Page 39 of Watching You
When she finishes, she hands me a mirror.
I look like someone brave.
Not fearless. Not invincible.
But brave enough to show up.
I stand in front of the mirror, curls soft around my shoulders, Kane’s jersey hanging heavy on my frame. My heart’s thudding, not fast, but deep like it’s echoingthrough my ribs. Kinsley watches me from the bed, legs crossed, phone in her lap.
“I need to go,” I say, voice low.
She looks up. “To meet him?”
I nod. “Before the game. He asked me to.”
Kinsley doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t tease. Just studies me like she’s checking for cracks. “You sure?”
“No,” I admit. “But I’m going anyway.”
She smiles, small and warm. “I’ll meet you there. I’ll find a spot near the edge of the crowd, just in case.”
I exhale, grateful. “Thanks.”
“Text me if you need out,” she replies. “I’ll come get you.”
I grab my phone, my ID, and shove my hands into my pockets.
I open the door and step into the hallway, the air cooler than I expected. My steps echo against the tile, and I count them without meaning to.
One. Two. Three. Four.
I’m not fearless.
But I’m going.
The stadium rises in the distance, all steel and noise and anticipation. I can already hear the buzz of early fans, staff, and the hum of game day energy. But I’m not heading toward the crowd.
I’m heading toward the edge.
Kane’s directions were vague—Meet me before the game—but I follow what little directions he gave me. Past the student lot. Past the loading dock. Past thechain-link fence that separates the stadium from the maintenance trail.
And there it is.
A narrow path behind the bleachers, half-shielded by overgrown hedges and the shadow of the concrete wall. Secluded. Quiet. Forgotten.
He’s already there.
Leaning against the wall, hoodie pulled up, head bowed like he’s been waiting for hours. When he looks up, the noise of the stadium disappears. It’s just him. Just me. Just the space between us.
I step closer, heart thudding.
He doesn’t speak. Just reaches out, fingers brushing mine, pulling me into the shadow with him.
And suddenly, it’s not game day.
It’s not routines.
It’s not chaos.
