Hard.
The ball shot through the air like a bullet—fast, clean—but the second it left my foot, I knew.
Too high. Too fucking hard.
It didn’t hit the bleachers.
Fuck. It didn’t hit the bleachers.
Her pen fell first, then her notebook, then her hand clutched her arm, red blooming instantly under her sleeve.
Her lips parted in a silent gasp. Those glassy eyes lifted, locked on me, wide, confused, hurt.
And I froze.
Everything around me—the shouting, the whistles, the echo of cleats—blurred out. My lungs burned, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
What did I just do?
My foot still hovered midair, useless. The world spun, tilting, collapsing inward because I—
I hurt her.
I hurt her.
Her.
Not some random player. Not one of the guys.
Her.
The one person I swore I’d never fucking touch again.
And she was looking right at me like she didn’t even know who I was anymore.
I wanted to run to her, to say something, anything… but all I did was stand there, hands trembling, heart pounding at my ribs.
Fuck, I felt sick.
I stared as her body shook, lip parted as if to choke out something, anything. And she did.
Shecried.
Right there on the damn bleachers, she broke.
Her hand clutched her arm, and the first tear hit before she could stop it. Then another. And another. Silent, choking, shoulders shaking… and I just stood there.
Alex’s head snapped toward me, his eyes narrowing like he wanted to say something, wanted to kill me, but he didn’t. He just turned away, jaw tight, and moved.
He stood up, moving past Jennie and crouched beside her, whispering something I couldn’t hear over the ringing in my head. Then, gently, he lifted her up, one arm around her back, one under her knees.
Jennie was right behind him, grabbing her bag, her notes, and her pen that had rolled down the steps. Her face was pale.
Everyone’s was.
Except mine.
I was empty.
