20. Alex

Chapter twenty

Alex

T he air is heavy with the pungent scent of turf and sweat as the deafening roar of the crowd drowns out my inner thoughts. Hunched on the sidelines, my muscles tense in anticipation of halftime. The cheerleaders take the field, their movements sharp and precise as they command the attention of the audience.

I can’t help but feel a pang of annoyance as one of my teammates, Tyler, our quarterback, nudges me, pointing towards my ex-girlfriend. “Bro, look at Celeste, man,” he exclaims with a wide grin. “She’s still got it bad for you.”

There goes my distraction.

I try to force a smile, but it feels like wearing a mask that doesn’t quite fit. My gaze shifts to Daphne, my current girlfriend, who sits in the stands with her hazel eyes fixed on me. Concern cuts through all the chaos.

“Man, you gotta get back on that,” another teammate chimes in, nodding towards Celeste. “You two were Whitmore royalty. ”

“Nah,” I mutter under my breath, though my words are lost in the crowd. Thankfully, my teammate gets preoccupied by the game when we score a touchdown.

As the seconds tick towards halftime, a knot forms in my stomach.

Before long, I’m back in the game.

The roar of the crowd fades to a dull buzz as I scan the bleachers, searching for Daphne’s face among the sea of spectators. My heart clenches when I spot her perched high in the stands, her dark waves catching the stadium lights. She’s so far away, yet I feel the pull of her presence like a physical ache.

“Alex, get your head in the game!” Coach barks, snapping me back to reality.

I nod, forcing my attention to the huddle forming around me. As I move into position, Celeste’s perfume wafts over me from her spot on the sidelines. The scent is cloying and overwhelming, a noticeable contrast to Daphne’s subtle floral fragrance.

As we break formation, Tyler claps me on the shoulder. “Your girl’s looking extra hot tonight,” he says with a wink.

I force a tight smile, knowing he doesn’t mean Daphne. “Yeah, sure,” I mutter, unable to correct him.

The ball snaps to Tyler, and I drop back, searching to block the other team .

Unfortunately, in doing so, I inadvertently glance at Celeste, her blonde hair a beacon on the sidelines. She’s bouncing on her toes, waving her pom-poms with exaggerated enthusiasm.

Tyler completes the pass, which leads to a touchdown. As my teammates celebrate around me, I can’t shake the weight of expectations pressing down on me. Everyone assumes Celeste and I will get back together. It’s what they want, what they expect. The golden couple, reunited.

But is it what I want?

I steal another glance at Daphne. Her quiet grace is completely different from Celeste’s flashy presence. She’s too good for me, I think, a pang of regret shooting through my chest. Maybe it would be easier to give in, to be the person everyone wants me to be.

No. I shake my head, dispelling the traitorous thoughts. Daphne’s face swims into focus in my mind—her kind eyes, her gentle smile. The way she looks at me like I’m capable of anything. The sound of her laughter, as melodious as the harp she plays.

I love her. It’s as simple and as complicated as that.

Daphne’s and Victoria’s opinions are the only ones that truly matter to me. I can’t hurt Daphne, can’t betray the trust she’s placed in me .

As I step back onto the field, my resolve strengthens. I may disappoint some people, but I won’t disappoint the ones who really count. Not Daphne, and not myself.

The shrill blast of the whistle signals halftime, and I breathe a sigh of relief. My teammates jostle past me to the sideline bench, their excited chatter grating on my frayed nerves. I need to escape and find a moment to myself.

As the marching band files onto the field, a sea of glinting instruments and crisp uniforms, I make my decision. I’ll talk a short walk even if it’s just to the bathroom and back. “Hey, I’ll catch up with you guys in a bit,” I call out to no one in particular, already backing away from the bench.

After maneuvering through the sea of bodies, I escape into the quiet corridors. The bathroom beckons to me as a brief sanctuary where I can take a moment to breathe.

“Alex!” My attention draws to Daphne as a soft voice calls out from behind me and she steps out of the shadows. Daphne’s chin-length hair frames her face like a dark halo.

A wave of relief washes over me as she nears. Daphne is the only person who understands me, the real me, the one hidden beneath the facade of the popular football player.

“Hey,” I manage to choke out, feeling drained.

“Are you okay?” she asks with genuine concern. Her probing eyes search for something deeper than the pretense I wear like armor. “You seemed tired.”

Before I can answer, Rodge, a defensive lineman, barrels between us like a tank. “Move it, geek,” he sneers at Daphne, his eyes never leaving her as he brushes past. “Alex doesn’t need your desperation.”

My heart sinks as I hear Rodge’s cruel and frankly untrue words. I know he’s only saying it to impress me, but it still hurts to see Daphne treated so badly.

Her face falls, a flash of hurt crossing her features before she composes herself into a neutral expression. Guilt gnaws at my stomach, but my voice betrays me and remains silent.

Because, like a coward, I’m afraid I’ll stutter.

“Sorry,” she whispers before casting one last pained glance in my direction and disappearing back into the crowd.

I watch her go while hating myself. I know I should stand up for her, but I’m too apprehensive of what it might mean for my reputation if I open my mouth to defend her, and all that comes out are stutters.

“Damn! Stalker much?” Rodge chuckles, clapping me on the shoulder as if we shared an inside joke .

I hurry into the bathroom, the bright fluorescent lights harsh and unforgiving. In the mirror, I barely recognize the reflection staring back at me. The stranger in the mirror mimics Alexandru Whitmore—lean and slightly muscular, with contacts covering his brown eyes he inherited from our mother, but any resemblance ends there.

“Get it together,” I whisper to him, but even as I do, I know he won’t listen. He never does.

I splash cold water on my face in an attempt to wash away the gnawing hollowness that Daphne’s wounded gaze has etched into me, when the door squeaks open behind me, bringing in a draft of floral perfume.

I don’t even have to look up to see who’s there.

“Alex,” Celeste purrs, her voice wrapping around my name. I catch her reflection in the mirror.

“Jesus, Celeste,” I mutter, turning off the faucet. “It’s the men’s room.”

“Never stopped me before.” She saunters closer and only stopping once her fingers find their way to my chest. Touching me, she traces the lines of my muscles through the fabric of my jersey.

“Everyone’s talking about us, you know?” she says, her nails digging slightly as if to claim me. “They want us back together. ”

The rejection sits heavily on my tongue, but I force it out anyway. “But that’s not what I want.”

Her pout is practiced. It’s a maneuver designed to manipulate. “You’re breaking my heart.”

We’ve been through this. I’ve given her grace through our breakup, but the grace is now running short.

“Stop it. This isn’t—”

“Shh.” Her finger presses against my lips. “Come to the football after-game party tonight. We can talk more there.”

“Talk?” I question with a scoff, knowing full well the subtext woven into her invitation.

“Of course, silly. Talk. Like we used to.” Her pout is back, but this time, it works more than it did before. Because Celeste and I had good times together. There was a time when she was my best friend.

I relent. I suppose one more discussion about our friendship isn’t a bad thing. After all, we’ll be graduating soon and chances are Celeste will always be Victoria’s friend. I don’t want bad blood between us.

She must know that I’ve agreed to attend the after-party because her voice softens to a vulnerable edge. “Promise me something, Alex. Don’t bring a date. It’ll hurt too much.” The genuine pain in her eyes is real. It’s a feeling I’m quite intimate with .

I’ll give her that. She expects me to date another woman soon. I can give her another day.

“Sure,” I say, the statement settling like acid in my stomach because it means I can’t bring Daphne.

“Perfect.” She beams, her smile too bright for the occasion, but I dismiss it. “It’s settled, then.”

As she sashays to the bathroom door, leaving a trail of rose and deceit as she waits for me, I stare at my reflection. A stranger looks back, hollowed out, caught between loyalties and lies.

I won’t tell Daphne about the party. It’ll just upset her, and she deserves no more pain. Not from me.

Since Celeste waited for me outside of the bathroom, she’s at my side. Her arm brushes against mine, a calculated touch that burns through the fabric of my jersey. The buzzing crowd outside is none the wiser to the storm brewing within me.

“Alex!” The slap on my back is jarring, and I nearly stumble forward. It’s Tyler again, grinning like he’s just won the lottery, his assumption hanging heavy between us. “About time you two got back together. Did she suck you off?”

My jaw clenches, and for a moment, I’m silent. “N-n-n—”

I don’t get to finish trying to say no because Tyler presses on, “Come on, man! Details. ”

I give up. Rather than try again, I leave. Every step feels heavier than the last. With each stride, I’m distancing myself from the lie, from Celeste’s rose perfume that clings to me like a shroud. I can feel her eyes on my back, burning with expectation, and Tyler’s laughter.

“Hey! Whitmore, where are you going? Don’t leave us hanging!” another teammate calls out, but I don’t bother with a response. What would I say? That I’m a fraud? That every laugh, every high-five, is a performance?

I need air and not the kind that’s housing this stifling blend of sweat, dirt, and duplicity.

My phone dings, reminding me of a text I received about an hour ago. I see it’s Daphne.

Lab Partner:

Wanna hang after the game? 3

“Damn it,” I whisper, my breath coming out in a frosty plume as I push through the doors and out into the crisp autumn night. The contrast between the cold outside and the heat of my shame is evident, biting at my skin.

“Should’ve told Celeste no,” I mutter to myself, but the words are meaningless. Because even though I said no to Celeste, I didn’t say it loud enough, didn’t push her away when her fingers traced the contours of my chest .

I can’t let Daphne go to that party. Rumors are already swirling that Celeste and I are getting back together. I can’t do that to Daphne.

One more night of pretending. This is my last football game, so this will also be my last party. I’ll celebrate with Daphne tomorrow.

Wanting to keep this last secret, I text her back.

Me:

Sorry, babe. Busy.

No, that’s not enough. What if she asks what I’ll be busy doing? When lying, you’re supposed to give more details, right? Or is it less details?

Ah, crap. My fingers are already typing and hitting send before I give it more thought.

Me:

Dad is home. Gotta see him.

Hours later, I’m walking into a party I don’t want to attend, keeping secrets from Daphne, and pretending I’m someone I’m not.