Later that afternoon, the tension finally came to a head in the locker room. We had just finished a brutal two-hour Lacrosse training session under a sun that felt too hot. My body ached in a way that felt earned—the weight of the gear, the constant sprinting, and the deliberate, heavy hits I’d been delivering on the field had been the only thing to keep the image of Maya out of my head for a while.
I stepped out of the showers, a towel slung low around my waist, the steam still clinging to my skin. The locker room was a cacophony of slamming metal doors and the rhythmic thud of cleats hitting the floor, but as I walked toward my bench, the noise seemed to dip.
Jax and Theo were already there, sitting on the wooden benches in front of their lockers.
They were halfway through dressing,
