Chapter 5
836 Words
The final whistle blasts through the arena, sharp enough to slice through the roar of the crowd. Halecrest wins. Students explode out of their seats, chanting Jace’s name like he’s some kind of myth they’re watching in real time.
Rina stays frozen in Row C.
Her heart is a runaway drum.
Her palms won’t stop sweating.
Her entire body vibrates with the same electricity that runs through the arena.
But none of that is from the game.
It’s from him.
Jace Ezan, sweat-drenched, victorious, impossibly alive walks across the court like every spotlight belongs to him. His teammates slap his back, fans scream his name, but he looks up… searching.
Straight at her.
The noise collapses.
The whole arena tilts.
Rina inhales a shaky breath. People around her whisper instantly.
“That’s her”
“Ezan’s girlfriend”
“She actually came”
She wants to disappear. She wants to run. She wants to pretend the world isn’t staring holes through her.
But she doesn’t move.
Because Jace is already moving toward her.
He climbs the small stairway separating the court from the stands, ignoring teammates, staff, the reporters waiting for him. His eyes never leave her. Not even once.
And the way he looks at her, like she’s the calm after the storm he plays in, knocks every word out of her chest.
Students part like he’s royalty.
Rumors ignite like dry leaves.
Phones rise everywhere.
“Holy crap”
“He’s going to her”
“No way”
Rina pushes her hair behind her ear, pretending she doesn’t feel like she’s about to pass out. She braces herself for something safe, something “fake boyfriend-ish.” A polite wave. A quick check-in.
But Jace doesn’t stop in front of her.
He pulls her into his arms.
Not soft.
Not hesitant.
Not for show.
He wraps a hand around her waist and drags her against his chest like he’s claiming space the world tried to steal.
Rina’s breath catches.
His body is warm and shaking with leftover adrenaline. Her heart slams into her ribs. His fingers curl into the fabric of her shirt, grounding himself in her like she’s the only solid thing left in the room.
The arena erupts.
Gasps. Screams. A tidal wave of camera flashes.
Rina is stunned, frozen, barely remembering how to inhale. Her hands hover until his arm tightens just a fraction more.
A silent message.
It’s okay. Just hold me back.
So she does. Lightly at first, then fully, until her palms rest against his back. His breathing slows instantly.
For a moment, the world flickers away.
The crowd. The chaos. The hungry eyes.
All gone.
It’s just him.
Then reality crashes back in.
Coach yells for press interviews. Reporters shout his name. Someone screams that this moment is already trending on Campus Watch.
Jace doesn’t release her.
He lowers his head, forehead brushing her temple, pretending it’s just exhaustion. But she hears the truth in his voice, quiet, raw.
“Stay close,” he murmurs. “Please.”
Rina nods, because words are impossible. His request sinks into her skin like heat.
When he finally pulls back, his hand stays on her waist, guiding her down the steps and toward the tunnel as if the world might swallow her if he lets go.
People stare. Some glare. A few girls look like they want to strangle her right there between the bleachers.
Rina keeps her eyes forward.
Inside the tunnel, the noise dims to a dull roar. Teammates shout congratulations from a distance, but their eyes keep flicking between his hand on her waist and her flushed face.
Jace shoots them a look that kills every smirk instantly.
He leans toward her, voice low but steady. “You okay?”
No one has ever asked her that with that kind of sincerity. Not even in private. Certainly not in front of half the school.
“I… think so,” she whispers.
A small breath leaves him, almost a laugh, almost relief. “Good. Because I’m not letting anyone tear into you after tonight. Not again.”
There’s something fierce in his tone, something unfiltered and dangerous, the kind of protective instinct he swore he wouldn’t show.
Rina’s pulse stumbles.
This is supposed to be fake.
A contract and a fix.
But nothing about him feels fake right now.
Not the way he shields her from the crowd.
Not the way he looks at her like she’s the one thing he needs after the game.
And not the way his hand refuses to leave her waist—like letting go would break something.
The chaos keeps building behind them, but Jace doesn’t care. He pulls her deeper into the tunnel, away from the flashing lights, away from the whispers, away from anything that could touch her.
And for one suspended second, Rina feels it.
That dangerous, impossible shift.
Their lie is starting to feel real.
Too real.
And it terrifies her almost as much as it thrills her.
- Writer
