Wren glares at him, but Harlow’s gaze stays on me.
And then she says softly, “Can you?—”
She doesn’t finish. But her eyes drop to my face again.
I nod immediately.
“Yeah,” I say. “We can go.”
Wren looks between us, reads the room, and lifts her hands in surrender.
“I’m going to take myself out of this,” she says, backing away. “Harlow, text me when you’re in. Also, Weston, don’t follow me.”
Weston puts two fingers to his forehead like a salute. “No promises.”
Wren points at him. “I’m serious.”
Weston’s grin turns feral. “I know.”
Wren walks away, but Weston stays put. He acts like he’s counting in his head, and he must be, because less than a minute later, he sends me a wink and follows in the exact direction Wren just went.
I shake my head, and Harlow watches them go, then looks back at me like she’s remembering what just happened.
Her voice drops. “Are you okay?”
My cheek throbs again like it wants to answer for me.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
Harlow’s eyes narrow slightly.
I correct myself. “I’m okay.”
That’s the honest version.
Harlow nods once, like she respects the difference.
“Come on,” she says quietly.
And I follow her out.
The walk back to her dorm is quieter than it should be after a game. The campus is still buzzing—students yelling, cars honking, someone chanting the score like it’s a religious experience. But around Harlow, the noise softens. Or maybe my brain just shifts into a different mode when she’s beside me.
Harlow keeps her hands tucked into the sleeves of my jersey, shoulders hunched slightly like she’s bracing against the cold. Or maybe against the night.
I keep my hands in my pockets because I don’t trust them to behave. I want to touch her in a way that doesn’t belong ona sidewalk in public. I want to pull her against me and take her home and shut the world out and tell her she doesn’t ever have to hear words like that again.
But I don’t.
I keep pace. I stay steady. That’s what she needs.
At her dorm entrance, she stops and looks up at me.
The lobby light spills onto her face, catching her eyes, and something in my chest twists.
“Come up,” she says.
It isn’t a question. It’s a decision.
