Page 71 of The Backup

I’m scrolling mindlessly through my phone, pretending not to be overthinking everything, when I hear a sharp intake of breath from the couch.

Sloane bolts upright, her hair wild, the blanket slipping off her shoulders as she looks around like she’s forgotten where she is.

“What time is it?” she blurts, her voice laced with panic.

I glance at the clock on my phone. “Four-thirty.”

She groans, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Shit, shit, shit. I’m going to have to explain this to Jacklyn.”

I lean against the counter, crossing my arms as I watch her scramble for her shorts and sweatshirt. “You could just tell her the truth.”

She freezes, glaring at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Tell her what? That I’ve been sneaking out to hook up with you? Yeah, great idea. Let me get right on that.”

I chuckle, stepping closer as she wrestles the sweatshirt over her head. “You’re acting like you just robbed a bank. Relax, Sloane. No one’s going to catch you.”

She scoffs, shoving her hair out of her face. “You don’t know that. What if someone sees me walking back? What if Jacklyn’s already up and wondering where I’ve been all night?”

I reach out, catching her wrist before she can bolt for the door. “Hey. Breathe.”

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the panic in them softens. I pull her closer, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

“Look, I get it,” I say, my tone softer now. “You want to keep things drama-free. I can roll with that. But you don’t have to treat this like a covert mission every time.”

She sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly as she leans into me. “I’m having fun, Asher. I really am. I just…I don’t want to deal with the fallout if this gets out. Not yet.”

Her honesty hits me harder than it should, and I nod, letting go of her wrist but keeping my hand on her waist. “Okay. No fallout. No drama. Whatever you need.”

A small smile tugs at her lips, and she presses a quick kiss to my cheek before stepping back. “Thanks.”

I follow her to the door, watching as she slips on her shoes and pulls the hoodie tighter around her. She pauses, glancing back at me.

“You know, for what it’s worth, you’re making it really hard to stay low-key,” she says, her tone teasing but her eyes soft.

“Good,” I reply, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “Means I’m doing something right.”

She shakes her head, laughing softly before slipping out into the early morning.

I watch her go, the faint clank of the metal stairs fading into the quiet. The door clicks shut, and I lean against it, the smirk slipping from my face as I stare at the empty room.

Low-key, huh? Yeah, this is going to stay low-key for about five minutes.

And I can’t decide if I’m dreading that or hoping for it.

The sun beats down on the field, and I can feel the sweat dripping down the back of my neck as I adjust my helmet. Practice is going fine—better than fine, honestly—but I can tell Coach isn’t buying it.

“Knox!” he barks, waving me over as the defense sets up another drill.

I jog to the sideline, tugging off my helmet as he crosses his arms and levels me with a look.

“You looked loose in the first two games this season,” he says, his tone blunt but not unkind. “You were focused, fluid, and everything clicked. But last game? You were tense. Uptight. And you know what happened—we lost. So, what’s the deal?”

I frown, running a hand through my damp hair. “I don’t know, Coach. I’m doing everything the same—film study, reps, nutrition…”

He narrows his eyes. “Then think harder. Is there something different about your routine? Your pregame ritual?”

I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. My mind is already spinning, running through every detail of those first two games.

And that’s when it hits me.

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