I stared at the message for a moment before typing back,
Miss you too.
The words looked fine on the screen—simple, familiar—but they felt heavier now. Lighter to type, somehow, but heavier in my chest.
Because the truth was, I did miss him. I just wasn’t sure it was in the same way anymore.
I tossed my phone onto the couch and turned toward the window. My reflection stared back—hair loose, cheeks still flushed from the sun, a faint smile I hadn’t realized I was wearing.
“You’re not supposed to look forward to seeing someone who’s not yours,” I whispered to the empty room.
But I did.
And that scared me a little.
Because it wasn’t supposed to feel like this—like laughter on an empty field, like sunlight clinging to the day, like maybe, just maybe, something new beginning when I hadn’t been looking for it.
I brushed a strand of hair from my face, still smiling.
Tomorrow, there’d be work and sponsors and chaos again. But tonight, just for a moment, I let myself think about the way he’d laughed when I scored, unguarded and real.
And even though I knew I shouldn’t—I let myself hope I’d hear that sound again.
Chapter 14
Beckett
The sun was brutal that afternoon — high, blinding, the kind that made the turf shimmer and burn through your shoes. We were running light drills, nothing serious, just moving through the motions while a few of the foundation volunteers packed up the cones and gear from the youth session.
I jogged across the field, half-distracted, wiping sweat off my forehead with the edge of my sleeve — and that was when I saw her.
Ellery.
She was standing near the sideline, clipboard tucked against her chest, laughing at something Kyle said.
And just like that, the world narrowed.
They looked… easy together. Comfortable. Familiar in a way that didn’t need words. Kyle was in full charm mode, of course — all green eyes, perfect posture, the kind of relaxed confidence that made people lean toward him without realizing they were doing it.
He said something else, and she laughed again — soft and genuine, the sound cutting through the noise of the field like it was meant to find me.
I told myself I was imagining things. Reading into it. They’d been together for years; this was normal. They fit. They had history.
I was the outsider here — the angry one, the one who didn’t know how to exist without sharp edges.
Stay in your lane, Mason.
But my jaw was already tight, and I hated how natural they looked. The way she reached out to adjust something on his sleeve, and he leaned in without thinking. The way she smiled up at him like it didn’t take effort.
I didn’t even realize I’d stopped moving until one of the guys called out my name.
“Yo, Mason! You good?”
“Yeah,” I said, forcing my focus back, jogging toward the goal. “Fine.”
Except I wasn’t. Not really.
The whole thing twisted in my gut in a way I didn’t want to unpack. It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly. It was more complicated than that. It was the reminder that she wasn’t mine to look at that way, wasn’t mine to think about when she wasn’t around.
