Page 159 of The Wrong Play

“I don’t want to hurt him, Riley.” His voice was soft now, mockingly gentle. “But if you really love him, you’ll leave him before he gets caught in the crossfire. You’ll come back where you belong. Because if you don’t, I’ll make sure the whole world sees him as nothing more than the fool who let an obsessed little liar ruin his life.”

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

I hated him. I hated how he always knew exactly where to strike, how he could sink his claws into my weakest points and rip me apart like it was nothing.

“You don’t get to control me,” I whispered.

Callum’s smirk returned, lazy and triumphant. “I already do.”

Then he was gone, disappearing into the crowd like he hadn’t just torn my world apart. I stood frozen, my breath ragged, my heart screaming in protest.

The stadium pulsed with life, packed with fans draped in orange and white, their cheers rising and crashing in an unrelenting rhythm. The air vibrated with anticipation, thick with the scent of stadium food and the syrupy sweetness of spilled soda—the kind of atmosphere that usually felt intoxicating, impossible to resist.

But tonight, it was different.

The noise didn’t vibrate through me the same way. The energy didn’t lift me; it pressed down instead, heavy and suffocating. Every cheer, every chant, every roaring reaction to the game blurred into a meaningless hum, drowned out by the low, insidious echo of Callum’s voice in my head. I tried to focus, to latch onto the distractions around me—the laughter of students, the familiar rhythm of the fight song, the distant sound of whistles cutting through the chaos—but none of it could shake the cold weight lodged in my chest.

Jace was out there, moving like he was untouchable, like nothing could shake him. But I knew better. Callum had set hissights on him, on us, and suddenly, game day didn’t feel like an escape. It felt like a countdown to something I couldn’t stop.

I sat wedged between Natalie and Casey, both of them fully invested in the action unfolding on the field. Casey was on the edge of her seat, elbows on her knees, eyes locked on Parker like he was the only player out there. Natalie, on the other hand, had spent most of the game alternating between screaming at the refs and using her phone camera like a sniper scope to zoom in on Tennessee’s offensive line.

I was…pretending.

Pretending I was just another girl in the stands, wearing her boyfriend’s number, cheering like everyone else. Pretending I wasn’t holding myself together with frayed stitches.

Callum was here.

I hadn’t seen him yet, but I felt him. That insidious, crawling sensation of being watched, of being studied, like a hand pressing between my shoulder blades, a whisper in the back of my head.

I forced my gaze to stay locked on the field, to focus on Jace, lined up at the thirty-yard line, his stance loose but lethal, fingers twitching at his sides as he waited for the snap. It should’ve calmed me. The familiarity of him, the certainty. But even Jace—the safest thing in my world—couldn’t keep the dread from knotting in my stomach.

“Riley?” Casey nudged me, dragging me back to the present.

I blinked, realizing I’d been gripping my knee so hard my knuckles had gone white.

“What?”

“You okay?” She frowned, tipping her head.

Natalie waved down the guy selling bottled water without waiting for my answer. “She’s fine, she’s just stress-watching because they’re playing like this,” she announced, handing me one. “Hydrate. Hydration fixes everything. Except forheartbreak and bad grades, but you’re not failing, and you’re definitely not heartbroken, so drink up.” She eyed me until I took a sip before patting my hand. “Jace will probably do something ridiculous soon, and we need you conscious for it.”

I tried to laugh, but it felt hollow.

If only that was the case…

Callum had won.

I could admit that now.

He’d walked into my world like I’d never left his.

And he’d won.

I sucked in a breath and let my eyes drift toward the stands. And there he was.

Standing a few sections over, too still in the chaos of the crowd. He wasn’t cheering. He wasn’t watching the game. He wasn’t even pretending to blend in.

He was watching me.

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