I pressed my forehead against the cold window and closed my eyes.
I didn’t know what I was doing.
I didn’t know what last night meant.
I just knew I couldn’t face him this morning. Not when my heart still felt split in two. Not when part of me wanted to crawl back into that bed and let him hold me again, and the other part of me was screaming that I belonged to someone else.
Even if that someone else had walked away from me last night.
The Uber turned onto the main road, taking me back to campus. Back to my dorm. Back to pretending I had any idea what I was doing.
I didn’t look back again.
I showered in silence.
The hot water did nothing for the ache in my leg or the heavier one sitting in my chest. I moved carefully, one hand braced against the wall as I washed off the remnants of last night. My body still felt marked— not just from crying, but from Drew’s hands, his mouth, the way he’d held me like I was breakable and worth keeping anyway.
When I stepped out and wrapped a towel around myself, my roommate was sitting on her bed scrolling through her phone. She looked up the second I limped out of the bathroom.
Her eyebrows lifted.
“Walk of shame?” she asked carefully.
I didn’t answer. Just grabbed clothes and started getting dressed with my back to her.
“Isa…”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
She stayed quiet after that, but I could feel her watching me as I moved around the room. Every step sent a dull throb through my hamstring. I kept my head down and tried to pretend I didn’t notice the way she was studying the oversized t-shirt I had stupidly put back on—the one that clearly didn’t belong to me.
By the time I made it to the athletic complex, the place felt like a tomb.
It was too quiet for this time of day. The usual noise of athletes talking, music playing from someone’s speaker, the sound of weights clanging — it was all muted. People moved around me, but the air felt thick. Heavy. Every time I passed a group, conversations dipped or shifted. I could feel eyes on me. Whispers trailing in my wake.
Everyone knew.
Tristan Vale had chosen himself.
Stella had stood in the middle of the library and confessed she still wanted him. And he’d walked out without choosing either of us. Now the entire athletic department was buzzing with it—speculating about what it meant for me. The girl who had been attached to his side for weeks. The one who cried in front of everyone.
I kept my head down and headed straight for the training room for PT.
I ignored the looks. Ignored the way two soccer girls stopped talking the second I walked past. Ignored the low murmur that followed me down the hallway.
I clenched my jaw and kept walking.
The physical therapist was already waiting for me. I changed into shorts and climbed onto the table without making eye contact with anyone. The familiar routine of stretching and careful movements helped a little. At least here, I could focus on something other than the disaster my life had become.
I was trying to give Drew the runaround.
After the night he held me through the worst of my heartbreak, after I snuck out of his bed at dawn like a coward, I’d been avoiding him. Dodging his texts. Taking different routes between classes. Pretending I didn’t see him when our paths crossed on campus.
But today he was in my class again.
And of course, the second he walked in, the usual group of WAG wannabes swarmed.
They knew his stats. They knew his next game. They knew exactly how to giggle and flip their hair while asking if he could sign their jerseys. Drew leaned back in his chair like a king on his throne, signing with that lazy smirk, soaking up every bit of attention like it was sunlight.
