Page 4 of Gap Control

Only for a second. Long enough for me to realize I'd stepped off the curb into heavy traffic, metaphorically speaking.

"Really?"

I shrugged like it was all old news. "What can I say? The man's got great instincts and perfect posture. Who wouldn't fall in love?"

Fuck, I even uttered the four-letter word. I stepped into the Colisée, thinking the door couldn't close behind me fast enough.

Fortunately, she didn't follow me inside. As I trudged down the hall to the locker room, my eyes suddenly opened wide.What did you do?I had just told a reporter—on record—that Mason Ryker and I were dating.

It was a joke. Except nothing online ever stays a joke. Not for long. Not when it has a slow-mo hug, a smile, and a caption with a heart emoji already out in the world.

And Mason... Mason hadn't even seen the photo yet. At least as far as I knew.

Practice was uneventful, but as soon as I returned home, it began. The tide was pulling out and slowly building into a tsunami.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzzbuzz. Pause. Buzz. Buzzbuzzbuzz.

My phone was face down on the coffee table, vibrating its way to the edge. I paused the oldParks and Recepisode—never enough young Chris Pratt.

I reached for the phone, mostly to make it stop, and stared at the screen.

Forty-two text messages. Six missed calls. Instagram notifications climbing by the second.

"Jesus," I muttered, rubbing one eye with the back of my hand. "Did someone die?"

Then I saw the first DM.

Brady:Bro. What. Did. You. Do.

And below that:

Peggy:OMG

She was my sister. And next:

Mercier:Nice knowing you, Romeo.

Monroe:YOU SAID WHAT TO A REPORTER?

I unlocked the phone with the slow dread of a man checking his own obituary.

There, front and center, was a post fromForgeUpdates, an unofficial fan account following the team. It was the photo from last night—me and Mason, mid-hug—but now someone had edited it. There were sparkles and a pastel filter. Someone had added tiny floating hearts.

Across the bottom, in looping cursive: "He's gonna make an honest man out of me." – TJ Jameson.

I nearly dropped the phone.

"Fuck."

I opened Instagram. The original team post had tripled in likes. There were fan edits, reels with romantic piano covers, and an actual infographic titled "A Timeline of Rykson."

#Rykson was trending.

One fan posted a slideshow:"They were teammates… until they weren't."

It was a joke. One line. Offhand. Harmless.

Except now, it wasn't.

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