It was always him.
Still, the thought didn’t settle right. It pressed under my ribs, heavy and sharp, until my grip on the steering wheel turned white again.
If she wants to cry over him, fine.
If she wants to look at him like he hung the damn moon, fine.
Let her.
But God, seeing her like that, shoulders shaking, wiping her face like the world just ended… it did something to me I don’t even want to name.
I shouldn’t care.
I don’t care.
Except I do.
And that’s the worst part.
Because if it wasn’t Miller, if she was crying because of me, then I didn’t know what the hell to do with that.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Aurora / Joshua
Aurora
The morning air bit at my fingers as I walked toward the field, notebook clutched tight against my chest. I didn’t think he’d want me here after yesterday, not that he ever wanted me anywhere, but it was on the schedule. Shadow day. No excuses.
When the field came into view, I slowed. Two figures sat on the bleachers, Alex and Jennie.
Jennie’s hair was tied up in her usual messy bun, sketchpad balanced on her knees, pencil moving fast. Alex lounged beside her, half watching her draw, half sketching his own version of whatever was in front of him. They looked… peaceful. Comfortable. Like the world didn’t spin as violently for them as it did for me. Must be a free period.
Jennie noticed me first. She waved, bright and open, like always. “Rory! You’re early!”
I gave a small wave back, unsure if I should even approach.
Joshua was a few feet ahead, talking to one of the assistant coaches. His back was to me, but I could already tell from the tension in his shoulders that it wasn’t a good morning.
Jennie gestured for me to come sit beside them. “Come on, we’re just sketching the field. Alex is trying to prove he’s better than me, but he’s not.”
Alex glanced up, smirking. “Because you keep erasing your lines, perfectionist.”
Jennie rolled her eyes and turned back to me, softer now. “You can sit here until the session starts. He’s in a mood, so give him a minute.”
He’s in a mood. Huh. I guess the same Joshua is… back?
Still, I nodded and took a careful seat beside her, flipping open my notebook to the section labelled Week Six: Player Observation.
December 12th. Cold. Cloudy. Joshua Lockhart: unreadable.
I could feel his presence from here. Like gravity. Like he was aware of me even when he wasn’t looking.
Jennie peeked at my notes, smiling faintly. “You write so neatly.”
I smiled back, small. Safe.
But my eyes drifted toward him again: broad shoulders, damp hair from practice, his breath fogging in the cold air.
