Maybe she had an early trainer session. Maybe she had class. Maybe she just needed space.
Bullshit.
I knew her. She’d probably called an Uber the second she opened her eyes and realized where she was. Ran before I could wake up and make her deal with any of it.
My thumbs moved before I could talk myself out of it.
Running, Cinderella?
I stared at the message for a second, thumb hovering over send. Then I hit it.
It went through. Delivered.
No reply.
I waited.
Still nothing.
I tossed the phone onto the cushion beside me and dragged both hands down my face, exhaling hard through my nose.
She could run all she wanted.
But I wasn’t letting her disappear on me again.
Not after last night. Not after the way she’d come apart in my arms and still looked at me like she didn’t know whether to kiss me or cry. Not after she’d let me hold her while she fell apart over another man and then fell asleep in my bed like she was finally safe.
Isa Calloway could ghost all she wanted.
But Drew Travers wasn’t done.
Not even close.
I got up, jaw still tight, and yanked on a pair of sweats and a hoodie. The shirt I’d given her last night was gone. She’d walked out wearing it. That detail sat in my chest like a live wire.
I didn’t bother cleaning up the couch. Just grabbed my keys and headed out.
By the time I got to the football locker room, the sun was barely up and most of the guys were already there. Morning drills. Weights. Film. The usual grind. Normally I’d be loud — cracking jokes, talking shit, keeping the energy up. Today I didn’t say a word.
I changed in silence, taped my fingers, and hit the field like the grass had personally pissed me off.
First set of sprints, I was quiet.
By the third set, I was running like something was chasing me — or like I was chasing something I couldn’t catch. Every rep on the sled, every hit on the bags, I put my whole body into it. Harder than I needed to. Faster than the rest of them.
“Yo,” one of the linemen called out between drills, breathing hard. “Angry Drew is a fucking beast today.”
“Travers in beast mode,” another one laughed, but it was half nervous. “The hell crawled up your ass, man?”
I didn’t answer. Just reset and hit the next bag like it owed me money.
They kept trying, though. The whole morning they poked at me between sets.
“Girl trouble?”
“Somebody finally tell you no?”
“Or did somebody say yes and then ghost your big ass?”
