“Jace.”
Her voice breaks the silence, soft but edged. Sierra leans against the doorway, arms folded over her chest like she’s been standing there longer than I realized. Her hair’s pulled into a loose knot, a few strands falling against her cheek. She looks tired, like the weight of everything is pressing on her the same as it is me.
“You’ve been somewhere else all night,” she says. Not a question, an accusation wrapped in concern. “What’s going on?”
I force my hand to move, dragging the pen across the paper like proof I’ve been working. “Nothing. Just film. Long day.”
Her eyes narrow. She’s not buying it. “It’s more than that, please stop shutting me out.”
I set the pen down, scrub a hand over my face, and lean back in the chair. “It’s work, Sierra. That’s all.”
“Work.” She repeats it flat, like she’s tasting the word and finding it bitter. Her arms tighten across her chest. “You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.” The lie is practiced, too smooth, and it tastes wrong the second it leaves my mouth.
Her gaze lingers on me, sharp and unblinking. “Funny. Because when you’re distracted like this… it’s never just work.”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
She tilts her head, studying me the way she used to when she was trying to pull a smile out of me. Only now it’s suspicion, resignation. “It’s her, isn’t it?”
The air between us freezes. She doesn’t say Sarah’s name, but she doesn’t have to. My silence tells her everything.
“Sierra—”
“Don’t.” She cuts me off, voice breaking just enough to make me flinch. “I’m not asking you to explain. I just… I know when I don’t have all of you. I’ve always known.”
Her words land like stones in my chest, each one heavier than the last. I want to tell her she’s wrong. That she’s imagining things. But she isn’t, and we both know it.
I push back from the table, the chair legs scraping across the tile. “I need some air.”
She doesn’t try to stop me. She just stands there, arms folded tight, watching me walk past like she already knows I’m halfway gone.
In the doorway, I pause, hand on the frame, but no words come. Nothing that would fix this, but so much that wouldn’t make it worse. Neither of us asked for this life.
So I leave.
And the silence that follows feels louder than anything I could’ve said.
…………
Morning practice comes too fast. The sound of whistles and cleats replaces the silence I left behind at home, but it doesn’t drown it out.
The locker room hums with noise, water pounding in the showers, cleats clattering against tile, voices bouncing off the walls in easy rhythm. I sit on the bench, towel draped around my shoulders, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor like it might give me something steady to hold onto. It doesn’t.
Across the room, Miller, one of the trainers, lets out a low whistle. “Had myself a hell of a date last weekend.”
Another trainer snorts. “Yeah? With who?”
He grins, smug. “Sarah Evans. From the comms office.”
The words slam through me harder than a blindside hit. I don’t move, don’t blink, but my grip on the towel tightens until my knuckles ache.
“Damn, the woman’s hot,” the second trainer says, laughing. “Didn’t think you had that kind of pull.”
Their voices fade into the background hum again, but my pulse doesn’t. It’s pounding in my ears, drowning out the showers, the chatter, everything else. Because I can picture it too easily, Sarah smiling across a table at him, her laugh spilling out, her hair tucked behind her ear, the way it always fell loose when she got nervous.
And the thought of her with someone else guts me.
