“I do,” he said quietly. “You don’t want her digging because you’re scared she’ll get hurt. But you also don’t want to push her away. And you definitely don’t want to admit you care.”
I stared at him.
He shrugged. “You’re transparent, Dust.”
“Bullshit.”
“Okay,” he said with a smirk. “We’ll say opaque. But not by much.”
I looked away, chest tight. Savvy and Hadley... on a road trip. I wasn’t sure Nashville was ready for them.
“When they get back,” Dante said, clapping my shoulder, “don’t lose your mind.”
“My call, not yours,” I snapped.
He laughed. “Yeah, I know. Just... maybe wait until after they tell us what’s happening? Then we can both lose it.”
I gave him a nod to say I understood.
Practice was supposed to clear my head. Spring training always did — the rhythm, the structure, the way everything narrowed down to one clean line:run, cut, catch.
But now? My head was full of bad ideas and worse feelings, and practice was not going to fix either.
“Slater!” Coach barked. “Get your ass in position!”
I jogged to the line, but my brain stayed in Nashville. Hadley and Savvy. Together. Driving God knows where to meet God knows who, chasing a story that could get Hadley thrown intothe center of a scandal the university buried so deep they salted the earth.
“Let’s go, Blues!” Dante called. He eyed me like he knew exactly how screwed up my head was. “Focus.”
I lined up and saw Noah watching me. He smirked.
“Thinking about journalism girl?” he asked under his breath.
“Thinking about how I’m going to smoke you on this route,” I muttered.
He chuckled. “Right. Because your brain has totally been present today.”
“Shut up.”
He winked. “Touchy.”
The whistle blew. I exploded off the line — or I tried to. My steps were off, my timing late, my legs too tight from nerves I refused to acknowledge. Dante threw the ball exactly where it needed to be.
I was not whereIneeded to be.
Trash-talking defense got in my head. Noah, the fucker.
The pass grazed my fingertips and hit the turf.
Coach’s whistle shrieked across the field. “Oh for...Slater!” He stomped over, face red, hat barely clinging to his head. “What are you doing? Thinking about dinner? Thinking about your hair? Thinking about—” He cut himself off and squinted at me. “Are youthinking? On my field?”
I clenched my jaw. “Won’t happen again, Coach.”
“It better not. Because if you miss one more route, I’m sending you to run stadiums until your legs fall off.”
“Yes, Coach.”
We reset.