Josie turns her phone so we can all see. “Have you seen this band? Steel Saints? They areeverywhereright now.”
My stomach tightens before my brain catches up.
“They’re in Vegas,” Kylie adds. “They just played some insane impromptu show out on the Strip. Look at this.” She swipes, then holds the screen out toward Lindy, who squints at it.
“Oh shit,” Lindy says. “They’re hot.”
I snort. “That’s your critical analysis?”
“Yes,” she says seriously. “I stand by it.”
Josie laughs. “They’ve been blowing up all over my feed. Like interviews, clips, random photos. Apparently the lead singer is ridiculous live.”
Kylie nods. “I saw an interview earlier. He’s really smart. Like unexpectedly smart.”
My chest feels tight now, breath shallow, but I keep my expression neutral. I’ve had years of practice.
“Where are they from?” Lindy asks, already scrolling on her own phone.
“California, I think,” Josie says. “But—wait.” She frowns. “No. I think that’s where they went to college maybe. Hold on.” She taps at the screen, then looks up, eyes wide. “Wait. No way. The lead singer… do you know him?”
The question lands hard.
Lindy’s head snaps toward me. “What?”
Josie nods eagerly. “Yeah. It says here he studied music at the University of California before the band took off.”
Kylie looks between us. “You went there, too, right?”
I take a sip of my drink to buy myself half a second. “Yeah.”
Lindy stares at me, suddenly alert in a way that makes my shoulders tense. “Okay. So please tell me you know him.”
There it is. The moment where I decide how much truth to give. “I do,” I say carefully. “Yeah.”
Her eyes light up. “No shit.”
Josie leans forward. “Like—know himknow him?”
I shrug, keeping it casual. “We hang out sometimes. He’s a good guy. The whole band are. I know them all from college.” That’s true. Entirely true. It’s also the furthest I can safely go.
Lindy studies my face, something thoughtful flickering behind her excitement. “That’s wild.”
“Right?” Kylie says. “Do you think the lead singer would ever come to one of your games?”
I laugh softly, also amused that they’re focusing a lot on Rafe. “I doubt it.” I’m so full of shit. He’s desperate to get to as many games as possible.
Josie sighs dramatically. “Figures. All the hot ones are always unattainable.”
The word makes something twist inside me.
They go back to scrolling, pulling up more photos—Rafe laughing with people whose names I don’t know, arms slung casually around shoulders, leaning in close the way you do when the night is loud and the moment feels easy. Nothing about it is incriminating. Nothing about it crosses a line.
And still, I feel it like a bruise being pressed. I shouldn’t. I know that. He’s allowed to be existing fully in his world, to be seen and admired and wanted. He hasn’t done anything wrong.
I’m the one who asked for caution. I’m the one who saidwait. I’m the one who stays quiet when people make assumptions.
The jealousy sits heavy and sour in my chest, tangled up with something worse. Guilt. Because I don’t get to be angry when I’m the one hiding.
