Now I have nothing. No direct line. No excuse to breach her distance.
Only the memory of her thigh against mine and the way her shoulders snapped tight when the glass cracked at the game.
She’s hotter than I thought.
Way hotter up close.
Rylan’s voice is a fresh smear of filth across the memory.
Her face in the stands. The rigid line of her body pressed against me in the booth. The clean scent of peppermint cutting through beer. The subtle, terrified brush of her back as she left—the only real physical contact I’ve had in years.
The anger is back, cold and sharp.
The possessiveness.
Mine.
My thumb drifts to the search bar at the top of my contacts, then below it—to the browser icon.
I stop. My thumb hovers over the glass.
This is a line. I know it. Coach drew it. My father drew it. I drew it myself when I taped my hand.
It’s a stupid impulse. Weak.
I follow it anyway. It feels like breaking and entering, but I can't stop.
I type her name.
Talia Addison Briarcliff.
It doesn’t take much. Campus directory. Student staff listings. Study hall proctors.
Her name pops up in black and white on my screen:
ADDISON, TALIA—Academic Services. Proctor. Thursday/Sunday evenings. Library, Room 3B.
There it is. A time. A place. A doorway into her orbit I didn’t have an hour ago.
My thumb hovers over the email icon beside her name. One tap and I could put myself in her inbox. Ask a question. Pretend I need information. Pretend this is normal.
Hey, I’m on the team; do you know the study hall schedule?
It would be easy. Too easy.
My hand tightens, tape biting into swollen skin. She’s already flinching from ghosts I can’t see. The last thing she needs is another monster breaching her walls in the dark.
I lock the screen instead and toss the phone onto the bed like it burns.
It lands face-down, but I don’t need to see it again. I know the information now. Her name slotted under Academic Services in my head. Her hours. The room number.
A place where she’ll be.
A place I could be.
Not today. Not tomorrow. But the option exists now. A line quietly drawn between us.
Silence used to be peace.
