“I…think so,” she says. “Tomorrow’s just…”
She doesn’t finish. She doesn’t have to. I feel it anyway. Tomorrow is a room full of sound with too many eyes. Tomorrow is a thing she wants to do and also a thing that could bite.
I keep my voice steady. “You don’t have to come.”
Her gaze snaps to mine, sharp. “Yes, I do.”
I lift my brows. “Okay, baby.”
She rolls her eyes, but her mouth softens. “I’m going.”
I nod once. “Then you’re going. And if you leave early, you still went.”
Harlow’s shoulders drop a fraction, like her nervous system just got approval. I hate how much I want to give her thatfeeling. Even more so the relief that comes with it. She walks a few steps into the living room and stops, arms folding over her stomach like she’s holding herself together.
“I don’t want you to be disappointed if I can’t,” she says quietly.
The words hit me in the ribs because she’s always trying to manage everyone else’s feelings before she even touches her own.
“I won’t,” I say, immediately.
Her eyes narrow. “You will.”
I exhale. “Okay. Fine. I might. I’m human, but I’m not going to put that on you.”
She stares at me like she’s trying to decide if that’s real.
Then, softer, “I really want to be there to support you.”
“Yeah?” I ask evenly, like I’m not hanging on every word she gives me.
Harlow nods. “Yeah. I want to see you play.”
“Careful, baby. I’m starting to think you’re obsessed with me.”
She laughs. “Well, you’re not fully wrong there. Also, can I have your jersey?”
I blink, surprised by the question. “What?”
Harlow’s cheeks immediately turn red. “For the game.”
My brain stutters. I know what she’s asking, and I also don’t know how to hold it without breaking something.
My number. My name on her back.
Herchoosingit.
I feel it everywhere. In my throat. In my stomach. In the space in my chest where something fragile still lives.
“You want—” My voice cracks. I clear my throat. “You want my jersey?”
Harlow lifts one shoulder like she’s trying to make it lighter. It fails. “Yes.”
“And you’re asking,” I say, because it matters that the choice is hers.
She nods once, eyes steady. “I’m asking.”
I stare at her for a second too long. She shifts, like she’s about to backpedal. “Never mind,” she starts, too quick?—
