“Uh…” I clear my throat, suddenly way more nervous than I should be. “Just wanted to see if you needed help with anything. Or, y’know. Lunch. Coffee. Company.”
Now he looks up. But it’s that blank, unreadable expression he uses when he’s pissed at some of the guys when they slack during practice.
“I’m good,” he says. “But thanks.”
Something inside me twists. Tightens. I lean against the doorframe, forcing a smile. “Okay. Well… I can hang out until you’re done.”
“Not today,” he says, voice clipped. “I’ve got plans.”
Plans. Right.
“Cool,” I say too quickly. “Yeah. That’s… fine.”
He nods once. “You should hang out with your friends. I'm sure they miss you.”
I blink.
Then I mouth the word —Wow—so quiet it doesn’t even reach the air. Just the shape of it. The kind of reaction you give when you’ve just been slapped and you don’t want to make a sound.
I don’t know if he sees it. I hope he doesn’t. And yet… maybe Ido.
Because ithurts. Like a punch to the ribs I didn’t brace for. Like I opened up everything and handed it to him—only to be told to go hang out with someone else.
I nod again, but it’s slower this time. Mechanical. I can feel the heat behind my eyes building, pressure like a storm surge.
I blink fast. Not here. Not now. I won’t let him see me cry.
“Right,” I say, swallowing hard. “Wouldn’t want my… neediness to get in the way.”
His mouth opens slightly, just for a second—but I’m already turning. Because if I stay, if I stand there any longer, I might say too much. I mightask—what plans? Why not me? Why now?
And I’m scared I already know the answer. Because this was always the risk, wasn’t it? I’m too loud. Too much. I wear my heart on my sleeve and expect people to hold it gently. But they don’t. Not for long.
And maybe I should’ve known better than to hope he would.
Instead, I turn and walk.
Locker room door, hallway, sunlight. I don’t even realizeI’m blinking hard until the breeze hits my face and a tear slips down my cheek. God. No.No.
I swipe it away as though it betrayed me, as if it means anything. It doesn’t. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s not mine. We don’t evenhavea label. I knew that.
But still.
Ifeltlike his. And now I feel like a fucking idiot.
“Luke—wait.”
I hear his voice behind me, closer than I thought. I don’t stop walking.
“Luke,” he says again, and then I feel his hand close around my wrist, pulling me just enough that I stop beside the bleachers.
“What?” I ask, not looking at him. My voice is tight. Brittle. “You forget to assign me extra drills?”
I know I’m being petty, but I can’t help myself.Geez, pull yourself together. He didn’t say he didn’t want you anymore, he said spend time with your friends. God, he probably thinks I’m the most immature, neediest guy he knows.
His jaw flexes. “It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?” I shoot back, finally facing him. “You’ve barely looked at me all day. You acted like I didn’t exist during practice. And now you’re blowing me off like—like I’m some random hookup who got too clingy.”
