It’s the opposite.
He was right, of course. And the fact that he was right made it hurt even worse.
I flipped my phone facedown on my thigh and pressed the heel of my free hand to my forehead, breathing through the urge to type back something mean and petty.
Something that woulddefinitelymake this worse.
I closed my eyes and counted to five before opening them again.
By the time we landed in L.A., I felt like I was vibrating out of my skin. I’d been living on too much caffeine and too little sleep, and it was starting to catch up with me.
At the hotel—some marble and glass high-rise that was way too cold for this time of year—my teammates peeled off in small clusters, some heading for the bar, others to the elevators.
When I reached my floor, I found my room at the end of a long, narrow hallway that smelled of carpet shampoo and something intensely floral, masking other scents.
Inside, I tossed my keycard on the dresser, kicked off my shoes, and just stood there trying to remember what I needed to do next.
Shower. Food. Stretch. Sleep.
All of it felt so fucking impossible.
A quick knock sounded at the door.
My stomach dropped, and for one stupid moment, my brain tried to trick me into thinking it’d be Sebastian. But then reality caught up with me, and I bit back a sob.
The knock came again, louder this time.
I crossed the room and yanked the door open to find Bell standing on the other side, dressed in sweats and a team hoodie, his long hair pulled into a bun. He stared at me for a beat—long enough that I knew he’d clocked everything I’d been trying desperately not to show the past few days—and then lifted his chin.
“Invite me in.”
"What are you, a vampire?" I stepped back, gesturing for him to enter.
Bell nudged the door shut with the heel of his sneaker. He didn’t move far, just stood there for a second, hands in his hoodie pocket, his eyes sweeping the room before settling back on me. “You gonna tell me what’s going on, T?”
I swallowed around the lump in my throat, the action painful like I’d been yelling, even though I hadn’t.
“Nothing’s going on,” I told him, turning away so he wouldn’t see the lie on my face.
But not before I saw his eyebrows lift, his expression telling me that he knew I was full of shit.
I ran a hand through my hair, my fingers snagging on a knot I didn’t realize was there. “Okay. It’s not nothing, but I’m dealing with it.”
“Like hell you are.”
I managed to huff out a laugh—the first one in days. Leave it to Bell to give it to me straight.
“I fucked up,” I admitted, turning back to him. “Not just tonight against the Rush, but before that, too. With Sebastian.”
“You guys fought,” he said, crossing the room.
It wasn’t a question.
I nodded once in reply.
He dropped into the armchair, one ankle braced over his opposite knee, his chin tipping toward the bed—an unspoken directive for me to take a seat.
“Start at the beginning.”
