“Because I’m already in trouble,” I say. “I’m being benched. Fined. Maybe suspended. Coach told me to lie low. No press. No noise. If you show up and anyone sees?—”
“Fuck what anyone sees,” Rafe snaps, then catches himself and lowers his voice. Vinny’s gaze sharpens, and he clears his throat subtly.
Rafe glances at him and forces his tone down. “Ollie. You’re hurt. You’re not sleeping alone tonight.”
“I have to,” I insist, panic flaring. “I can’t risk more attention. Not right now.”
He stares at me for a beat, then nods slowly, clearly swallowing his own frustration. “Okay.”
My stomach flips hard and wrong because he didn’t fight it harder. Because that acceptance feels like distance.
“Tomorrow’s still on,” Rafe says, eyes searching mine. “Yeah? I’ll pick you up at seven?”
My stomach turns violently.
Tomorrow.
His parents.
His childhood home.
The truth.
I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff and someone is asking me if I want to jump.
“I can’t,” I say, voice cracking.
Rafe stiffens. “What?”
“I can’t meet them like this,” I say, gesturing vaguely at my face. “I look like a thug. I look—” I swallow hard. “I can’t walk into their house with a black eye and be like ‘Hi, I’m your son’s secret husband.’ It’s too much.”
His eyes flash with anger. “So you’re backing out.”
“I’m not backing out,” I argue, desperate. “I’m saying it should have been during the offseason. This was too much pressure. My head wasn’t in the game, and?—”
“And what?” Rafe’s voice goes sharp, incredulous. “And now you’re blaming me for losing a fucking game?”
The words hit like a slap. “I’m not,” I say quickly. “That’s not what I’m?—”
“Yes, it is,” he snaps, voice low but furious. “You just said your head wasn’t in the game because of tomorrow.”
My throat closes. I want to explain the panic. The pressure. The way my mind has been fraying for weeks. The way Kirk’s words hit that raw spot and I snapped like a rubber band stretched too far.
Instead, all that comes out is “It’s too much.”
Rafe’s face hardens.
Vinny clears his throat again, more pointed this time, and subtly shifts closer as if to remind us there are ears everywhere.
Rafe’s eyes flick to him, then back to me. He lowers his voice to a furious whisper. “Fine.”
I blink.
“Whatever you want,” he says, the words controlled but loaded. “That’s the way it always is.”
My chest hollows out. “Rafe?—”
He shakes his head sharply. “No. I’m done doing this tonight.”
