And I want it. That’s the worst part.
Iwanthim. Not just the cocky exterior or the flirtation that drives me mad. I want the version he shows me when no one else is around. The one who asks if I’m okay andmeans it.The one who kisses like he’s trying to rewrite every bad thing that’s ever happened to me.
But I also want this job. This career. This respect.
And I don’t know if I can have both.
The coach rolls on through the morning, the interior quiet now as the team settles and some of them try to catch up lost sleep. Someone’s playing music softly through a tinny speaker. Danny’s snoring two rows back and Murphy’s tossing popcorn into Ollie’s hood.
Dylan shifts beside me, his arm nudges mine. I glance down to see his pinkie barely grazing my hand on the seat between us.
I don’t move.
We sit like that for the rest of the ride.
Not touching.
But not apart either.
Somewhere in the middle of everything we want, and everything we’re afraid to lose.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
DYLAN
The bus ride ends too soon, and we’re pulling into The Raptor’s lot just after midday; the sky’s that dull grey that promises nothing but drizzle, and everyone starts grabbing their gear and scattering to their cars like the last twenty-four hours never happened.
But it did, and I, for one, can’t stop thinking about it.
I wait near the doors while the rest of the guys file off. Murphy throws me a pointed look and a half-smirk like he knows I’m stalling. Maybe he does but I ignore it and grab my bag. Slinging it over my shoulder.
Mia walks past me without a word, without looking at me, and it takes everything I’ve got not to reach for her wrist and pull her back. But I don’t. I just watch her go.
The cold air bites when I step off the bus, and my body’s sore in that post-game way, with my shoulders tight, and knees stiff, like the adrenaline has finally burned out and left me hollow. But it’s not just that. It’s her.
It’s that conversation on the coach.
The way she looked at me like she was fighting herself not to reach out. Like she wanted to say yes. But she didn’t.
I hit the button on my keys and my car beeps in the distance. The lot is half empty already. Everyone vanishes fast after a win. They’re desperate to get home and crash,so they can recover and forget about the game until the next training session. I slide into the driver’s seat and drop my head back against the headrest. My fingers tap restlessly on the wheel.
I should go home. But instead, I sit there, engine off, radio silent, staring out the windshield like the answer to all this is gonna write itself across the sky. I keep going over the moment she said, “I can’t risk throwing it away because I can’t think straight when you look at me.”
She said it like it hurt her to admit it. Like it killed her to say it out loud. And that’s the part that’s got me reeling. Because it’s not one-sided. She feels it too, whatever the hellthisis between us. And yet here we are, playing pretend. Again.
I scrub a hand over my face and flick the key forward in the ignition.
The engine purrs to life and as I glance around before pulling out, I notice something. A few rows across, Mia’s still in her car. Her hazard lights flash once, then nothing. Her door cracks open and she steps out, eyebrows drawn together, popping the hood.
I kill the engine and climb out without thinking. She doesn’t see me until I’m halfway to her, standing in front of the open hood with a frown and her phone in her hand. She looks up like she’s not surprised. Like maybe she was hoping I’d come over.
“Dead?” I ask, nodding toward the car.
“Won’t start,” she sighs, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Turned over once and then nothing. Battery maybe. I don’t know.”
“You call anyone?”
She glances down at her phone. “AA has a wait time of two hours. And I left my jump cables at home becauseapparently, I’m an optimist now.” She shrugs her shoulders in defeat.
