CHAPTER ONE
Stella
Stanford College(Late Summer before Sophomore Year)
The first time I saw Tristan Vale again, I almost spiked a volleyball straight through his head.
The gym at Stanford smelled like rubber, sweat, and fresh polish. Early morning light slanted through the high windows, turning the court gold. Coach was yelling split times. My thighs burned. My pulse thudded in my ears.
Good.
Pain kept me steady, pain meant I was here—the D1 preseason dream.
“Cortez!” Coach Alvarez barked. “Again. Harder.”
I jumped.
Contact.
The ball cracked against the floor like a gunshot. I bent to grab it when the doors opened behind the bleachers.
I don’t know why I looked.
Maybe instinct.
Maybe trauma has its own radar.
Maybe some ghosts never stop following you.
And then?—
Him.
Tristan Vale!?
“What the fuck?”The hoarse whisper tore from my soul more than it did my mouth.Was I hallucinating?Did I not drink enough electrolytes before practice?
No way. But I knew it was him—by the way his dark hair fell into his eyes like he’d just rolled out of bed or stepped off a magazine cover.
That stupid, sharp jaw.
Those cold, assessing eyes that always made you feel like you were either a problem or a prize.
My stomach dropped so fast it hurt.
No.
No, no, no.
Not here.
He scanned the gym lazily, hands in his pockets, like he owned the building.
Like he owned me.
Same as before.
Rage came quick. Hot. Clean.
