Not yet.
Quiet footsteps, closer but now muffled by the turf.
“I was hoping I’d get a chance to—”
“Mac!” A high-pitched voice broke in, and she heard them before she saw them— two women, glossy hair and glossy lips, both in jewel-toned dresses that clung like they still lived on Greek Row. Two of Daisy’s former sorority sisters. “Selfie with the MVP?” one giggled, already holding out her phone.
