Justin's POV
Practice was supposed to clear my head. It always had. Sweat, muscle memory, the squeak of sneakers and the rhythm of the ball, lthose things usually drowned out whatever mess I was carrying. But not today.
Every layup felt heavier than it should have, every missed shot echoed like failure. Coach barked at me twice for being sloppy, once for zoning out entirely. And the worst part was, he was right. I was a mess. When the whistle finally blew, I headed straight for the bench, pulling my jersey over my head. My chest still burned, but not from the drills. From everything I couldn’t stop replaying in my head. Annabel’s face. Her voice breaking when she said she couldn’t do this anymore. It hurt me so much. It made me almost go mad. To think I would never be able to talk to he
