I’d wake up in the middle of the night convinced I heard her laugh—the soft one she tried to hide when she thought something was funnier than it should be. My mind replayed the feel of her hand brushing mine when we passed a clipboard, the faint warmth of her breath before she’d stepped away.
I started volunteering for extra film study just so I wouldn’t have time to think. I even let Adam rope me into a poker night, which was a mistake.
Halfway through the first hand, Derek looked up with that stupid grin and said, “Hey, Mason, how’s your girlfriend in PR?”
I folded and left.
Back home, I crashed onto the couch, still in my hoodie, staring at the ceiling like it held the answer.
I wasn’t supposed to care this much. I didn’t do caring this much. I knew what this was supposed to be—a mistake, a moment, something to laugh about and forget.
But forgetting her felt impossible.
I rolled onto my side, eyes half-shut, exhausted and restless at the same time.
Distance. You need distance.
That was the rule. But all distance did was make the silence louder. And the louder it got, the more I realized—I wasn’t avoiding her anymore. I was waiting.
Late afternoon at practice, and everything was off. My timing, my touch, my head. Every pass went a fraction too wide, every sprint ended a second too late. It wasn’t physical—my body was fine. It was everything else.
Every time I tried to focus, her face crept in. Ellery, frowning over a spreadsheet, smiling at a kid on the field, laughing at something Naomi said. Every version of her hit me like a punch.
We were running a small-sided drill when my frustration finally boiled over. A bad pass from Derek rolled short, and I slammed the ball so hard against the wall that everyone went silent.
Coach Lawson blew the whistle. “Mason.” His voice carried the weight of ten seasons. “You need a day off. Clear your head.”
I wiped the sweat off my face, half-smirking. “That’s the problem, Coach. It’s too clear.”
He gave me that long, disappointed stare only a coach can master, then waved me toward the bench. “Hit the showers. You’re done for the day.”
I didn’t argue. There wasn’t a point.
The locker room was empty when I got there—cool, quiet, too big for one person’s thoughts. I sat on the bench, elbows on my knees, staring at my cleats. There were still grass stains from that youth clinic a few weeks back. The one she organized. The one where she’d laughed at me for slipping in the mud.
I thought about texting her. Just something stupid like “You win. Distance is overrated.” But I didn’t. I’d promised myself I’d stay away. And yet… staying away was starting to feel a lot like losing.
That night, I threw myself into recovery mode—protein shake, ice bath, film review. Anything to fill the hours.
Then my phone buzzed.
Adam.
Saw your girlfriend on the news again, Romeo.
Attached was a link. I didn’t want to open it, but I did anyway.
It was a local news piece covering a community meeting about youth sports funding. Ellery was front and center, surrounded by kids, smiling like she didn’t have the weight of the world on her shoulders. Her hair was up, a few strands falling loose, eyes lit in that way that made you forget to breathe for a second.
She looked… happy.
Not because of me. Not because of Kyle. Just because she was doing what she loved—building something that mattered.
I stared at the photo until my screen dimmed. Then I turned the brightness back up, just to look again.
The whole point of keeping my distance was to stop caring. To prove I could get my head back in the game. But seeing her there—alive, radiant, unstoppable—did the opposite.
It reminded me why I’d fallen for her in the first place.
