“I’m not,” I say. I know I’m lying.
Coach’s words slam through my head.She doesn’t need another storm.
I force my feet to keep moving. Past the lockers. Past the trophy case. Past the spot where her eyes flickered away.
I don’t say her name.
I don’t say anything.
As I hit the doors to the parking lot, I can see her reflection in the glass—small, hood up, turned toward Clara again. Trying to look like she wasn’t watching. Trying to be normal.
I step out into the cold. The air bites my lungs. My hands ache.
I want to turn back.
I want to walk down that hall, right up to her, and ask if she slept. If 4C slammed his door again. If she still hears the locker.
Instead, I walk to my truck.
I unlock the door. Thethunkof the mechanism echoes in the quiet lot, a mirror of the sound I waited for in hers.
I get in. I sit there with the engine off, forehead against the wheel, the tape on my hands biting into the leather.
Coach gave me my crease back.
He also gave me a clearer leash.
Stay in the box.
Stay in control.
Stay away from her.
I close my eyes and see her anyway.
Her breath fogging the night.
Her eyes on me in the hallway, just for a second, before she looked away.
Want is a living thing under my ribs, pacing the cage.
For her.
For the calm she brings into the noise.
For the way she sits in the same silence without trying to fill it.
I put the truck in gear.
I tell myself I’m driving away for her sake. For Coach. For the team.
But the truth is uglier and simpler.
If I let myself close that distance before I’ve got a tighter grip on this monster in my chest, I won’t stop at almost.
Chapter 11
Talia
