CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
MASON
I slept like crap.
Which honestly wasn’t surprising anymore.
Between practice, my father, New York, and Rowan somehow living in my head rent-free twenty-four hours a day, my brain had officially become hostile territory.
Worse?
I woke up smiling because the last thing I saw before sleeping was:
Don’t let it go to your head, Reed.
Embarrassing.
Deeply embarrassing.
I walked into morning practice already irritated at myself.
Luca noticed immediately.
“Aw,” he said. “Loverboy’s here.”
“Say that again and I’ll break your nose.”
“That’s the spirit.”
The gym was already loud. Shoes squeaking, music playing low through the speakers, guys talking crap before drills started.
Normal.
Coach wasn’t in yet, which meant everyone was half-working and fully screwing around.
Andre tossed me a ball. “You alive today?”
“Barely.”
“That’s better than yesterday.”
Fair.
I started shooting from the wing automatically while Luca wandered beside me drinking something neon-colored that probably violated health codes.
“You texting Rowan till 2 a.m. helped your mood?” he asked.
I missed the shot.
That asshole grinned immediately.
“Oh, he’s gone gone.”
“Can you shut the hell up for like ten minutes?”
“No.”
Unfortunately, Jace walked in right then too.
“Who’s gone?” he asked.
Luca pointed at me. “Romeo.”
Jace gasped dramatically. “Did they finally kiss?”
“No,” I muttered.
“Damn. Thought we made progress.”
“You people are exhausting.”
Andre blinked between all of us. “Wait, are you talking about Rowan?”
Jesus Christ.
How did everyone know everything immediately?
“Holy shit,” Andre said slowly. “It’s real.”
“It’s not a thing,” I said.
Luca nodded. “That’s usually what people say right before it becomes a thing.”
I hated my entire team.
ROWAN
Mia stole half my breakfast and all my peace.
“You were online till like two,” she said.
I looked up from my laptop. “Are you stalking me?”
“You liked Mason Reed’s post at 1:14 a.m.”
Traitorous app.
Serena nearly choked on her coffee laughing.
“Oh my God,” Mia said. “It’s bad bad.”
“It’s literally social media.”
“No, babe,” Serena said gently. “You hate social media.”
Unfortunately true.
I pointed at both of them. “You guys are acting insane.”
Mia grabbed my phone off the table before I could stop her.
“Hey—”
Too late.
Her eyes widened instantly.
“Oh, this is disgusting.”
“What?”
“You guys text like an old married couple.”
Serena grabbed the phone next.
“Okay wow,” she said. “‘Go home, Ellis’ is weirdly hot.”
I buried my face in my hands.
“I hate all of you.”
“No you don’t,” Serena said. “You’re glowing.”
“I am absolutely not glowing.”
Mia looked offended for me. “Girl, you practically have a soundtrack right now.”
This was humiliating.
MASON
Practice started rough and somehow got worse.
Coach had us running defensive rotations for almost an hour.
Normally I liked defense.
It was predictable.
Controlled.
Simple.
Today my timing was off again.
Not terrible.
Just enough.
Coach blew the whistle sharply. “Reed.”
I already knew.
“You hesitated.”
“I saw it.”
“Then why’d you do it?”
Good question.
No answer.
Because I wasn’t gonna tell Coach:
Sorry, I’m distracted because a girl fixed my jacket collar and now I apparently have emotions.
“Again,” Coach ordered.
We reset.
Andre passed.
I rotated.
Too late again.
Whistle.
“Jesus Christ,” Coach snapped.
The gym went quiet.
And there it was.
That pressure feeling again.
Heavy and immediate.
The kind that always came before my father called.
ROWAN
The journalism lab was chaos.
Everyone suddenly cared about internships now, which meant people were acting like caffeine-fueled raccoons.
I was editing a draft interview piece when Professor Bennett stopped beside my desk.
“You’re applying for New York?”
Straight to business as usual.
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
She flipped through the printed pages in my portfolio. “Your writing’s strong. But this?”
She tapped one paragraph.
“Too safe.”
That hit immediately.
Because she was right.
I leaned back in my chair. “You think I’m overediting.”
“I think you’re writing what sounds smart instead of what feels honest.”
Well damn.
That felt uncomfortably personal.
Bennett handed the pages back. “You’re good when you stop trying to sound impressive.”
Okay wow.
Apparently everyone in my life was attacking me emotionally this week.
MASON
Coach kept me after practice.
Which is never fun.
The gym was mostly empty now except for managers cleaning up equipment.
Coach sat on the edge of the scorer’s table watching me towel sweat off my face.
“You know what your problem is?”
“That’s a dangerous opening sentence.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Coach sighed. “You play like someone waiting to disappoint people.”
That one landed directly in my chest.
I looked away immediately.
Bad sign.
Coach noticed too.
“You’re talented enough to make the league,” he continued. “But talent doesn’t matter if your head falls apart every time pressure hits.”
“I’m handling it.”
“No,” Coach said bluntly. “You’re surviving it.”
Silence.
Then:
“What’s distracting you?”
Rowan’s face flashed through my head instantly.
Fantastic.
“Nothing.”
Coach looked unconvinced. “Right.”
My phone buzzed in my bag before he could keep interrogating me.
I checked it automatically.
Rowan.
Coach saw my entire expression change in real time.
Oh no.
Absolutely not.
Coach leaned back slowly. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Jesus Christ.
ROWAN
I didn’t mean to text him.
Honestly.
But after Bennett’s feedback and three straight hours of editing, my brain was fried.
So:
Rowan:
Quick question.
Hypothetically, if someone’s professor said their work was emotionally repressed, should they fight her?
I stared at the message immediately after sending it.
Why did I send that.
Why.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
Mason:
That depends.
Did the professor have a point?
Rude.
Accurate.
But rude.
Rowan:
You’re both terrible people.
The typing bubble came back fast.
Mason:
Damn.
Not even gonna deny it?
Despite myself, I smiled.
Again.
This was becoming a real issue.