“You’re actually here,” I said.
She stopped a few steps away. “You texted me something weird.”
“I didn’t text you anything weird.”
“You said ‘not really’ like your life was collapsing.”
“That’s not what I said.”
She raised an eyebrow.
I didn’t argue further.
Because yeah.
Fair.
Rowan glanced around the hallway. “Are you supposed to still be here?”
“No.”
“Cool.”
She walked closer then, slower this time.
And for some reason, that made my chest tighten slightly.
“You don’t look fine,” she said.
“I said I wasn’t really.”
“That’s worse.”
I let out a short breath.
“Coach is on me,” I said finally. “NYC is coming. And I’m not playing right.”
Rowan nodded once.
Not dramatic.
Just listening.
Then:
“Is it pressure or distraction?”
I looked at her.
That was too accurate of a question.
“Both,” I admitted.
She didn’t look surprised.
That was annoying.
ROWAN
