“I know you,” she continues. “I know what it looks like when you’re unraveling. And I know what it costs you to let someone in.”
Her voice softens. “I love you, Blair. Not in the easy way. In theI’d fight for you even when you’re pushing me awaykind of way.”
I swallow hard.
“So if you’re falling for him,” she starts, “just don’t lose yourself in the fall. Because I need you. Theyouthat counts in eights and breathes in patterns and sees things no one else does.”
“Eat something,” she murmurs softly. “You look like you need it.”
I take it with shaking hands.
Because she’s right.
And I don’t know how to explain that I’m already unraveling, and Kane’s the only thing that makes the chaos feel like it has a rhythm.
Thirteen
Blair
My alarm blares at 6:45 AM. I slap it off and stare at the ceiling, eyes gritty, body heavy. I don’t remember falling asleep. Just flashes of Kane’s voice in my ear, Micah’s warning in the hallway, the numbers that refused to stay in order. I tried counting. Breathing. Repeating my steps. Nothing held.
I sit up slowly, the air cool against my skin, and reach for my notebook. Studying is supposed to help. It’s part of the routine. Something solid. Something I can control. I flip through my notes, highlight a few lines, and try to recite a definition under my breath. But the words blur. My focus slips. Every page feels like static.
I close the notebook and look across the room.
Kinsley is still asleep, curled into her comforter like she’s part of the mattress. Her hair spills across the pillow in tangled waves, one arm flung over her face like she’s blocking out the world. I have to pry her out of bedmost mornings, threaten her with cold water, yank the covers, and bribe her with coffee. But I won’t today.
It’s Saturday.
And I need the quiet.
The jersey is still there, folded neatly on the chair. Grey, white, and hunter green. University of Northern Tennessee. The Riverhawks. Kane’s team. His world. I stand and walk over, fingers brushing the stitched number. It smells like him, faint sweat, cedar, something darker underneath. I hesitate, then slip it over my head.
The fabric is heavy. Oversized. It hangs past my hips, the sleeves grazing my arms. I feel swallowed by it. Claimed. Like I’m wearing a secret.
I walk to the mirror and stare at my reflection.
I don’t look like myself. Not exactly. I look like someone who’s already made a choice. Someone who stepped off the ledge and hasn’t hit the ground yet. Someone who’s already his.
And I don’t know if that terrifies me or makes me feel more real than I ever have.
I stand in front of the mirror a moment longer, staring at the jersey hanging off my frame. It’s too much. Too loud. Too his. I peel it off slowly, folding it with careful hands, like it might shatter if I’m not gentle.
It goes back on the chair.
Right where it was before everything shifted.
I pull on leggings and a hoodie, neutral, forgettable, mine. I tie my hair back, swipe on a little concealer, and grab my phone and student ID.
I slip out of the room and into the hallway, the air cooler than I expected. My steps echo faintly against the tile, and I count them without meaning to.
One. Two. Three. Four.
I’m not hungry, but I need the motion. The routine. The illusion of normal.
And maybe, if I keep moving, I won’t feel the weight of Kane’s jersey still pressed into my skin.
I step into the hallway, hoodie zipped, hair pulled back, trying to look like someone who slept. Like someone who’s fine. The walk to the dining hall is quiet, just the hum of vending machines and the distant thud of someone’s door closing.
