Not abruptly.
Not rough.
But enough.
Her eyes search mine immediately.
And there it is.
The answer I didn’t give.
She exhales slowly.
Nods once.
Small.
Controlled.
“Okay,” she says.
But it doesn’t sound okay.
“I get it.”
I hate that I’m the reason her voice changed.
But she doesn’t break.
Doesn’t fall apart.
Isa straightens.
Adjusts her crutch.
Lifts her chin.
“But I’m not done,” she adds quietly.
My brows pull.
“I don’t lose easily, Tristan.”
A beat.
“And I’m not giving you up over a look.”
Then she turns.
Starts moving toward the parking lot.
And I stand there—watching her go.
Knowing two things at the exact same time: I should have chosen her and I didn’t.
Which means—this just got a hell of a lot more complicated.
I don’t go back to the team house.
