She was mine. Even if I hadn’t earned it yet. Even if she didn’t know it. But one thing was certain: she wasn’t about to be one ofMiles’sgirls.
Over my fucking dead body.
I leaned back and waited—waited for him to walk away from my fucking girl. She gave the jacket back.He can get lost. Why the fuck is he lingering around so long?But then he leaned down. Close. Too fucking close. His ear almost brushing her lips,as if he had every right to invade that space, like hebelongedthere. And she let him.
I froze.
Because her lips… they moved.
Slow, trembling, almost like it hurt her. Like every syllable was a war she couldn’t win. But she gave it to him, anyway. Not to me. Not to the one who never forced, never demanded—him.I’ve been respectful.Because I thought waiting would make it mine in the end.And now look at me. Sitting here like a fucking joke, watching another man take every piece of her I’ve been starving for.
So much for patience. So much for being careful. So much for respecting boundaries. Respect just got me burned.
I couldn’t hear what she said; I was too far, but I didn’t need to. The stutter, the way her mouth shaped words she never dared to—fuck, I saw it.
I felt it like a knife sliding under my ribs.
She spoke.
Not to me. Not once.
But to him.
My chest burned. My fists clenched. I wanted to rip that stupid smile off his face because he didn’tearnit. He didn’t deserve it. Her voice—fragile, fractured, beautiful—was supposed to be mine. And now I couldn’t stop replaying it in my head, over and over. Her lips moving. Trembling. Stuttering. For another man.
My hand curled so tight on the bench I swore it’d splinter beneath my palm. I could hear the faint crack, the wood begging me to let go before I snapped it clean in half. And Miles, fucking Miles, just chuckled. Like he had the right to laugh with her. Like he’d earned that flush painting her cheeks.
Her lips trembled, a stutter falling out, and instead of freezing, instead of realising what a miracle he’d been given, that smug bastard just nodded. Nodded as if it was casual. Like it was nothing.
She bit her lip, embarrassed, and he leaned back with that effortless grin, reassuring her. Playing the gentleman, the charmer. The same act he’s pulled with half the damn campus.
Heat surged up my neck, through my chest, so heavy I thought I’d choke on it. I couldn’t sit there anymore. If I stayed, I’d snap. I’d rip that smirk off his face and drag her away before he could so much as breathe near her again.
So I pushed off the bench, fists still tight, and stalked toward the field. The air hit colder, sharper, but it didn’t cool me down. Not even close.
Practice. I needed practice. Something to bleed the fury out of me before it consumed me whole. Because if I didn’t, Miles Miller was going to leave this campus in pieces.
Chapter Eleven
Aurora / Joshua
Aurora
The wind carried the sound of his voice before I even saw him. Sharp. Louder than usual. Demanding.
When I walked over, hugging my folder close to my chest, he was already on the field. And it wasn’t the Joshua I’d shadowed before.
This one was… different. Every pass he made cracked through the air as if he wanted to break the ball. Every command came out clipped, harsher, like the team had done something wrong even when they hadn’t. His movements were sharper, faster, like he was fighting something I couldn’t see.
I’d never seen him like that.
The others joked, laughed, even when they were tired, but no one dared with him today. The whole field felt heavier because of him.
I stopped at the edge of the bleachers, tightening my grip on the folder. My chest ached with a strange kind of worry. He looked… angry. No, more than angry. He looked furious.
And yet, when his eyes flicked over to me, just for a second, my breath caught. It wasn’t fury aimed at me. Not exactly. Butit was something else, something sharp and burning that made my knees press together, my body want to shrink and stay… and watch. Because I didn’t know what, or who, had caused that storm inside him. But I knew one thing: he was seconds away from letting it consume him.
I sat stiff on the bleacher, fingers trembling as I scribbled in my notebook. His sharp voice carried across the field, and every time his shoe connected with the ball, it echoed like thunder in my chest.
