Page 19 of The Final Faceoff
His eyes open wide. “Fuck, are you still pretending to be friends? That’s just wrong. So, what’s happening with Hails?”
I scowl. “She was supposed to send me her flight info, but I haven’t heard from her since she left Greece—if she did.”
Jason whistles. “Greece, huh? Fancy.”
I shake my head, typing out a new message.
Leif: Hey, globetrotter. You alive?
Three hopeful dots appear, but almost immediately, they disappear.
I stare.
Jason watches. “Oof. Brutal. Maybe she’s finally thinking that if you won’t man up, she’ll just move on with her life.”
I exhale slowly.
“It’s fine,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “She does this sometimes.”
Jason hums. “You ever gonna tell her?”
I look up. “Tell her what?”
He gives me a look. “Oh, I don’t know. That you’re obviously in love with her?”
I glare at him, he smirks in return, then claps me on the back. “Good talk, buddy.”
And I hate him.
I hate that he’s not wrong.
I stare at my phone, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.
And then, finally, I type:
Leif: Wherever you are, just . . . text me, okay? I’m losing my fucking mind.
I hit send.
And wait, but nothing comes from her side.
ChapterEight
Hailey
Defensive Zone Coverage: Keeping It Together
I was hoping for something different today. Something casual, easy, lighthearted—maybe even enjoyable.
Not this.
Not me, sitting in a sterile room, perched on crinkly paper, waiting for confirmation of something I really, really don’t want.
I swing my legs a little. Not because I’m impatient. No, that would be normal. I do it because the alternative is sitting completely still, letting my thoughts spiral into one of those slow-motion disaster montages where everything seems fine—until it isn’t and the end of the world begins.
I sigh loudly.
I have a great imagination. Some might even say too great. If there is a worst-case scenario, my brain will find it, highlight it, underline it twice, and make me feel it before it even happens—if it ever happens.
