“Did Rylan… say something?” I ask. “Before it happened?”
“He always says something,” Dad says. “That kid’s mouth runs ahead of his brain nine days out of seven.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I say quietly. “Did he say something that would make Declan react like that?”
Dad tests the edges of my question before answering. “Declan didn’t give me specifics. And Rylan sure as hell didn’t tell the truth. There’s a piece I’m not getting.”
“So you don’t think it was random?”
“No,” Dad says immediately. “Something set him off. Something specific.”
My heartbeat stutters. He doesn’t know. He genuinely doesn’t know. The whole campus is chewing on the story, and the one person who should see the pattern can’t see where I fit inside it.
“Do you… think he’d do it again?” I ask carefully.
Dad doesn’t hesitate. “No. Not unless someone pushes him the same way. Declan’s not dangerous to anyone who isn’t actively asking for it.”
I swallow, relief and something sharper tangling.Not dangerous to anyone who isn’t asking for it.I’m not Rylan. I didn’t provoke anything. But I’m still right there in the center of the blast.
“So you’re not… mad at him?”
“Oh, I’m mad,” Dad says. “He’s sitting out tonight. And he earned it. But I’m not turning him into something he’s not. He works harder than anyone. He carries more pressure than most of these kids can imagine.”
He lowers his voice. “That kid has been walking around like a live wire for weeks. I don’t know what’s going on in his head, but I don’t think it’s something he caused.”
Live wire.
The phrase wraps around my spine like bare copper. I know what it feels like to be the thing humming with too much charge, waiting for a wrong touch to set everything on fire. My danger was always pointed inward; his is pointed outward. Both of us are still something people brace around.
I think of the booth. The heat of his thigh pressed against mine. The terrifying, electric hum that moved between us. I felt the charge then. I felt the current.
“He’s wound tight right now,” Dad goes on. “Between his old man, the donors, the season… he’s walking a fine line. I’m tryingto help him find his balance again, but until I do, I need you to be smart about it.”
A chill slides down my spine. “Smart how?”
“Give him space,” he says. “If you see him around campus, be polite, be yourself, but don’t get pulled into the blast radius if something else sets him off. He’s not dangerous to you, Talia. But he’s a live wire. And live wires burn everyone touching them.”
Not dangerous to you.
He has no idea he’s already wrapped me in the middle of it. No idea the live wire is the one person who made me feel seen in a room full of noise. No idea that I’ve already touched it, and the burn is the only thing keeping me warm.
I swallow. “Got it.”
“I mean it,” he says, voice softening. “You’re my first priority. Him, the team, the record—that all comes after. If you ever feel off around him, you call me. Or Adrian. Or both.”
The protectiveness hurts in a different way. It’s love and blind spot, both. He wants to keep me away from the storm and doesn’t see that I’m already standing in the rain. I nod, even though he can’t see it. “I’m fine, Dad.”
“Yeah,” he says, not quite believing me. “You always say that.”
A whistle blows, signaling the start of warm-ups. Game time is approaching.
“I have to go,” he says. “We’ll talk Sunday. Maybe grab brunch? Somewhere that doesn’t sell hot dogs.”
A tiny laugh slips out. “We’ll see.”
“Love you, kid.”
The words land like a rough hand on my shoulder, heavy and steady.
