28 bleachers
The metal bleachers are cold under my legs.
Not freezing yet, but close enough that I keep tugging the sleeves of my hoodie over my hands while I wait for practice to end.
The whole field smells like cut grass and damp air and October.
Friday afternoon sunlight spills across the stadium in that weird soft way it only does during fall, making everything look quieter than it actually is. The players are still yelling on the field. Whistles keep blowing. Shoulder pads keep cracking together hard enough to echo.
But up here, it feels calmer.
I lean back against the row behind me and watch Logan shove somebody during a drill.
Somebody shoves him back harder.
Typical.
My phone buzzes beside me with another dramatic text from Nola.
I snort quietly.
Before I can answer, somebody jogs up the bleachers two steps at a time. "Coleman."
I glance up.
Scott Allen drops down onto the bench beside me like we've known each other for years instead of barely a month.
"You stalking practice now?" he asks casually.
"I'm waiting for Logan."
"Right," Scott says seriously. "That sounds less concerning."
I roll my eyes a little.
Scott grins immediately like that was the exact reaction he wanted.
And annoyingly enough, he's easy to talk to.
Not in the overwhelming way Jackson is.
Not in the way where every conversation somehow feels loaded even when it shouldn't.
Scott's just... simple.
Comfortable.
"You look emotionally exhausted," he informs me.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
I laugh despite myself.
Scott points immediately. "There it is."
"What?"
"That's the first time I've seen you smile in like a week."
My smile fades a little at that.
Scott notices. But to his credit, he doesn't push.
Instead he leans back against the bleacher behind us and gestures toward the field. "Bennett's been worse."
I look down before I can stop myself.
Jackson's across the field near the fifty-yard line, helmet tucked under one arm while Coach talks to the offense.
Even from here, he looks tense. Sharp around the edges somehow, like somebody wound him too tight.
Scott follows my line of sight and sighs dramatically.
"Bennett's way moodier than me," he says. "Tragic roommate assignment honestly."
That pulls another laugh out of me.
A real one this time.
Scott clutches his chest immediately. "Wow. I'm hilarious."
"You're a little annoying."
"Those traits usually go together."
"Allen," Logan calls suddenly, jogging toward us, "stop boring my sister to death."
Scott gasps like he's personally offended. "She likes me more than you."
"Impossible."
"Ask her."
Logan looks at me expectantly.
I shrug. "You tackle people for fun."
"That's not an answer."
Scott points at me triumphantly. "See?"
Logan shoves his shoulder lightly before dropping down onto the bench beside me, still breathing hard from practice.
And that's when I notice it.
Jackson watching us from farther down the field.
Not obviously.
Most people probably wouldn't catch it.
But I do.
His attention flicks toward us right as Scott says something else that makes me laugh.
And for half a second, Jackson's expression changes, just slightly.
His jaw tightens.
Something unreadable flashes across his face before he looks away again.
Logan notices too.
I can tell by the way his eyes narrow briefly toward the field.
Awkward tension settles for exactly two seconds before Scott stands up.
"Well," he says, dusting off his shorts dramatically, "I'm gonna go continue being Coach's favorite athlete."
"You're literally third string," Logan calls after him.
Scott flips him off over his shoulder without turning around.
I shake my head, smiling a little. "He's ridiculous."
"You have no idea," Logan says.
-
Twenty minutes later, Logan and I are walking toward the coffee shop just off campus while the sun starts dropping lower behind the buildings.
The air's colder now.
Leaves scrape across the sidewalk every few feet.
Logan bumps my shoulder lightly with his. "You've been weird lately."
I immediately stare straight ahead. "You've been weird since birth."
"Deflecting," he says calmly.
"I learned from the best."
He snorts once.
We walk in silence for another block before he says, "Mom already started texting about Thanksgiving."
I groan immediately. "She texted me a grocery list yesterday."
"She asked me if you still hate cranberry sauce."
"I do."
"She sounded disappointed."
"She'll survive."
That earns a small laugh out of him.
The conversation shifts easier after that.
Home.
Our mom.
How weird it's gonna feel going back after months away.
Logan complaining about Coach possibly scheduling extra workouts before break.
Normal things.
Safe things.
Then Logan glances at me over the rim of his coffee cup and asks carefully, "You okay lately?"
And there it is.
I keep my eyes on the sidewalk. "Yep."
Lie.
Logan knows it immediately.
I can feel him noticing. But thankfully, he doesn't push harder this time.
He just nods slowly like he's filing the answer away for later.
Which honestly feels worse.
By the time we split off near the dorms, the sky's gone fully orange at the edges.
And despite everything, despite how angry I still am at Jackson, despite how badly he hurt me-
I can't stop thinking about the look on his face when he saw me laughing with Scott.
Like it bothered him.
Like it mattered.
I hate how much I still want it to matter back.