Chapter Twenty-Two Aurora
Chapter Twenty-Two
Aurora
Scars.
Not ink. Not art.
Scars.
Joshua Lockhart, captain, heir, untouchable—his whole life looked like control. But those weren’t the marks of someone in control. They were the kind that come from breaking.
It shouldn’t have made sense, but somehow it did. The anger. The distance. The way he bit before anyone could get close.
Hurt people hurt people.
I’d read that once in a textbook, but it hit differently now. Because sitting there, I couldn’t stop thinking about how small he’d looked in that moment, like the rain outside had crawled into him and stayed.
It didn’t excuse what he’d done, not the humiliation, not the words, not the bruises he’d left. But it made it harder to hate him.
It didn’t make what he’d done right. But it made it real, and understanding him was the same as forgiving him, though I’m not sure if he would even want that from me.
—
It’s been a week.
A full week since he told me to get out.
And I did.
I haven’t been near the field since then. Not the bleachers, not the locker room hallway, not even the path that cuts behind the gym.
I told myself it was to give him space, to respect whatever wall I crashed into that day, but really, I think I was giving myself space too.
From the way his voice sounded when he said it.
From the way I froze before leaving, like I thought maybe he’d call me back.
He didn’t.
So this week, I shadowed him from a distance instead.
The library window had the perfect view of the field if you sat in the corner, between the shelves of old psych journals and textbooks that smelled like dust and pencil shavings.
That was where I’d been every session. Sitting there with my notebook, pretending to work while my eyes sneak outside every few minutes. Watching him move. Watching how he never looked up.
He looked fine. Normal. A little colder, maybe. His hair was shorter, I noticed that too, though I wish I hadn’t.
And today was Friday. Normally, I would have had a full day and wouldn’t have time to shadow him, but I took time out of my lunch with the girls to study and get some stuff done.
Maybe also glance out the window from time to time, just for research purposes. For my class project.
I’d just started writing again when someone slid into the seat across from me, his chair scraping quietly against the floor.
“Hey, nerd.”
I blinked up, startled, until I saw him.
Miles.
He dropped his backpack on the table, flipped open his textbook, and shot me that easy grin, the kind that looked effortless but somehow still made the room brighter. “Figured I’d join you. This place looks quiet enough for geniuses like us.”
My pen froze mid-sentence. For a second, I couldn’t even think; my heart skipped, tripped, and then started running like it was late to class.
I turned fully toward him, probably too fast, and he just chuckled like he was used to people reacting that way to him.
His voice was soft, casual. “You don’t mind, right?”
I shook my head, clutching my pen tighter. Of course I didn’t mind. He could sit anywhere, even if it made my stomach twist in that nervous, fluttery way it only ever did around him.
I tried to go back to my notes, but the words blurred. He smelled like clean soap and something citrusy. His handwriting was fast, neat.
Every few seconds, he’d push his hair back with his hand, and my brain decided to memorise that motion even though I told it not to.
From the corner of my eye, I could still see the field outside, the faint blur of movement that had become too familiar. Joshua.
I told myself I wasn’t looking for him anymore. That I was focused on my work. On Miles. But somehow, I still found myself glancing past Miles’s shoulder to the field below.
Miles followed my gaze, twisting a little in his chair until he could see what I’d been trying not to.
“Ah,” he said, low, almost amused. “Lockhart.”
My eyes widened, and I shook my head quickly, signing small and frantic: No. Not looking. Working. Shadowing from here today.
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time. “Shadowing from the library, huh? Smart idea.” His tone turned quieter, almost cautious. “After he almost hit you with the ball, I wouldn’t… get close to him.”
The pen slipped in my hand. For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
He didn’t say it cruelly. He said it like he was looking out for me, like he knew something about the world that I didn’t. His voice held that easy calm that usually made people feel safe.
But somehow, it didn’t make me feel safe.
It made me ache.
Because I remembered that day too. The blur of the ball. The sound of it smacking against the bleacher right beside my head. The way my whole body had flinched, frozen, waiting for his voice that never came after.
I should have listened.
I should stay away.
So why did part of me want to tell Miles that maybe—just maybe—Joshua didn’t mean it? That maybe he’d just lost control for a second?
Instead, I just nodded and lowered my eyes back to the paper.
Miles sighed softly, flipping another page in his textbook. “You’re too nice, you know that? That guy doesn’t deserve your time.”
My throat tightened.
Miles leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen against his notebook. “You deserve a nicer guy.”
I frowned, blinking up at him. A nicer guy?
He tilted his head, watching me closely. “Yeah. Someone who doesn’t throw balls at your head for fun.”
My shoulders stiffened, and I shook my head quickly, signing: No. Not like that. It’s just work. I’m doing my job.
He chuckled under his breath. “You’re getting defensive, Campbell.”
I hesitated, biting my lip. Then I wrote it down instead, because my hands were trembling a little too much to sign properly.
I don’t like him like that.
Miles’s eyes dropped to the words, then back up to me, one brow raised. “Oh? So you like someone else then?”
Heat rushed straight to my face. I shook my head fast, too fast, and he laughed, low and teasing, that stupid dimple in his cheek making it worse.
“Wow, that blush says yes,” he teased, leaning forward across the table. “Should I guess who it is…? Me?”
My jaw dropped a little, and I think my soul left my body for a second.
He grinned wider, clearly enjoying how flustered I was. “Relax, I’m kidding. Unless… you want me to be right.”
I hid behind my notebook, shaking my head again, cheeks burning so hot it hurt. Miles just laughed softly, leaning back in his seat, flipping through his notes like he didn’t just set my entire nervous system on fire.
—
After about an hour, Miles started packing up, mumbling something about being late for his class.
“Don’t miss me too much,” he teased, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
I looked up at him and lifted my hand, giving him a tiny wave, cheeks still warm. He chuckled and walked away, leaving the faint scent of his cologne behind.
The library felt too quiet without him. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, tried to focus on my notes, tried to slow the stupid heartbeat that still hadn’t calmed down.
A beat. Just one.
Then someone dropped into the chair in front of me, the thud sharp enough to make me jump.
“Away game tomorrow.”
My head snapped up.
Joshua.
He didn’t even look up from his phone as he spoke, elbows resting on his knees, voice low, clipped. “Come.”
I blinked, confused, gripping my pen tighter. Come?
He finally looked at me. Sharp eyes, dark hoodie, expression unreadable but somehow heavier than usual. “You’ve shadowed home games,” he said. “You should see how we play away. It’s different. Good for your research.”
Good for my research.
Of course.
I nodded slowly, trying not to stare too long, trying not to notice how his hair fell into his eyes or how his voice sounded less like an order and more like something… else.
He tilted his head, watching me for a second too long. “You free?”
I nodded again.
“Good,” he said simply, pushing his chair back. “Be at the bus by ten.”
And just like that, he stood up and left, as if the air hadn’t just shifted, as if my stomach hadn’t just dropped to the floor.
My fingers twitched around my pen. I looked back down at my notes, the words blurring again.
Tomorrow.
I wasn’t sure if I was dreading it… or if I was starting to look forward to seeing him again.