Chapter Three
Aurora
The universe hated me. There was no other explanation. The email landed in my inbox this morning like a sentence being handed down in court: You will shadow Joshua Lockhart for the next few weeks.
My chest had sunk to the floor. I hadn’t even done anything that bad in this life to deserve a punishment this cruel, so maybe it was karma reaching across timelines. Sins from another life, unfinished debts.
And now I was paying them here, one shaky breath at a time.
I stood stiff beside the bleachers, folder clutched tight to my chest, pen balanced against the spiral of my notebook. My fingers wouldn’t stop fidgeting, tapping the cover in a rhythm too fast to be casual. A pathetic attempt to bleed off nerves before they strangled me.
He was out there, commanding the field like the crown prince he was, whistle hanging from his neck, teammates looking to him like he carried the universe in his palms. And me? I was the unwanted shadow assigned to trail him. Close enough to watch. Close enough to hear him. Too close.
The thought of speaking froze my lungs. So, I didn’t.
Couldn’t. My throat was already closing up at the idea of trying.
Instead, I held on to what I knew, what I trusted: pen and paper.
If he asked me anything, if I had to tell him what I was here for, I would write.
Silent words on a page, safer than letting my voice break the air. Safer than letting him hear me.
Still, even with the plan set, my stomach knotted. Because no matter how much I tried to convince myself this was just another assignment, it didn’t feel like one. It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the ground to fall away.
The second my shoe hit the edge of the field, his head snapped up. Joshua Lockhart spotted me instantly. Of course he did. He always did.
He passed the ball off with casual ease, tossed a quick instruction to a teammate, then jogged toward me with that unhurried confidence that made everyone else step out of his way. Everyone but me.
I took an involuntary step back, my folder clutched tighter to my chest like it might shield me.
Notebook. Pen. Fast.
I scribbled before he could even open his mouth. I’m here for football. I turned it toward him like proof, like maybe he’d accept the excuse without digging.
His brow arched, head tilting as he leaned just enough to glance past the notebook at me. “You mean soccer?” His voice carried that mocking lilt, smooth but edged.
I wasn’t fazed. Couldn’t afford to be. So I hummed. Just a short sound of agreement, low in my throat.
The reaction was instant.
His eyes darkened, sharpened, locked onto me like the world had narrowed to that single hum. His lips twitched—almost curving, almost betraying the deadpan mask he lived behind—but in a blink, it was gone. The blank expression was back.
Still, I saw it. And worse, I felt it. Joshua Lockhart was… happy? Not the kind of happy people usually were, but something rawer, hungrier. Extra charged, like my single hum had given him more than it should have.
I pointed at myself, fingers twitching, lips parting before I could stop them. And of course, he noticed. Joshua’s gaze locked onto me, unblinking, steady in that way that made every inch of me hyperaware.
He didn’t rush me. He didn’t cut me off. He just stood there, waiting, like my silence wasn’t awkward but deliberate, like my voice—if I gave it—would be the only thing worth hearing.
That stare. God, that stare. Every time I even thought about speaking, he gave me that same look. Patient, careful, listening harder than anyone had ever listened to me. And somehow, that was worse. So much worse.
My throat closed. Nerves tangled with frustration. I dropped my hand, shoved the notebook back up between us, pen scratching fast across the page.
I’ll start tomorrow.
I held it out, hoping, begging that would be enough to make him stop looking at me like that. His expression dropped the second he read the words. Not because I hadn’t spoken, I realised, but because of what I’d written.
“Why tomorrow?” His voice was low, clipped.
Pen to paper, I scrawled quickly. I want to plan a schedule.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “Do it while watching.”
I bit down on my lip, the sharpness of his gaze making my chest tighten. My fingers moved before my courage gave out. It’s cold out here.
His reply was instant. “Wear my jacket.”
I shook my head, scribbled again. It’s okay. It’s expensive. I’ll be inside.
His jaw clenched, displeasure carved into every line of his face, but he didn’t stop me as I turned. My shoes crunched against the field as I walked away, pulse hammering in my ears.
I didn’t dare glance back. I didn’t have to. His stare pressed between my shoulder blades, heavy and unrelenting, like it could pin me in place if he willed it. Each step forward felt like dragging chains; every nerve in my body alive with the awareness that he was still watching.
And he didn’t look away. Not once.
I reached the entrance of the building, finally able to breathe properly again.
His gaze stuck, embedded in the back of my head.
Literally. I will never understand him. His motives, his reason or even his eyes.
Those sharp, unreadable eyes that always make my throat close up. Make me nervous, make me feel small.
Why does he look at me like that? Like he knows something I don’t? Like he wants something from me?
My thoughts were interrupted when I saw a familiar face a few feet away from me. The girl who gave me her clothes just yesterday, the one who saved me from humiliation.
I had washed them just last night, packed and ready to hand them back to her today.
I didn’t expect to see her like this, casually in the hallway.
I had planned on handing these to reception so she could collect them from there.
Her clothes were labelled with her name, Aly Ambrose, so I felt that was the best way to return these.
I had shoved a note and also sweets in there. Pathetic, I know, but I have nothing to give back but the little things.
I walked over, grip tightening around the bag straps before holding it out to her. She turned, eyes flicking down in surprise.
“Oh, thank you.” Aly smiled, easy and kind.
Why was she thanking me? My teeth caught the inside of my cheek. My palms felt clammy.
Thank you, I mouthed.
“Of course,” she said. “You looked super cute in it yesterday.”
The compliment caught me off guard. I flushed without meaning to. I’ve never had girl friends who talked like this, who dropped casual kindness so easily. It feels dangerous and wonderful all at once.
Aly crossed her arms and studied me with that same sharp look she’d used on the field… not mean, just direct. “Now, can you do something for me in return?” she asked.
My stomach tightened, and a flash of old fear spiked. The kind that showed up whenever someone asked something of me.
What if it’s a test? What if it’s a trap?
She watched me for a heartbeat, then her face softened. “Will you come join me and my friends for lunch?”
Lunch? With her and the other two girls? They want to have lunch with… me? But why? I’ve been nothing but an embarrassment to the campus, and yet they want me around.
I studied her a bit longer, trying to find any kind of sign that she was joking, messing with me. An eye roll, smirk, anything but no. I got nothing. She was serious, real and genuine with her request. I shifted my gaze away, anywhere but her eyes.
I misread her again.
Again.
She must have seen the hesitation in my face, because her tone softened immediately. “If you’re not comfortable, then just me,” she offered.
My eyes lifted to hers, startled. She’d be willing to leave her two friends for me?
“We all want to be friends with you,” she went on gently, “but if you’re not ready yet, then I hope hanging out with me would be okay?”
I felt something warm press against my ribs, like the start of a crack in old, thick ice. No one has ever said something like that to me before. I swallowed hard and managed the smallest nod.
Her face lit up almost immediately, like a child on Christmas morning. “Yeah?” her voice a bit louder now, excitement laced over it. “Meet me here at one?”
I nodded again, slower this time, like my body hadn’t caught up to my head yet.
“Great!” Her smile widened before she shoved the bag into her locker. “I’ll see you here.”
She waved, casual and effortless, like this was normal. Like I was normal. Then she disappeared down the hall toward class, her hair bouncing as she turned the corner.
I stood there for a beat too long, clutching the strap of my bag like it could ground me. No one had ever invited me like that before.