I froze.
He wasn’t saying anything untrue or anything I wasn’t already aware of. And yet, something inside of me bristled, and my hackles rose, even though Iknewhe wasn’t talking abouther.
I forced a laugh and shoved him lightly. “Mate, I know how visas work. Relax.”
But deep down, something cracked. The truth was as simple as it was terrifying — I wouldn’t be able to just go home.
Not anymore.
Not when Tori was back home, probably pretending she wasn’t waiting for my text.
Not when I’d started imagining a whole future I had no right to imagine.
Not when the thought of leaving her felt like someone pressing a knee into my ribs.
The bus rumbled beneath me as I shifted from side to side, trying to get comfortable in the cramped seat. The night sky had swallowed the highway outside the windows, leaving only the blur of passing truck headlights and the low hum of tired conversation drifting between rows.
I slumped into my seat, my ribs still aching from two late tackles I probably should’ve avoided but didn’t,because apparently my brain considers football to be rugby with extra steps.
But for the first time since coming here … I had beengoodtoday.
Not perfect — not even close — but good enough.
I’d held the edge, shed blocks and found the runner twice before he got momentum. I even caught a pass clean as anything and stiff-armed a guy so hard he hit turf like a cartoon character.
On the walk back to the tunnel, I could still hear Marcus in my ear, though.
He’d grinned when he said it, the kind of lazy, cutting grin people used when they wanted to pretend they were joking but absolutely weren’t.
Yeah, it had stung, but nowhere near as badly as it used to. Now I had someone who actually believed I wasn’t a lost cause.
Tori.
Just thinking her name made my chest go hot. It was a bit pathetic, really, but I didn’t give a flying fuck.
I pulled out my phone, staring at the blank message screen like it held the secrets of the universe.
I wanted to text her normal stuff, like ‘How's your night?’ or ‘Hey, I didn’t die, yay me,’ or even ‘Miss you in a totally casual, non-clingy, non-desperate, non-whipped way.’
Except Iwaswhipped.
And the longer I sat in this bus seat, my muscles throbbing and my adrenaline fading, the more my brain spiraled back to her.
Watching her nimble fingers braid her hair, the bright red strands shiny and vibrant, and wondering how she did it without getting her fingers tangled up.
Feeling her small, warm body pressed against me. The tiny crease she always got between her eyebrows when she was focused. The way she sometimes looked at me, like I was trouble she wanted anyway.
I groaned into my palms.
Yeah, I was so fucking gone.
Completely, hopelessly, catastrophically gone.
The bus jolted over a pothole, shaking me back into reality. I blew out a breath, opened our message thread — which was, depressingly, mostly memes and her threatening me with physical harm — and typed.
You awake?
Three dots appeared instantly.
