One moment in a thousand. One hand in mine.
Fake, I told myself. Staged.
But the warmth that had lingered in my palm told a different story.
And that was the problem.
I didn’t know what story we were telling anymore—or which one I wanted it to be.
Chapter 10
Kieren
My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.
I was halfway through foam rolling my quad, trying to ignore the ache in my shoulder from yesterday’s tackle, when it lit up again—for the tenth time in two minutes.
Storm Group Chat.
I sighed and tapped in, already regretting it.
Beckett: SOFT BOY WALKER ERA CONFIRMED.
Adam: Bro. You held her hand. Publicly. Is this a hostage situation?
Caleb: Let him live.
Asher: You smiled. People are calling it the Walker Renaissance.
I stared at the screen like I could will them all to spontaneously combust.
Idiots. Every last one of them.
I muted the thread and dropped my phone on the floor beside me. Closed my eyes. Breathed.
I could handle bruised ribs. A torn ACL. Hell, even that time I broke my wrist and played through it. But this?
Being turned into some soft-focus internet boyfriend?
It was exhausting.
The worst part?
I’d meant to hold her hand.
There wasn’t a camera in my head. No PR team whispering in my ear. It had just… happened. One second we were walking, the next I’d seen her fingers twitch, and I reached for her without thinking.
No script. No plan.
Just this quiet little pull toward her I couldn’t explain.
And now it was everywhere. Fan edits. Memes. A slowed-down video of me looking at her like she was the damn sun.
I scrubbed a hand over my face.
This was a disaster.
Not because of the trending hashtag or the team clowning me in group chat—but because none of it had felt fake.
