You can’t control the story, I thought, pulling my hair out of my face as the wind whipped past. But you can choose how it ends.
That thought steadied me more than any speech ever could.
I crossed the street, my heels clicking against the slick sidewalk, heart pounding a rhythm I hadn’t felt in years. Ahead, through the curtain of rain, the faint glow of the stadium lights cut through the gray.
That was where he’d be. It was always where he went—to the field, to the one place that made sense when nothing else did.
And for once, I wasn’t going to wait for someone else to tell me how to move, how to behave, how to keep everything polished and perfect.
I was going to walk into the chaos.
I was going to find him.
Because maybe Naomi was right. Maybe some things were worth losing for.
Chapter 30
Beckett
The sky bled shades of bruised pink and gray over the training ground, the kind of evening that looked soft from a distance but felt like static up close. The floodlights hummed faintly above, half-hearted, like they weren’t sure the effort was worth it.
I lined up another shot; the ball cutting through the damp air, slamming into the net with a dull, hollow thud. Then another. Then another. Each strike a confession.
The rhythm was mindless, deliberate. I wasn’t chasing perfection; I was trying to burn something out of me. Guilt, anger, regret—take your pick. I wanted to sweat out the part of me that still thought about her voice when the world went still.
Each echo bounced through the empty stands and came back quieter, like even the field was tired of listening.
I bent down, rolled another ball forward with my foot, and stared at the goal.
You told the truth.
Another kick. A sharper thud this time.
You lost the noise.
Another.
You can live with that.
I told myself that with every breath, every swing of my leg. Like if I repeated it enough, I might start to believe it.
The ball smacked the back of the net and rolled to a stop. I stood there, chest heaving, lungs raw, rain-heavy air sticking to my skin. My heartbeat drowned out the rest of the world.
For a moment, it almost worked.
Almost.
The gate at the far end of the field creaked open.
I turned at the sound, already expecting Cam—ready for another lecture about optics or discipline or whatever new word they were using to mean damage control. Maybe Derek, forgetting something in the locker room. Maybe a reporter who slipped past security again.
But it wasn’t any of them.
It was Ellery.
She stepped through the open gate, rain still clinging to her hair in soft, dark strands, her coat half-buttoned like she’d left wherever she’d been in a hurry. The floodlights painted a faint halo over her shoulders, and for a second, she didn’t look real—just something the night had conjured because I’d been stupid enough to want her back.
My chest tightened. Every thought I’d managed to bury in drills and sweat came rushing up again.
