Someone laughed. Someone cursed. Someone said something about our departure being pushed up.
But I barely heard it.
Because all I could think about was the way she looked walking out. Like she meant it.
Like she thought it was better to leave before she got too close.
Too late.
I was already too close.
I finished the bar, tossed the wrapper, and stood.
“Where you going?” Caleb asked.
I grabbed my bag. “Nowhere far.”
But even I didn’t believe that.
Because wherever she was?
That was exactly where I wanted to be.
The bus ride back to Michigan was quiet. Too quiet.
Rain trailed down the windows in slow, heavy streaks, blurring the grey landscape outside into smudged shapes and muted tones. A typical January day—overcast, dull, like the sky couldn’t be bothered to care. The kind of cold that crept into your bones and made everything feel heavier.
Most of the guys were passed out, headphones in, hoods up. Adam was snoring across the aisle. Caleb had a blanket pulled up to his chin like a grizzly in hibernation. Even Derek—who usually had something to say about everything—was out cold.
I sat in the last row, sprawled across two seats, staring at the back of the headrest in front of me like it might offer answers.
It didn’t.
My phone stayed in my pocket. Still no word from her. No text. No call. Just silence.
I replayed everything—every moment, every word, every breath she gave me. The way her fingers threaded through my hair. The way she whispered my name like it meant something. The way she was just… gone when I woke up.
She hadn’t even left a note.
I didn’t sleep. Couldn’t.
Instead, I watched the road blur by as we crossed into familiar state lines. Michigan looked as bleak as my mood. Slate skies, brittle trees stripped bare, patches of snow clinging to the edges of the highway like they didn’t know where else to go.
Just like me.
It felt like I was dragging the weight of something I couldn’t name, couldn’t fix, couldn’t let go of.
The only thing I knew for sure was this: Whatever happened back there wasn’t over.
Not for me.
The second I parked outside her apartment, my pulse was already hammering. I didn’t even give myself a chance to think it through—just killed the engine and slammed the door shut behind me like the noise could drown out the way my thoughts were screaming.
I didn’t text again. Didn’t call. I wasn’t in the mood to ask for permission.
The whole drive from the stadium, I’d been locked in—jaw tight, hands gripping the wheel, playing out every version of this conversation in my head. What I’d say. What she might say. The hundred ways this could go wrong. But none of it mattered.
I needed to see her.
