11 backstory
I find out by accident.
Not in a dramatic, life-changing way-no big reveal, no moment where everything clicks into place at once. It happens the way most things do lately, somewhere between practice and whatever conversation Declan decides I'm going to be part of whether I want to be or not.
We're sitting in his car outside his house, the engine off, windows down, the Arizona heat still lingering even though it's late enough that it shouldn't.
He's scrolling through his phone like he's searching for something specific, which already means I'm about to be dragged into something I didn't ask for.
"You're going to love this," he says.
"I'm not."
"You are," he insists, turning his phone toward me.
I don't take it.
"I'm not watching another edit."
"It's not an edit," he says. "It's context."
"That sounds worse."
"It's better," he corrects. "This explains everything."
I look at him for a second, then at the phone, then back at him.
"Explain what?"
"Why she did that," he says. "The kiss. The jersey. All of it."
That gets my attention.
Not enough to make me reach for the phone, but enough that I stop pretending I'm not listening.
"She was trying to get back at someone," he continues.
I frown slightly. "Who?"
Declan pauses, clearly enjoying this more than necessary. "Josh Mayer."
I sit up a little straighter without meaning to.
"That Josh Mayer?"
"Yeah," he says. "That one."
I take the phone from him this time.
The video isn't new-it's from the hallway earlier, filmed badly, shaky enough that it's obvious no one involved knew they were being recorded. It's Madi and Josh, standing too close, talking like there's something unfinished between them.
I don't need the audio to know that. Still, I turn it up.
"...you're acting different," Josh is saying.
"I've been told that," she replies.
It continues like that-back and forth, controlled but not casual, the kind of conversation that doesn't happen unless there's history behind it.
I watch it once. Then I hand the phone back.
"That doesn't explain anything," I say.
Declan looks at me like I just missed the entire point. "That explains everything."
"How?"
"Because," he says, leaning back in his seat like he's about to narrate something important, "they dated."
I stare at him. "For how long?"
"Long enough," he says. "Long enough that this whole thing makes way more sense now."
I don't respond immediately, because it does make sense.
The jersey.
The timing.
The way she acted like it didn't matter when it clearly did.
"That's why she wore your jersey," Declan continues. "To get his attention."
I look out the windshield, not really focusing on anything. "That's a stretch."
"It's not a stretch," he says. "It's a storyline."
I glance back at him. "A storyline."
"Yeah," he says, sitting up a little. "Think about it. She shows up to his game, wearing your jersey, kisses you in front of everyone-"
"That wasn't planned."
"I'm not saying it was planned," he says. "I'm saying it wasn't random."
I don't like that.
Not because it changes anything about the situation-it doesn't-but because it shifts something I hadn't really thought about before.
Up until now, she's just been-
Madi.
Unexpected.
Annoying.
Different in a way that doesn't make sense but doesn't need to.
Now there's context.
And I'm not sure I like it.
Declan watches my reaction carefully, like he's waiting for something more interesting than what I'm giving him.
"So," he says. "Thoughts?"
"I don't have any."
"That's not true."
"It is," I reply. "It doesn't matter."
He tilts his head. "You don't think it matters that your fake girlfriend kissed you to make her ex jealous."
"That's not what happened."
"That's exactly what happened."
"You don't know that."
"I know enough," he says.
I exhale slowly, running a hand through my hair.
It shouldn't matter.
It doesn't change anything about what we're doing, about the situation, about the fact that this is temporary and controlled and not real. Still-
"I don't like it," I say.
Declan grins immediately. "There it is."
"That's not what you think it is."
"Oh, I know what it is," he says. "You're-"
"I'm not anything," I cut in. "I just don't like the idea of being part of something like that."
"Something like what?"
"Someone else's situation," I say. "It complicates things."
"It's already complicated."
"It doesn't need to be more complicated."
He studies me for a second, then shrugs. "I think it makes it better."
"That's because you're not in it."
"That's fair."
I lean back in my seat, staring out through the windshield again.
Josh Mayer.
I know who he is.
Everyone does.
Same position, same league, same kind of reputation that comes with being good enough that people pay attention but not good enough that it stops being competitive.
Rival.
That part's not new.
The rest of it is.
"You think she still cares?" I ask after a second.
Declan shrugs. "I think there's something there."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I've got."
I don't respond.
Because I don't know what I think. Because I don't actually care-
not in the way he's implying.
It just-
doesn't sit right.
The idea that the first time I met her wasn't really about me at all. That I was just-
there.
Convenient.
Available.
I exhale slowly, pushing that thought aside.
It doesn't matter.
None of it matters.
"This doesn't change anything," I say.
Declan nods, like he expected that answer. "Sure."
"It doesn't."
"Okay."
I glance at him. "You're not agreeing with me."
"I'm letting you believe that," he says.
I shake my head, reaching for the door handle. "I'm done with this conversation."
"You're thinking about it," he calls after me.
"I'm not."
"You are."
I step out of the car, closing the door a little harder than necessary. Because he's wrong. Because this doesn't matter. Because whatever happened between her and Josh-
isn't my problem.
Still-
as I walk up the driveway, one thought lingers longer than it should.
Not jealousy.
Not even close.
Just... something off.
And I don't like it.