Taylor POV
Dylan's name slips from my lips before I can stop it.
The sound is barely more than a breath, but the silence that follows makes it echo. Heads turn, one after another, like a row of dominoes tipping over.
The players nearest me blink the hardness as sweat dripping from their temples, jerseys clinging damp to their backs. Their confusion hardens into something sharper, more of like curiosity or suspicion—as if they've just stumbled onto a secret I never meant to spill.
The silence between us is growing so heavy and stretched like a rope about to snap.
The smell of liniment and damp turf fills my nose, thick and suffocating. My throat works once, dry and scratchy. Heat floods my cheeks, crawling up my neck until even my ears burn.
"It's Dylan…" I hear my own voice falter b
