Her throat worked as she swallowed. “I didn’t say that.”
“No,” I agreed, taking half a step closer, enough to see the shiver run through her. “But you didn’t say no either.”
“Dante—” Her whisper cracked, warning and plea tangled together.
One more inch, and we’d be touching. One more inch, and I’d lose the war I was barely fighting.
“Say the word, Sav.” My breath brushed her cheek. “I’ll stay.”
I pulled my head back slightly, and her gaze dropped to my mouth, and for a second, I thought she might say it. That she wanted me to stay.
But then she tore her eyes away, shaking her head, muttering, “No. This isn’t right.”
No.I stepped back, forced my hand through my hair, and pulled every scrap of strength I could muster to step away from her.
“Right,” I said roughly, heading for the door before I said something neither of us could take back.
The handle was cool in my grip, grounding me, forcing me to move. I didn’t look back, not even when I felt her stare burn into my spine.
Walking out was the only right call.
So why the hell did it feel like I’d just lost a game I hadn’t even known I was playing?
Chapter 17
Dante
By the time I hit the facility Monday morning, the whispers were everywhere: in the locker room, in the weight room, in the damn hallways between classes.
Coach Sutherland didn’t say much — just that I’d ‘better have my head on straight’ before practice. His way of telling me to shut up, fall in line, and let the story die. He’d said enough the day before.
The fight had already cost me privileges — one step closer to being a problem instead of a leader.
Noah acted like it was any other day. Dustin didn’t. He was waiting for an explanation, and I wanted to give him one — but I wasn’t sure if I’d sound crazy or just confirm it.
I pressed an ice pack harder against my shoulder. The joint was throbbing, and I had taken more pills than I wanted to make the ache dull. I was going to need more, and the fact that I had to ask for more was really pissing me off.
Pads cracked against pads, the sound echoing sharply in the indoor facility. But it was nothing compared to the buzz of noise I felt prickling at the back of my neck. Every set of eyes was tracking me and Noah, like they were waiting for round two to break out in the middle of drills.
Noah and I were pretending this was just another practice.
Only it wasn’t.
I saw it in the way the freshmen stared, wide-eyed, like they couldn’t believe their QB and linebacker had gone toe-to-toe with other teammates. I felt it in the way the seniors were quieter than usual, their silence saying more than words. Officially, it was ‘a misunderstanding.’ Unofficially? Nobody bought that line for a second.
When the whistle finally blew for a water break, I yanked off my helmet, sweat dripping onto the bruises on my cheek. Noah dropped down beside me on the bench, shoving a bottle into my hand.
“You good?” he asked, low, casual, like it was just another day.
“Yeah,” I muttered, taking a swig. “You?”
His smirk was sharp. “All good.”
The whistle blew again, pulling us back to the huddle. I ran the next snap clean, my eyes on the defense, but my thoughts stuck in the same loop. Protecting each other was second nature. But around here, silence was starting to feel a hell of a lot like complicity.
Practice dragged on until my lungs burned and sweat blurred my vision, but none of it hit as hard as the weight in my chest.
Noah clapped me on the shoulder, same as he had last night, silent as always. Ride or die. But the longer I held that silence, the more it twisted in my gut.
