Chapter 28

twenty-eight

. . .

Asher

The stadium is packed, a sea of noise and movement as the crowd roars for the home team. I’m on the field, helmet in hand, adrenaline pumping, but my focus feels like it’s stuck in second gear.

Coach’s voice barks in my ear through the headset. “Knox, focus. This team’s beatable, but we’re not handing it to them. Got it?”

“Got it, Coach,” I reply, even though my heart’s not in it.

I step into the huddle, rattling off the next play like I’ve done a thousand times before. The guys nod, their eyes sharp and determined. Everyone’s locked in. Everyone except me.

As I line up behind center, I let my gaze sweep the stands. It’s subtle, just a quick scan under the pretense of taking in the atmosphere, but I know what I’m really looking for.

Or who.

I don’t see her.

The ball snaps, and I force myself to focus, scanning the defense and finding my target. The pass leaves my hand clean, but it’s a split-second too late, and the cornerback cuts in front, snagging the interception and sprinting down the sideline.

The crowd erupts—not in cheers, but in groans.

“Damn it, Knox!” Coach’s voice blares in my headset as I jog back to the sideline, yanking my helmet off.

“Sorry, Coach,” I mutter, wiping sweat from my forehead.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” he snaps. “Get your head in the game!”

I nod, but his words barely register. My mind keeps drifting back to Sloane, the empty space in the stands where I thought she’d be.

The rest of the game feels like a blur. I make a few decent plays, but nothing spectacular. Every time I drop back to pass, the weight in my chest gets heavier, and by the time the final whistle blows, the scoreboard tells the story.

We lost.

The locker room is quiet, the usual post-game banter replaced by a heavy silence. Coach gathers us together, his jaw tight as he surveys the team.

“We didn’t lose because they were better,” he says, his voice low but sharp. “We lost because we weren’t focused. Some of you are letting distractions get in the way, and that ends now. Got it?”

A few murmured “Yes, Coach” replies ripple through the group, and I keep my head down, knowing damn well I’m the one he’s talking about.

After he dismisses us, Ryan nudges me as we head to the showers. “Rough game, man. You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say automatically, even though it’s a lie.

But I can’t stop thinking about her.

Why did she end things? Was I not serious enough for her? She was the one who wanted to stay my dirty little secret.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair as I slump onto the bench in the locker room. The sting of the loss is bad enough, but the hollow ache in my chest—Sloane-shaped and growing by the minute—is worse. It just seems unimaginable to me that we could go back to being just strangers passing in the night.

Coach’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, sharp and clipped as he gathers the team around. “Knox, a word.”

I stand, dragging my feet as I approach him. His face is hard to read, but I can tell it’s not good.

“We need to talk about next week,” he says, his voice low enough that the rest of the team doesn’t hear.

I nod, waiting for him to continue.

“You’re distracted,” he says bluntly. “And it’s affecting your game.”

“I know,” I admit, my voice quiet. “I’ll fix it, Coach. I promise.”

He shakes his head, his jaw tight. “I’m putting DeRollo in to start next week.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and for a second, I can’t even breathe.

“What?” I manage to say, my voice cracking.

“You’re not benched,” he says quickly, but it doesn’t feel like it softens the blow. “But you need to get your head right, Knox. Joe’s been working hard, and he’s ready to step up. You’ll get your shot again when you prove to me you’re fully focused.”

I swallow hard, nodding even though every muscle in my body screams in protest. “Got it.”

He claps me on the shoulder and walks away, leaving me standing there, stunned.

Joe. Joe is starting next week.

I can already feel his smug grin burning a hole in the back of my head, and it takes everything in me not to turn around and wipe it off his face.

Instead, I sink back onto the bench, staring at the floor and willing myself to keep it together. But all I can think about is Sloane, the way she looked at me, the way she made me feel like I could do anything—and how, without her, everything feels like it’s slipping through my fingers.

The frat house is alive with noise by the time I get back. Music thumps from the living room, the sound of laughter and drunken banter spilling out onto the front porch. I shoulder my bag, exhaustion tugging at me, but the buzz of energy inside makes it clear no one else is thinking about tonight’s loss.

As I step through the door, someone shouts my name.

“Knox!” Ryan calls from the kitchen, holding up a can of beer. “We’re planning the Halloween rager! You in?”

I wave him off, heading toward the stairs. “Not tonight, man.”

“Lame,” he mutters, but his attention is already back on the group clustered around the table, debating drink specials and costume themes.

I hear Joe’s voice before I see him, louder than the rest, his tone smug as he leans against the counter with a beer in hand.

“I’m telling you,” Joe says, gesturing with the can, “this party’s going to be the perfect opportunity to fix things.”

“With who?” someone asks, laughing.

“My ex,” Joe replies, a slow grin spreading across his face. “I heard she’s single again. Time to remind her what she’s been missing.”

A few guys hoot, and someone claps him on the back. “You think she’s really going to take you back after what you pulled?”

Joe shrugs, taking a swig of his beer. “I’ve got it on good authority she’s not over me. I just need the right moment, and this party? That’s the moment.”

I grip the bannister, my stomach twisting. I don’t need to hear her name to know exactly who he’s talking about.

Sloane.

The thought of Joe even thinking about her—let alone making a move—is enough to make my blood boil. But I can’t let it show. Not here.

I force myself to keep walking, heading up the stairs and shutting the door to my room behind me.

Leaning against the door, I let out a slow breath, trying to push down the frustration building in my chest. The idea of Joe anywhere near Sloane makes me want to hit something, but what right do I have to feel that way? She made her decision.

I glance at my phone, the temptation to text her almost overwhelming. But what would I even say? Hey, just so you know, my asshole backup is planning to use our Halloween party to win you back. Cool, right?

Instead, I toss my phone onto the bed and collapse beside it, staring up at the ceiling.

Let Joe try. He doesn’t know her the way I do. And if he thinks she’s going to fall for his bullshit, he’s even dumber than I thought.