Chapter Twenty-Eight Aurora / Joshua
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Aurora / Joshua
Aurora
The morning air bit at my fingers as I walked toward the field, notebook clutched tight against my chest. I didn’t think he’d want me here after yesterday, not that he ever wanted me anywhere, but it was on the schedule. Shadow day. No excuses.
When the field came into view, I slowed. Two figures sat on the bleachers, Alex and Jennie.
Jennie’s hair was tied up in her usual messy bun, sketchpad balanced on her knees, pencil moving fast. Alex lounged beside her, half watching her draw, half sketching his own version of whatever was in front of him.
They looked… peaceful. Comfortable. Like the world didn’t spin as violently for them as it did for me. Must be a free period.
Jennie noticed me first. She waved, bright and open, like always. “Rory! You’re early!”
I gave a small wave back, unsure if I should even approach.
Joshua was a few feet ahead, talking to one of the assistant coaches. His back was to me, but I could already tell from the tension in his shoulders that it wasn’t a good morning.
Jennie gestured for me to come sit beside them. “Come on, we’re just sketching the field. Alex is trying to prove he’s better than me, but he’s not.”
Alex glanced up, smirking. “Because you keep erasing your lines, perfectionist.”
Jennie rolled her eyes and turned back to me, softer now. “You can sit here until the session starts. He’s in a mood, so give him a minute.”
He’s in a mood. Huh. I guess the same Joshua is… back?
Still, I nodded and took a careful seat beside her, flipping open my notebook to the section labelled Week Six: Player Observation.
December 12th. Cold. Cloudy. Joshua Lockhart: unreadable.
I could feel his presence from here. Like gravity. Like he was aware of me even when he wasn’t looking.
Jennie peeked at my notes, smiling faintly. “You write so neatly.”
I smiled back, small. Safe.
But my eyes drifted toward him again: broad shoulders, damp hair from practice, his breath fogging in the cold air.
After last night, I didn’t know how to look at him. Or if he’d even look back.
I decided to focus on something else and started scribbling quickly in my notebook before turning it toward Jennie and Alex.
Free period?
Alex leaned back on the bench, a grin already tugging at his lips. “Sort of. Jennie wanted to skip.”
“I did not!” Jennie gasped, snapping her head toward him. Her pencil froze midair. “It’s not skipping if it’s educational.”
Alex laughed under his breath. “Uh-huh. Sure. You ‘educationally’ ditched because the two art classes got merged, and you hate people.”
Jennie huffed, cheeks pink. “It was packed! You couldn’t even breathe in there; everyone was hovering, bumping into each other. I need space to draw, not elbows in my ribs.”
I bit back a small smile, shaking my head as Jennie shot him a glare that didn’t hold any real heat.
They seem to always be bickering and teasing, yet so effortlessly comfortable around each other.
I wrote down: Still counts as skipping.
Jennie glanced at it, gasped dramatically, and looked at me like I’d just betrayed her.
“Et tu, Aurora?”
Alex was grinning beside her. “She’s right, though.”
Jennie elbowed him lightly, but her laugh broke through, anyway. “Fine, fine. Maybe I didn’t feel like being in class today.”
I smiled at that, quiet and small. It was nice seeing people who could be soft without fearing what it’d cost them.
But from the corner of my eye, I could see movement down on the field. Joshua was turning around.
His gaze flicked over the bleachers, past the players, straight to me. And just like that, the easy warmth in my chest turned to nerves.
Jennie was shading in the outline of the goalpost when she spoke again, casual, like it was nothing.
“Oh, I was supposed to have a signing lesson with Lockhart today,” she muttered, lips pursed as she squinted down at her sketch. “Guess I’ll do it after practice or something.”
My pen stilled mid-sentence.
…Signing lesson?
Jennie didn’t notice the way I froze, or how the pen nearly slipped out of my fingers.
Signing.
As in sign language.
My gaze flicked automatically to the field, to him.
Joshua Lockhart.
Tall, broad-shouldered, impossible to read.
The same Joshua who once made me feel like I didn’t belong in a room, let alone beside him.
Learning to sign.
Why?
For who?
Jennie kept rambling beside me, something about how Alex was supposed to help too, but her voice blurred into background noise. My heart was thudding too loudly for me to catch the words.
And then—the memory hit.
Weeks ago.
The diner.
Me signing thank you, small, soft, because speaking was impossible. And him, tilting his head, repeating it back like he understood.
I thought it was luck. A coincidence.
But now—
He knew.
My chest tightened. It didn’t make sense. It didn’t fit.
Joshua didn’t do things like that. He didn’t learn new languages, new ways of communicating, especially not for someone like me.
So why was he learning to sign?
Jennie nudged me lightly. “You okay?”
I blinked, forcing myself to nod, to offer her a small, practised smile.
But my mind stayed on the field, on him. Every time his hands moved, every time he ran a frustrated hand through his hair.
Joshua Lockhart was learning to sign. And I didn’t know whether to feel grateful…or terrified.
I tapped Jennie’s sleeve lightly, still trying to keep my face neutral, my heartbeat steady. She turned to me, pencil still in hand.
I lifted my hands, hesitant, and signed slowly: For whom?
Jennie blinked, mouth opening, then closing again, as if she didn’t know how to answer. Before she could, Alex beat her to it. He didn’t even look up from his sketch, voice casual. “A girl.”
A girl.
My stomach dropped.
Jennie shot him a quick glare. “Alex—”
“What?” He finally looked up, confused. “It’s true. He said he’s doing it for a girl.”
My chest squeezed tight, breath caught halfway.
A girl.
I turned my head toward the field again, my pen slack in my hand. Joshua, jogging across the grass, focused, steady. He didn’t even glance my way this time.
For a girl.
I didn’t know why that stung. It shouldn’t have. It wasn’t any of my business.
Still, the thought crawled through me. Some faceless girl who must mean enough for him to try.
To learn.
To want to understand her.
And learning sign isn’t easy. I know firsthand because I had to learn American Sign Language when I moved. I couldn’t use British Sign to these people… no.
I decided to keep my head down and focus on my project. I was nearly done with it. Next week is my last week of shadowing, and I can finally—
The thought made me pause.
Can finally what? Leave? Go back to being invisible?
He’s bored with me now, isn’t he? That’s why he isn’t looking at me much; he didn’t even greet me with a nod towards the bleachers like always.
I let out a quiet exhale.
Good. Be bored, I don’t care.
Not at all.
—
Joshua
She wasn’t looking at me.
The entire damn time, nothing. Not even a glance. I’d been watching from the field between drills, waiting for it. Just one look. One second.
But she didn’t.
She sat there with Jennie and Alex, head low, hands moving as she signed something, the smallest twitch in her brow that told me I was invisible to her now.
Still mad, then.
My jaw clenched. Fine. Let her be mad. She’s the one who stared when she shouldn’t have. I told her to stop being naive, didn’t I? She should’ve listened.
But she didn’t have to ignore me.
I kicked the ball hard, just to release it, feeling that sharp hit of anger travel up my leg. The guys thought I was just warming up, but my eyes were on her. Always on her.
She didn’t even flinch when I looked her way.
Didn’t even see me.
God, it shouldn’t bother me this much. I shouldn’t care.
But I do.
Fine. She wants to act like I don’t exist?
I’ll make her look.
I set the ball down.
Aimed.
For the bleachers.
My hands were shaking, chest tight, heart pounding so fucking loud it drowned out everything else. I wasn’t thinking straight, just seeing red, just seeing her pretending I didn’t exist, laughing at something Alex said, not even glancing my way.
I took a deep breath, rolled my shoulders back, and kicked.
Hard.
The ball shot through the air like a bullet—fast, clean—but the second it left my foot, I knew.
Too high. Too fucking hard.
It didn’t hit the bleachers.
Fuck. It didn’t hit the bleachers.
Her pen fell first, then her notebook, then her hand clutched her arm, red blooming instantly under her sleeve.
Her lips parted in a silent gasp. Those glassy eyes lifted, locked on me, wide, confused, hurt.
And I froze.
Everything around me—the shouting, the whistles, the echo of cleats—blurred out. My lungs burned, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
What did I just do?
My foot still hovered midair, useless. The world spun, tilting, collapsing inward because I—
I hurt her.
I hurt her.
Her.
Not some random player. Not one of the guys.
Her.
The one person I swore I’d never fucking touch again.
And she was looking right at me like she didn’t even know who I was anymore.
I wanted to run to her, to say something, anything… but all I did was stand there, hands trembling, heart pounding at my ribs.
Fuck, I felt sick.
I stared as her body shook, lip parted as if to choke out something, anything. And she did.
She cried.
Right there on the damn bleachers, she broke.
Her hand clutched her arm, and the first tear hit before she could stop it. Then another. And another. Silent, choking, shoulders shaking… and I just stood there.
Alex’s head snapped toward me, his eyes narrowing like he wanted to say something, wanted to kill me, but he didn’t. He just turned away, jaw tight, and moved.
He stood up, moving past Jennie and crouched beside her, whispering something I couldn’t hear over the ringing in my head. Then, gently, he lifted her up, one arm around her back, one under her knees.
Jennie was right behind him, grabbing her bag, her notes, and her pen that had rolled down the steps. Her face was pale.
Everyone’s was.
Except mine.
I was empty.
My legs wouldn’t move. My chest felt like it was splitting open, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t even call out her name.
She was crying because of me.
Alex carried her down the bleachers, Jennie running after them, and I just… watched.
Watched as her head rested against his shoulder, tears still spilling down her cheeks, her small frame shaking from the pain I caused.
The field felt too quiet now. Too still.
Every player was staring, whispering, but I didn’t hear a word.
All I could see was her face, wet, broken and the way her lips trembled when she looked at me for the last time before Alex turned away with her in his arms.
And I couldn’t even fucking move.