Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Tristan
Something’s off.
Not loud.
Not obvious.
But I feel it the second I step onto the court.
It’s in the air.
In the way the gym sounds—same squeak of sneakers, same echo of balls, same whistle cutting through drills—but something underneath it has shifted. Like a frequency just low enough you don’t consciously hear it… but your body does.
I grab a ball off the rack, spin it in my hands, and scan the court.
There.
Baseline.
Stella.
She’s already in motion.
Hair pulled into that bubble braid she does on game days—tight, deliberate, a small black bow tied at the end like a signature. Not flashy. Not for anyone else.
For control.
Her stance is perfect. Knees bent. Shoulders loose. Eyes locked.
She bounces the ball.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Every time the same.
Every time exact.
Then she tosses—
Jumps—
Cracks it over the net like she’s trying to split the air in half.
The sound of it hitting hardwood on the other side echoes sharp and clean.
A kill.
Even in practice.
“Damn,” one of the guys mutters behind me.
“Yeah,” another says under his breath. “She’s a firecracker.”
No one says her name loud.
No one jokes.
No one tries her.
Because whatever’s going on with Stella Cortez right now?
It’s not something you step into lightly.
I take my shot.
Free throw.
Swish.
But I’m not watching the ball.
I’m watching her.
Coach tosses her another.
“Again.”
She doesn’t hesitate.
Doesn’t reset emotionally.
Just the routine.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Toss.
Jump.
Strike.
Another perfect serve.
But it’s not just that she’s good.
She’s always been good.
This is different.
There’s no joy in it.
No fire either.
No spark.
It’s… clean.
Cold.
Like she carved out everything unnecessary and left only the part of her that wins.
My jaw tightens.
I know that look.
I’ve worn it.
After Harvard.
After Royal Oaks.
After anything that got too loud, too messy, too personal—
Strip it down.
Lock in.
Feel nothing.
Perform everything.
I hate that I recognize it on her.
Kane steps up beside me, quiet as always.
He doesn’t look at me.
Just follows my line of sight.
“Yeah,” he mutters.
That’s all he says.
But I know what he means.
We did that.
Not intentionally.
Not maliciously.
But still.
I bounce the ball harder than I need to.
Shoot again.
Swish.
“She hasn’t said a word all practice,” one of the managers whispers near the sideline.
“Would you?” someone else replies. “After that whole thing?”
Phones.
Rumors.
That night.
The banquet.
The tags.
The comments.
The way people said her name like it was a headline instead of a person.
I glance away.
Just for a second.
Toward the bleachers.
Where a couple of girls are sitting—volleyball team, I think—watching.
Not cheering.
Watching.
Assessing.
When I look back—
She’s already serving again.
“Break!” Coach calls.
Whistle shrills.
The team scatters for water.
Stella doesn’t.
She walks to the back wall, grabs her bottle, drinks without looking up.
No chatter.
No eye contact.
Just efficient.
Contained.
I move before I think.
Again.
Always with her.
“Stell.”
It slips out low.
Not loud enough to carry.
Just enough.
She pauses.
Just a fraction.
Then turns.
Her face is calm.
Composed.
That same armor from the hallway.
But closer?
I see it.
The tightness at the corners of her mouth.
The way her eyes don’t quite settle.
“Vale.”
Flat.
Professional.
Like we’re teammates.
Like we’re nothing.
I step closer anyway.
Ignoring the way the gym subtly shifts around us.
People notice.
They always notice.
“You’re killing it,” I say.
It sounds stupid the second it leaves my mouth.
“Doing my job,” she replies.
No smile.
No bite.
Just… neutral.
I study her.
Trying to find something—
Anything—
of the girl who used to look at me like I was a problem she hadn’t decided whether to solve or burn down.
“Something happen?” I ask quietly.
Her eyes flick to mine.
Sharp.
Guarded.
“Why?”
Because you look like you shut the door on the entire world.
Because you feel farther away right now than you did when you told me to leave you alone.
Because I can feel you slipping and I don’t know how to stop it without breaking the one boundary you asked for.
“Just asking,” I say instead.
She caps her water bottle.
Clicks it shut.
That small sound feels louder than anything else in the gym.
“I’m fine,” she says.
It’s the most untrue thing I’ve ever heard.
I nod anyway.
Because I promised.
Because I said I’d leave her alone.
Because I’m trying—really trying—not to be the guy who pushes past what she asked for.
“Good,” I say.
It tastes like ash.
She turns first.
Walks back to the line.
Doesn’t look back.
I stand there a second too long.
Kane bumps my shoulder lightly as he passes.
“Let her cook,” he mutters.
I huff out a breath.
Not amused.
Not annoyed.
Just… stuck.
Practice picks back up.
Scrimmage.
Noise.
Movement.
But every time I glance her way—
She’s the same.
Precise.
Untouchable.
Gone somewhere I can’t reach.
After practice, the gym empties in waves.
Guys heading to showers.
Music starting up.
Someone finally cracks a joke and the tension loosens—just a little.
I grab my bag, sling it over my shoulder, and head toward the exit—
And that’s when I see her again.
Near the doors.
Talking to one of her teammates.
Or—not talking.
Listening.
Barely.
The teammate’s animated.
Hands flying.
Probably gossip.
Probably something about—
“T&T,” I hear faintly as I get closer.
Stella doesn’t react.
Not outwardly.
But I see it.
The micro-shift.
The way her shoulders stiffen.
The way her fingers tighten slightly on her strap.
Then—
She laughs.
Light.
Dismissive.
Perfectly timed.
“I don’t give a fuck,” she says coolly. “You can hashtag that if you want.”
The girl beside her blinks.
Thrown.
Not expecting that.
Stella adjusts her bag higher on her shoulder.
Turns.
And walks right past me.
Close enough that I catch it—
Coconut.
Vanilla.
Clean skin and something warmer underneath.
Her ponytail swishes.
Sharp.
Deliberate.
She doesn’t look at me.
Not once.
But her jaw is tight.
Her steps just a fraction too fast.
Her breathing just a little too shallow.
And something in my chest twists.
Hard.
This version of Stella?
The one that feels nothing?
The one that doesn’t look at me like I exist?
Is worse than her hating me.
At least hate meant I was still something to her.
I push through the doors into the sunlight.
The heat hits immediately.
Voices. Laughter. Campus alive like nothing’s wrong.
Across the quad, I catch a flash of movement—
Long tan legs.
White sneakers.
Hair swinging.
Isa.
Walking toward me.
She spots me instantly.
Her face lights up.
Easy.
Open.
No armor.
“Hey,” she calls, closing the distance like it’s natural. Like we always end up in the same orbit.
I nod.
“Hey.”
She falls into step beside me without asking.
Her shoulder brushes mine.
Light.
Intentional.
“How was practice?” she asks.
“Good.”
She studies me for half a second longer than normal.
“Yeah,” she says. “You look… intense.”
A hint of a smile.
Teasing.
I glance back over my shoulder.
Just once.
Stella’s already halfway across the quad.
Not looking back.
Not slowing down.
Gone.
I turn forward again.
Isa bumps my arm lightly.
“Earth to Vale.”
I huff out a breath.
“Yeah. I’m here.”
She grins.
Hooks her arm through mine like it’s nothing.
Like it’s easy.
Like it’s already decided.
And I let her.
Because it is easy.
Because she’s here.
Because she doesn’t push me away.
Because she doesn’t look at me like I broke something she can’t afford to fix.
But as we walk—
As she talks—
As the sun hits and the campus buzzes and everything looks exactly like it should, but there’s this quiet, persistent pull in my chest.
Like I just watched something important slip out of reach.
And I don’t know how to get it back.
But I know this—
Whatever’s going on with Stella Cortez?
I’m not done with it.
Not even close, despite the girl who just linked her hands through mine and parades me around as if we are already a done deal