MIKE
The quiet hum of the mansion’s central air was the only sound echoing through my bedroom at midnight. I sat on the edge of the mattress, my varsity jersey finally tossed onto a chair, leaving me in just a pair of dark grey sweatpants. I was slowly unpeeling the thick white sports tape from my right hand.
Every pull of the adhesive sent a sharp, biting sting through the raw stitches Eloise had set into my skin, but I barely registered the pain. My mind was stuck in a loop. I kept seeing the way her hazel eyes had softened in that neon-lit diner when I held her hand, and the fierce, burning determination that had replaced the terror in her posture.
A soft, sudden vibration from the nightstand broke the silence.
I reached over, grabbing my phone. It was a text from Coach.
Vand
