CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
MASON
Coach made us run suicides for the last twenty minutes of practice.
Not because the team sucked.
Because I sucked.
Or more specifically, because I kept missing reads I normally made in my sleep.
By the end of it, everyone was pissed.
Mostly at me.
“You good?” Andre asked while we headed toward the locker room.
“Yeah.”
“That answer’s getting old.”
Jesus Christ, was everyone taking communication classes now?
I yanked my practice jersey over my head and tossed it toward my locker harder than necessary.
Coach walked in a second later.
The room quieted automatically.
“You’re talented,” he said, looking directly at me. “But talent means absolutely nothing if your head isn’t in the game.”
Nobody moved.
Coach rarely singled people out in front of the whole team.
“You think scouts care about your last name?” he continued. “They don’t. They care if you can perform under pressure.”
That one landed.
Hard.
Because everyone in the room knew exactly who my father was.
And exactly what came with it.
Coach looked at me for another second. “Fix it.”
Then he left.
The room stayed quiet for a beat.
Before Luca finally muttered, “Well. Damn.”
ROWAN
New York.
The second Professor Bennett mentioned it, the entire room changed.
People actually sat up.
Phones disappeared.
Nobody even pretended not to care.
“These placements are highly competitive,” Bennett continued. “You’ll be working directly with media executives for six weeks.”
Okay.
Yeah.
This was huge.
I started writing notes immediately while Mia leaned toward me whispering, “You’re absolutely getting one.”
“That’s optimistic.”
“You practically live in this department.”
“Yeah, so do six other terrifying overachievers.”
“True.”
Fair enough.
Professor Bennett kept talking about interviews, portfolios, networking events.
Meanwhile my brain was already spiraling.
New York meant:
career opportunities
connections
insane competition
possible future job offers
It also meant leaving for most of the summer.
Which should not have made me immediately think of Mason.
Annoying.
Very annoying.
After class ended, Bennett stopped me before I reached the door.
“Rowan.”
I turned back. “Yeah?”
“You should apply.”
Straight to the point.
“I was planning to.”
“Good.”
She adjusted the papers in her hands slightly. “You’re one of the strongest writers in the program. Don’t undersell yourself.”
That hit harder than expected.
Because compliments from Bennett were basically mythical creatures.
“Thanks,” I said honestly.
Then she smiled slightly. “And try sleeping occasionally. You look exhausted.”
Well.
That was humiliatingly accurate.
MASON
The locker room emptied slowly after practice.
Luca was still sitting on the bench beside his locker scrolling through his phone when I came back from showering.
“You know,” he said casually, “most people handle emotional crises with drinking.”
“I’m not having an emotional crisis.”
“You missed six rotations today.”
“I was distracted.”
“That’s literally the problem.”
I slammed my locker shut harder than necessary.
Luca looked up finally. “You like her. Just admit it and move on.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why?”
I opened my mouth.
Then stopped.
Because I didn’t actually have a clean answer anymore.
Luca nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
“Thanks, Dr. Phil.”
“You’re welcome.”
My phone buzzed in my bag.
Dad.
Again.
Fantastic.
I stared at the screen for a second before answering.
“What.”
“Coach called me.”
Of course he did.
I leaned back against the lockers. “That’s weird considering I’m not twelve.”
“You think this is a joke?”
“No. I think it’s annoying.”
Silence.
Then:
“You’re slipping.”
There it was.
Not:
How are you?
You okay?
Anything human.
Just performance.
Always performance.
“I had one bad practice.”
“You don’t get bad practices anymore.”
Something in my chest tightened immediately.
Because that sentence had been following me my entire damn life.
No mistakes.
No weakness.
No slipping.
Just win.
Always.
“I gotta go,” I muttered.
“You’ll go when I’m done talking.”
I hung up.
Straight-up hung up on him.
The locker room went silent.
Apparently Luca heard enough of that conversation.
He stared at me. “Shit.”
“Yeah.”
ROWAN
I was halfway through editing my portfolio in the library when my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Normally I ignored those.
Unfortunately curiosity won.
Unknown:
Your boyfriend looked homicidal leaving practice today.
I blinked at the screen.
Then immediately:
Rowan:
First of all, not my boyfriend.
Second, who is this?
Three dots instantly.
Unknown:
Luca.
Tessa said I should create emotional chaos.
I laughed before I could stop myself.
The girl across from me glared.
Oops.
Rowan:
Tell Tessa she’s a menace.
Luca:
Already aware.
Anyway Reed’s in a mood.
I stared at the screen for a second.
Then:
Rowan:
Why are you telling me this?
That reply took longer.
Luca:
Because you’re the only person he listens to lately.
Well.
That completely ruined my concentration.
MASON
I left campus pissed off.
At Coach.
At my father.
At myself.
Mostly at myself.
Because the worst part was knowing they were right.
I was distracted.
Every damn thing somehow led back to Rowan lately.
Practice.
Parties.
Random thoughts in the middle of class.
It was getting ridiculous.
My phone buzzed again while I walked toward my apartment.
This time it was Jace.
Jace:
You alive or brooding dramatically somewhere?
Me:
Busy.
Jace:
So yes.
Ignored.
Then another text came through immediately after.
Jace:
Rowan just followed you on Instagram.
I stopped walking.
Actually stopped.
Then immediately opened the app like a complete idiot.
And there it was.
@rowanellis followed you.
Jesus Christ.
Why did that feel weirdly intimate?
I stared at her profile longer than necessary.
Mostly photos:
friends
coffee
random campus stuff
writing screenshots
one blurry skyline picture
No thirst traps.
No curated influencer crap.
Just… her.
Without thinking, I followed back.
Then immediately got annoyed at myself for caring.
Two seconds later:
Rowan liked your story.
Okay what the hell was happening today.
ROWAN
I absolutely should not have followed Mason.
That was impulsive.
Stupid even.
But after Luca texted me and after class and after hearing New York mentioned fifteen damn times—
my brain apparently decided:
You know what would help? Emotional instability.
Great.
Then Mason followed me back almost immediately.
Which obviously made my heart do something embarrassing.
Worse:
he posted like a normal guy.
Gym photos. Team stuff. Dumb videos with friends.
One story was literally Jace falling off a couch while Luca laughed in the background.
I snorted loud enough in the library that another person glared at me.
Again.
Whatever.
Then I accidentally liked his story.
Crap.
No taking that back now.
My phone buzzed almost instantly.
Mason:
You stalking me, Ellis?
Oh my God.
I stared at the message for a full ten seconds before typing back.
Rowan:
Your friend fell off furniture.
It felt important.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Mason:
That’s fair.
He deserved it.
And somehow—
just like that—
the bad mood from earlier lifted a little.
Which honestly felt like another problem entirely.