I stand up before I realize it, a low, involuntary sound escaping my throat. “Let’s go!”
The crowd surges to its feet, roaring, chanting his name. His teammates mob him, Thorn right at the center of it, wrapping an arm around Alaric’s neck, shouting something in his ear.
Alaric grins. Something honest and unguarded that I’ve never seen directed at me. It does something strange to my chest. I sit down again, heartbeat too loud in my ears. It’s pathetic, I know. I shouldn’t care. But I do.
I can’t stop picturing the way he looked last time we spoke — flushed, furious, shaking between wanting to hit me andwanting me closer. That look doesn’t belong to anyone else. Not Thorn. Not the fans. Mine. The word surfaces unbidden, hot and possessive. I shove it down, but it stays, burning.
By the third period, the Titans are up by two. They’re in sync, the crowd is euphoric, and I’m suffocating.
When the final buzzer sounds, the whole building shakes. Confetti cannons fire. Someone behind me screams, “Marry me, Alaric!” and another girl replies, “He’s already taken!”
That’s it. I can’t.
I slip out of my seat before the players start their victory lap. My hood goes up. The crowd parts around me like I’m smoke. The sound of their cheers follows me down the concourse, muffled by concrete walls, and it makes my teeth ache.
I don’t want to see him smiling beside Thorn during post-game interviews. I don’t want to see fans pressing against the glass with their handmade signs and hearts in their eyes.
Because I know, deep down, that I’d never let him be that public with me.
He’s too bright for my kind of dark.
Outside, the night air cuts sharply against my face. I keep my head down, walking fast through the parking lot until I find a corner where the floodlights don’t reach. The adrenaline crashes all at once, leaving me hollow and wired.
My phone buzzes with a message from Phoenix, just a question mark, because he probably noticed I skipped team dinner again. I type back,not hungry,and shove the phone in my pocket.
But that’s a lie too.
I’m starving. For something I don’t have a right to want. Through the distant glass of the arena doors, I see the Titans filing out, heading toward the buses. For a moment, Alaric appears — helmet off, hair damp, cheeks flushed, laughing atsomething Thorn says. The camera lights flash around them like fireworks.
He looks happy. He looksalive.
I hate that I love watching it.
Then I’m already opening my phone. My thumbs move before my better judgment kicks in.
Magnus:Good game.
His message is immediate, making something soften in my chest.
Alaric:You were watching?
Magnus:I find myself always catching your games now.
Magnus:You are a true force.
Alaric:That was actually sweet. I didn’t know that was possible.
A smile warms my face as I shut my car door.
Magnus:I can be more than just sweet, prince.
Magnus:You on the road?
Alaric:Why?
Magnus:Because I’m nearby.
Magnus:Maybe I miss a certain someone and want to see them.
