19. Colton
NINETEEN
COLTON
I watch them from across the quad—Micah and Luke, leaving the field house as if they didn’t just rip me open and leave the pieces scattered on the turf.
Luke says something. Micah laughs.
And it hurts.
Not the jealousy—though yeah, it’s there, burning low and sharp—but the ache . The realization that the one person I can’t stop thinking about looks happier with someone else. I know that laugh. I used to be the reason for it.
Used to.
Now I’m the reason he flinches when I get too close. The reason he throws words like knives and dares me to bleed for him.
I deserve it.
God, I deserve worse.
I thought I could keep SmokeScreen77 and Micah separate. That one was a safe outlet and the other a ghost from my past I could pretend didn’t haunt me. But now they’re the same person .
Yet, I still pull out my phone, my eyes still on Micah’s back. And I send him a message.
Me: Let’s meet.
I stare at the blinking cursor as if it might give me the right words.
I’m ready.
He still hasn’t replied to the one from last night. Probably because he was with Luke. The thought alone is a match to my ribs, a flash of heat and jealousy I don’t have the right to feel.
Still, I want to punch the dude.
Just once.
Just enough to make him hurt.
I’m spiraling. I know it. Watching Micah disappear around the corner and pretending he didn’t take every ounce of air with him.
“You gonna keep standing there like a brooding rom-com lead, or...?”
I blink, turning to find Caleb jogging up, a sports drink in one hand and an eyebrow raised.
He stops next to me and shoves the bottle into my chest. “Hydrate. Or glower yourself into an aneurysm. Your choice.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter, not moving.
Caleb snorts. “You’re not , but sure. Let’s go with that.”
He squints after the direction Micah just went. “So. You wanna tell me why you’ve been in a mood since morning drills ? Or why you looked as though you were gonna maul Luke during warmups?”
“Wasn’t gonna maul him,” I mutter.
“Okay, so just mild homicide. Noted.”
I say nothing.
Caleb sighs and drops down on the bench beside me. “Colt, you don’t have to tell me. But you do have to stop looking like someone kicked your emotional support puppy. It’s unnerving.”
I rub a hand over my face. “It’s…complicated.”
“You kissed him again, didn’t you?”
I freeze.
His tone softens. “Dude, I’m your roommate. There’s no way you can hide the fact you like dudes from me. It’s cool. I don’t have an issue with it. So, did he walk away this time?”
“Ran,” I admit. “Told me to stay in the closet and fuck off.”
Caleb lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”
“Yeah.”
There’s a long silence.
Then Caleb claps me on the back, hard enough to sting. “Well. You’re still alive. So that’s something.”
I glare at him, but there’s no heat behind it.
“You wanna fix it?” he asks.
I nod slowly.
Then I pause. “Wait. Back up.”
He raises a brow. “Yeah?”
“You knew?” My voice comes out low, rough around the edges. “You knew I was?—”
“Gay?” he offers. “Bi? Something other than a painfully repressed hetero? Yeah, man. I’ve known.”
My stomach knots. “Since when? ”
Caleb shrugs as if it’s obvious. “Since you started doing that thing where you pretend not to look at Micah when he walks into a room. And then stare at your phone like it might tell you how to be straight.”
I let out a breath that’s more of a laugh. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I figured you’d tell me when you were ready. Or never. Either way, it’s your deal.”
I nod, jaw tight. It’s weird—being seen. Not judged, not pitied. Just…seen.
Caleb watches me a beat longer, then tosses the empty sports drink bottle toward the trash can. Misses, obviously. Doesn’t even flinch about it.
“You’re not alone, you know,” he says casually. “Even if you feel like you deserve to be.”
I just nod, not sure what to say to him. He was on the team back when everything happened between us, but he’s not treating me as if I’m a giant ass. It makes something loosen in my chest, a sort of tension bleed away. Maybe I can make this thing with Micah work.
“Cool,” he says, slapping his hands on his thighs as he stands. “Now that we’ve had our emotionally vulnerable Disney Channel moment, I’m gonna go shower and not think about your crush on our starting forward.”
I blink. “He’s technically not?—”
“Oh my God , Colton,” he groans, throwing his hands in the air. “Let me pretend I don’t know his stats. I’m trying to be a chill ally here.”
That actually gets a real laugh out of me.
Caleb smirks, already walking backward toward the dorms. “Text me if you do anything stupid. Or, you know…brave. ”
I nod again. “Thanks.”
But as he disappears, the weight settles back on my chest. Because what he doesn’t know—what nobody knows—is that I’ve already been talking to Micah.
That I’ve already crossed a line I can’t uncross.
And I don’t know if he’ll ever forgive me for it.
I go through the motions the rest of the day. Still no reply. Dropping down on my bed, I flop onto my back and stare at my ceiling. Caleb is on his bed, headphones in, history book open, and notes scattered everywhere, telling me he’s in the zone.
I unlock my phone and go to the app. Typing out a quick message before I can change my mind.
Me: Ghosting me now? I see how it is. Maybe you’re the one that’s afraid of something real.
I know it sounds desperate and a little unhinged the second I hit send. But I can’t stop myself. He sees it right away, the three little dots dancing on my screen as he types out a response. I wait, heart in my throat, then nothing. No reply. No answer. And I know he saw it.
I wait a few more minutes, still nothing.
I’m half tempted to delete the app. It would probably be the smart thing to do. Micah isn’t going to be happy to know he’s been messaging me.
I toss the phone onto my chest and stare at the ceiling, looking for the answers in the uneven paint.
All it has is a crack I’ve memorized since the beginning of the year and the quiet hum of Caleb scribbling notes behind me. I shouldn’t have messaged him again. I definitely shouldn’t have pushed .
But when I saw the green online circle, when I knew he was there— Micah was there —I felt like maybe I still had a shot. Maybe some part of him wanted to talk. To yell. To tell me off again. I’d take any of it. Anything but this silence.
Now it’s gone. And I’m left choking on my own damn desperation.
I scrub a hand over my face and grab my pillow, burying my face in it to muffle the frustrated groan that threatens to tear out of me.
“You good?” Caleb asks.
I don’t answer right away. Because no , I’m not good. I’m the opposite of good. I’m falling apart in slow motion, and I can’t even scream for help without revealing every lie I’ve ever told.
“I’m fine,” I say, voice flat.
Caleb watches me a second longer before shrugging and going back to his notes. But I can’t sit still. I sit up. Grab my phone again. Open the app.
Still nothing.
He’s probably staring at my message and hating me. If I know, he could know, right? Probably piecing it all together. That the guy behind the username is the same one who hurt him worst. The same one who kissed him and let him take the fall, as if it was some kind of crime.
God. I feel sick.
I should delete the app. Erase the evidence. Pretend it never happened.
But I don’t. Because a small, broken part of me is still hoping he’ll reply.
Even if it’s just to say: I know who you are.
Even if it’s just to say: I hate you.
At least then I’d know where I stand.