Page 58 of Puck Me Back to Life

To his voice.

To the way my thoughts finally stopped spinning.

I don't think I'm looking forward to tonight because of Dante. And I definitely don't think I'm looking forward to the bar. I think I'm looking forward to seeing Ash again. That feels like a much bigger problem.

I change my shirt four times. The first one is too plain. The second makes me look like I'm trying too hard. The third somehow manages both at once. By the time I throw it onto the bed, my bedroom looks like somebody broke in and specifically targeted my wardrobe.

I stand in front of the mirror wearing nothing but jeans and stare at my reflection. This is ridiculous. I'm getting ready to go drink cheap beer with teammates. There is absolutely no reason I should be standing here evaluating T-shirts like I'm preparing for a first date.

The thought arrives without warning. I immediately reject it.

Not a date. Definitely not a date.

I rub a hand across my face and look away from the mirror. The problem is that my brain keeps circling back to the same question.

Why do I care?

For two years, I haven't cared.

I've worn whatever was clean.

Whatever fit.

Whatever attracted the least amount of attention.

Attention stopped feeling good a long time ago.

Attention meant recognition.

Recognition meant questions.

Questions meant William.

Everything eventually led back to William.

The easiest solution was to become forgettable.

Maybe that's why tonight feels strange. Because for the first time in a very long time, I want to be seen.

Not by strangers.

Not by reporters.

Not by fans.

Just—

I cut the thought off before it finishes.

The black T-shirt stays.

The jeans stay.

Simple.

Comfortable.

Normal.