And at some point, everything we’ve been holding back — the evidence, the legal stuff, the tension, the feelings, the mistakes — it’s all going to collide.
My gut tells me I’m running out of time.
And that’s when I decide.
Tomorrow is the opening varsity basketball game.
My first chance to make a move.
My first chance to remind her exactly who the hell I am.
Not the broken version.
Not the coward she walked away from.
The king.
And if she’s the phoenix rising, then I’m about to meet her flame with fire of my own.
Chapter 11
JADE
By Friday night,the campus gym looked like a sold-out arena. The kind of overblown production that only a prep school with a seven-figure booster budget could pull off.
A haze of fog machines curled over the court, tinted red and gold from strobing lights. The bass from the speakers hit deep in my chest—hip-hop remixes shaking the bleachers as cheerleaders flipped and tossed each other through clouds of glitter spray.
Confetti cannons waited, primed at the sidelines. The drumline rolled into a thunder that made the banners on the walls flutter. Students waved LED bracelets that blinked in sync to the music, and for a second, the whole place pulsed like a heartbeat.
Royal Oaks didn’t do subtle.
I stood near the top of the bleachers with Shani and Mindy, the “entourage,” as Shani proudly called us. Her lip gloss sparkled in the flashing lights. Hayden was already taking notes for an exposé on the school’s budget priorities. I just… watched.
When the lights dimmed, the scoreboard screens lit up—highlight reels flashing across the digital boards. Names boomed over the speakers.
“Number 11… co-captain…Leo Holt!”
The crowd erupted.
I didn’t want to look.
But I did.
There he was on the giant screen—smog swirling, lights slicing through haze—dribbling down the lane like the floor belonged to him. Sweat glistened on his temples, the muscles in his arms flexing with each move. Those same arms I used to trace with my fingertips, slow and secret, like they were the only safe place I knew.
The cheers grew louder, the beat syncing with the rhythm of his steps. Then the fireworks—tiny golden sparklers shot up at the corners of the court like a mini NBA intro, because of course they did.
He looked… untouchable.
Every girl in the stands leaned forward when he smiled. When he winked. When he lifted a hand in salute toward the crowd.
And when the cheerleaders ran out to toss white flowers—real roses—onto the court for him and Xavier, my throat went tight.
Because I couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t roll my eyes or laugh it off like I didn’t care.
Because we were over.
Because he wasn’t mine to look at anymore.
