"Wait." I grabbed her arm. "Please. Just—just don't do anything tonight. Just think about it—"
She looked down at my hand on her arm. Then up at my face. Something in her expression that I'd never seen before—not anger, not hurt. Disgust.
"Let go of me."
I dropped my hand. My fingers were shaking.
"You don't get to ask me for anything," she said. "Not anymore."
She pulled out her phone. Ride app.
We stood in silence. Waiting. The cold brutal now. My hands numb. Wind carrying laughter and music from inside—the party continuing like nothing had happened. The streetlight hummed above us, faint and electric, the only sound that belonged to this moment.
I couldn't leave. Couldn't walk away until I knew she was safe.
A car pulled up. She moved toward it.
"Emily—"
She stopped. Turned back.
"Tomorrow," she said. "The invitational. I'm not coming."
She got in the car and the car pulled away.
I stood there. Alone in the parking lot. In my borrowed suit. Shaking from cold and shock and the weight of what just happened.
She didn't promise to keep quiet.
She didn't promise anything.
And why would she? Why should she protect me when I'd spent months lying to her face? When my first instinct—even now, even watching her fall apart—had been to ask her to carry my secret too?
The streetlight flickered once. Steadied. Cast everything in harsh orange.
I pressed my palms against my eyes until I saw colors. My breath was ragged—short, uneven, the kind of breathing Coach Hale would have told me to control. Four counts in, four counts out. But there was no controlling this. No technique for what was happening inside my chest.
My phone buzzed. Numb fingers.
Noah
Where are you? People are asking about Emily.
People were asking. Which meant people had noticed her leaving. Noticed her crying. Noticed me running after her.
Liam
Outside. Emily left. I'm coming back in.
Noah
What happened?
I couldn't answer that over text. Shoved my phone in my pocket.
I forced myself to walk. One foot in front of the other. Across the gravel. Each step crunching too loud in the quiet. My legs felt heavy—dead weight, like the last 500 meters of a race when your body has nothing left and the only thing keeping you moving is the refusal to stop.
Pulled open the heavy door. Heat hit my face like a wall and the music got louder. String lights crisscrossing overhead. The smell of cologne and wine and warm bodies packed together.
