I open my locker and stare into it like it contains instructions.
All I can see is Lila under those stadium lights. The way she looked like she didn’t belong and came anyway. The way she kissed my cheek first, quick and sweet, and the crowd went insane like we’d fed them blood.
Then I see her face this morning. Guarded. Hurt. Trying to act like she didn’t need anything from me.
My throat goes tight.
I don’t defend her to the guys. I don’t explain.
I don’t say it was her choice.
Because if I say it out loud, it becomes real in a way I can’t control.
So I do what I’ve always done.
I shut down.
It’s not dramatic.
It’s a slow slide into cold silence, like easing underwater and letting the noise get muffled. Like this is safer.
The guys notice. They always do.
The teasing tapers off, replaced by glances that linger too long.
I pull a clean jersey over my head and breathe through my nose, steady.
A win should feel good.
Instead, all I can feel is the fear underneath it.
That the more real it feels…
The harder it’ll hurt when it ends.
Jax drops onto the bench beside me like he’s claiming territory.
“You good?” he asks.
I sit and bend forward, focusing on my cleats. “Fine.” The word comes out automatic. Empty.
He watches me for a long beat. Long enough that the locker room noise fades into background static.
“You don’t look fine,” he says.
I stand and slam my locker shut. Metal rings sharp in the air.
“It’s nothing,” I say. “Drop it.”
Jax rises too. He lowers his voice. “Drake, don’t ghost her.”
The word hits harder than it should.
“I’m not ghosting anyone,” I snap.
He studies my face. “You sure?”
I don’t answer.
