Chapter 33 #3
The memory hits low and hard as soon as I say it—dark gym, cold wall, her mouth one inch away, the look in her eyes when she said she was all in.
Leo sees it on my face and mutters, “Oh, damn.”
I nod.
“Yeah.”
Jade folds her arms.
“What happened?”
“I told her when I got back, we were doing this. All in. No one playing games or getting cold feet.”
Jade’s face softens a fraction.
“That’s actually good.”
“I know.”
“She believed you?”
I think about Stella’s face in that half light. About the way she looked at me—not gullible, not dreamy, not easy. Just steady. Like she was handing me one final chance to be the man I kept pretending I was.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I think she did.”
Leo watches me for a second, then says, “So what’s the plan?”
I shrug.
“Get back. Make her mine.”
“Define make her mine,” Jade says immediately.
I almost answer too fast.
“Alone. Somewhere private. Door locked.”
Jade’s jaw drops.
“Tristan.”
I blink.
“What?”
“No.” She points at me through the screen like I’m a disappointing intern. “Absolutely not.”
Leo starts laughing before I even figure out why.
I sit up straighter.
“Why not I’m not a saint?”
Jade looks personally offended.
“After all this?” she says. “After years of unresolved tension, betrayal trauma, longing, emotional damage, and whatever dark-academia-athlete nonsense you two have going on? You do not get back from a road trip and immediately disappear with her behind a closed door.”
My brows go up.
“I’m sorry, do I need committee approval now?”
“Yes,” she says. “Apparently you do. And romance. That girl deserves all the romance.”
Leo is grinning openly now.
“She has a point.”
“Traitor.”
“I’m being objective.”
Jade shakes her head and keeps going.
“You can’t make this feel like the prize is finally getting her physically,” she says. “Not first. Not after everything. She has to feel chosen, Tristan. In public. On purpose. Like you actually understand what was broken.”
That shuts me up. Even Leo stops smiling.
Jade softens her tone just a little. “You bring it back to the start,” she says. “You make it romantic before you make it anything else.”
I look at her.
“To the start how?”
She tips her head.
“That dance this weekend.”
My mind goes still.
I know exactly which one she means.
It takes me right back before I want it to—dim lights, music, Stella in that dress, too young and too beautiful and looking at me like I was something worth risking herself for.
I say nothing.
Leo sees it click.
“There it is,” he says.
Jade leans in.
“You take her to the dance. You show up. You ask her right. You remind her this isn’t just about finally getting to touch her. It’s about choosing her where people can see it.”
I look over at the dark hotel window.
The idea blooms fast.
Too fast.
Because the second it forms, it feels right.
Then practicality slams into it.
“She’s in playoffs,” I say. “I’ve got practice, film, travel. My season’s live. Her schedule’s insane. Mine is too.”
Leo waves a hand like scheduling is for civilians.
“We can solve that.”
I frown.
“We?”
“I’ll put a plane on it.”
I stare at him.
Jade doesn’t even blink.
“Obviously.”
I laugh in disbelief.
“You can’t just—”
“Yes, I can,” Leo says. “Leave in the morning. Be back the next day. It’s a dance, not a hostage situation.”
“If coaches find out—”
Leo gives me a look. “What exactly are they finding out? That you left campus on an off window to take a girl to an event?”
I open my mouth.
Close it.
Jade folds her arms, satisfied that I’m weakening.
“You’re not sneaking off to get married, Tristan. You’re taking her to a dance.”
Leo leans closer to the camera, voice dry now.
“And unless the NCAA has passed emergency legislation against being romantic for twelve hours, I think you’ll survive.”
I laugh before I can stop it.
Which is apparently all the encouragement they need.
Jade claps once.
“Great. So we’re doing this.”
“Hang on.”
“No,” she says. “You hang on. I’m already thinking three steps ahead.”
Leo is grinning again, full rich-boy menace now.
“I’ll send you times.”
I drag a hand over my face and look toward the ceiling, because somehow I have gone from postgame shower to private-flight logistics in under six minutes.
Then another thought hits me and I look back at the screen.
“They won,” I say slowly. “That means they should have a bye before the next round.”
Jade points at me.
“Exactly.”
My pulse picks up.
I reach for my laptop, flip it open, and pull up the bracket.
Stanford women’s volleyball.
Playoff schedule.
Advancement.
There it is.
Bye week.
I stare at the screen.
Kane walks out of the bathroom in nothing but shorts, steam following him, takes one look at my face and says, “Why do you look like a man planning tax fraud?”
I wave him off.
Leo sees the bracket reflected in my expression and smiles.
“Well?”
I keep looking.
Our schedule.
Their schedule.
Travel windows.
One free night.
It’s reckless.
Complicated.
Possible.
Exactly the kind of thing I would have talked myself out of a month ago.
Now all I can think is that if I’m serious about Stella, then maybe serious doesn’t always mean safe.
Maybe sometimes it means showing up in a way she’ll never forget.
I look back at the screen.
“Send the plane.”
Jade’s whole face lights up.
Leo just nods once like he knew I’d get there.
Then I remember something and sit back, already running through details in my head.
“Jade.”
“Mm-hmm?”
“I remember the dress she wore that night.”
Her smile turns wicked.
“Oh, do you?”
“Don’t make that face.”
“Too late.”
I ignore her.
“Dark blue,” I say. “Not navy. Deeper than that. It caught the light when she moved.” The memory is so clean it almost embarrasses me. “Slim straps. Open back. She’s taller than most girls, but narrow through the waist. Probably around a six.”
Jade is already reaching for another phone or notebook or maybe just mentally rearranging the universe.
“I’m on it.”
“Jade—”
“Nope. Too late.” She’s moving now, all business. “You’ve had years to be complicated. Let me be useful.”
Leo laughs softly.
“She’s terrifying when she gets an assignment.”
“I know.”
Jade looks back at me, eyes bright and sharp and suddenly gentler than the teasing deserves.
“Take care of her this time,” she says. “That’s the only part you have to do yourself.”
That one settles, because beneath the jokes and the plotting and the private jets and the absurdity of this whole conversation, that is the thing.
I nod, “I know.”
She points at me again. “And Tristan?”
“What.”
“Try not to make this weirdly sexual in the first ten minutes.”
I choke on a laugh. “No promises.”
“Wrong answer.”
Leo grins. “I’ll have the car meet you.”
The call ends a minute later with Jade muttering something about hotel reservations and Leo telling me to text when I land.
When the screen goes dark, I sit there in the hotel room with the bracket still open, my pulse running hot all over again.
Kane is standing nearby arms folded. “That sounds expensive.”
“It probably will be.”
He raises a brow.
“Should I ask?”
I stare at the schedule one last second, then close the laptop.
“No.”
He watches me for another beat.
Then smirks.
“You’re going after her hard, huh?”
“Yeah,” I say.
Kane nods once. Then, because apparently the entire male population in my orbit has decided to become emotionally literate this week, he says, “Good.”
I look up.
He shrugs.
“Girls like Stella don’t wait forever.”
I grab my phone, open Stella’s thread, and stare at the keyboard.
Then I type:
Don’t make plans for Saturday night.
I read it once.
Delete it.
Too cold.
Try again.
Keep Saturday night open for me.
Better.
Still not enough.
I erase it again and lean back, staring at the ceiling.
Not because I don’t know what I want.
Because for the first time, I want to ask her in a way she’ll remember for the right reasons.
And somewhere between the playoff bracket, Leo’s impossible resources, Jade’s sharp little lecture, and the memory of Stella in blue under low light, I realize something that feels a hell of a lot like nerves.
I’m not just trying to get the girl.
I’m trying to deserve her.