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“You’re right,” I state coldly, remaining in the shadows as if I can’t make this confession anywhere else. Meg pauses, waiting for me to continue. “I need you to show up. I need you to put in the work.” I suck in a breath, shaking my head once as if that will clear the argument I’m still having with myself. Honesty isn’t weakness. “I need to control the narrative.”

Thiago takes a measured step back and sits on the bench, effectively removing himself from Meg’s line of sight. Interesting. He’s letting her take the lead again, just like he did on the pitch. I’m starting to understand what part of him appeals to her.

“Is that so?” Meg asks, meeting my eyes without hesitation. Her smile lingers still, but there’s nothing soft about it now. I have the feeling I’m about to get a taste of the revenge I’m greatly owed. For the years of rivalry, sabotage, and humiliation. For the lies, secrets, and power plays. Taking a small step closer, Meg’s tongue toys with her bottom lip before she delivers the final blow. “Then get on your knees and grovel.”

For a second, the locker room loses all sound. Even Thiago has the sense to remain quiet on the bench, his posture relaxed, his eyes watchful and waiting to see if I’ll actually lower myself onto the tile. No doubt he’d have already been on his knees without even being asked, begging for scraps of Meg’s attention. That’s not me. Meg stands with her chin lifted, her packed bag slung over her shoulder. My jaw locks so hard, it sends an ache directly to my temple.

Absolutely not. Whether I care for my heritage or not, something ingrained from my father’s teaching screams at me that I’m a Calloway. I don’t kneel. I don’t grovel. I sure as shit don’t give someone like Thiago the satisfaction of watching me break at Meg O’Connor’s feet.

Instead, I turn on my heel and leave the locker room with my pride dragging behind me, muttering under my breath about being so over this shit. Behind me, Meg’s silence feels too smug, and Thiago’s feels even worse.

I don’t bother going back to the pitch. I keep walking, leaving my bag and belongings behind as I push out of the stadium doors. The air washes over me, but does nothing to soothe my heated skin or calm my racing heart. I can sense the start of a panic attack settling, similar to the one I had in this very stadium where Meg comforted and kissed me. It feels like a lifetime ago, not merely a few days. I can blame Thiago for the shift, for ruining my plans, but I don’t bother lying to myself. If I had been honest with Cody, if I had pursued her properly, none of this would have been happening. I wouldn’t have my father breathing down my neck. I wouldn’t be spiraling with nothing to show for it.

My feet carry me across campus, all the way back to my own front door. It’s eerily quiet, thank fuck, given that I’ve barely been home in days whilst caring for Cody. The campus leeches seem to have moved on, hunting for a new hangout, and I couldn’t be happier. It’s about time I took a step out of the limelight.

Pushing into my bedroom, I strip and flop onto the bed before realizing I’ve left my phone back in my locker. It doesn’t matter anyway. There will only be a string of messages from my father’s assistant demanding updates and the unread messages I’ve sent Cody over the past twenty-four hours.

The first asked if he made it to class. The second pretended I only wanted to check if he’d managed his bandage alone. The third was more honest and therefore more pathetic, asking him to tell me he’s at least eaten something. Each one went unread and left me in a cold, deliberate silence that wraps itself around my heart. Why is it I’m always being punished no matter what I do or who I try to protect?

The ache behind my eyes wins out, the sleep I didn’t catch last night coming back to haunt me. Drifting in and out of consciousness, I replay the events of the last few days, searching through the web of strategy and secrets for something of substance underneath.

So many times, I forget I’m supposed to care for my own well-being too. I’m so used to taking orders, to worrying about how my actions will impact Cody, to pushing Meg to become everything I’ll never be, that I forget I’m even a person. Not a puppet, not a poster child, not a pawn to be placed and photographed. Just a man. In fact, that’s all I am. Just a man hidden somewhere beneath my father’s unrelenting orders.

Those thoughts spin round and round, only increasing the headache I was trying to shift. Eventually, I give up on sleep and draw myself up to sit on the edge of my bed, my elbows braced on my knees as I stare at nothing. I’ve made so many mistakes. I’ve lost sight of what mattered. I’ve lost…everything.

So through sheer determination to get out of this room and out of my head, I drag my lacrosse jersey back on and let instinct guide me back onto the streets. The sun has dipped low now, the evening promising the fall of rain. My sneakers hit the sidewalk with more purpose than I feel, the character I play snapping back into place with too much ease. Anyone who sees me approaching gives me a wide berth, and each time, I die a little inside. What’s the use of being respected if I’m always going to feel this alone?

By the time I reach Hawthorne House, my pride has been torn to shreds. Indecision wars as I climb the stairs, my head and my heart pulling me towards two different doors along the hallway. Stopping where my sneakers plant me, I raise my fist and knock.

“Hold that thought, takeout’s here,” I hear Meg’s voice carry through the door alongside the soundtrack of a video game. “You’ll have to play whilst watching me eat.” A flare of panic rises that she’s not alone, but it’s too late. My knees are giving out, hitting the hard floor through the fabric of my sweatpants just before the door swings open. Looking overhead, Meg’s gaze is drawn downwards, her brows pinching. I know I look like shit, even before I see it reflected in her shocked expression.

“What’s happening right now?” she asks, more to herself than me. She blinks fast, taking in the jersey, my clenched hands, and the position I swore I’d never assume merely a few hours ago.

“I’m out of options,” I groan, hearing how pathetic I sound in my own ears. “I need you to play along. I need you to meet me halfway on this. Just—” The word catches in my throat as my mind trips over itself. I need her, that’s all there is to it. Not because my father ordered it, not so that my family can weaponize her past. Simply because she puts me in my place, challenges me on my bullshit, and doesn’t give me what I want like everyone else I’ve ever met. “Just act the part. Please.”

“Act the part?” Meg repeats slowly, her fingers curling around the doorframe. “You mean stand next to you, smile for the cameras, pretend I’m falling for you while your parents spin whatever narrative they want?” I nod, struggling to find words that don’t sound like an order. I don’t have the right to order anything from her, yet that’s the language I’ve been raised on. That’s the only example I’ve ever had.

“I’m trying to protect you,” I confess, my voice unnaturally quiet. Meg takes a small step back, her arms folding over her chest as a sharp, bitter laugh escapes her. Even when I’m on my knees, practically begging for her compliance, she’s not going to give me an inch of mercy.

“Oh, this ought to be good. How in the hell are you protecting me, Everest?” From my position on the floor, I drag a hand through my hair and exhale through the last of my patience. I tell myself to remain calm, that this is my last-ditch effort to fix everything before it all comes crashing down, but a thread of harshness slips through.

“Has the team been giving you shit? Have the police hounded you with pointless follow-up questions? Have you had a single camera shoved in your face that hasn’t been pre-planned? I’m doing my best here.” Meg’s mouth parts, and nothing comes out. I don’t feel much of a victory at that. I’m simply handing her pieces of my soul and waiting to see if she’ll stomp all over them.

Just then, the next door along the hall clicks open. My blood goes cold, my eyes drawing closed. Footsteps halt, scuffing against the carpet, and I sense Cody’s grey eyes dragging over me, on my knees at Meg’s door. I can’t look, can’t bear to have his expression imprinted inside my head. Shame washes through me regardless, my head hanging forward in an effort to make myself appear smaller. It’s not like I can dissolve into the floor, but I try anyway.

“Nothing to see here,” Meg states, flicking her hand dismissively. Cody doesn’t speak, doesn’t utter a single sound. After a moment, I hear his sneakers move softly against the carpet, carrying him away toward the stairwell. I don’t glance in his direction, not once. Only once he’s gone do I release the breath I’ve been holding, coming out far too audible for the quiet hallway. That is until a voice sounds from inside Meg’s room, Thiago’s voice cutting through the computer speakers.

“Come on, Meg. Put the poor guy out of his misery. He looks pathetic.” This time, I don’t even bother trying to hide the slump of my shoulders. That makes three people who have witnessed the ceremonial slaughter of my pride. Four, if the delivery driver arrives before I manage to crawl away. Meg presses her lips together like she’s trying not to laugh, and I’m grateful that she doesn’t.

“Fine,” she rolls her eyes. “Consider this my agreement to play along for one semester only. You have until Christmas break to sort out whatever shit your parents are blackmailing you with, or find another girl to take my place.” Relief hits me with enough force to make the hallway tilt.

I blink up at her, trying to gather enough composure to nod like this was the outcome I expected instead of the only thing standing between me and a mental breakdown. One semester. That’s all I need. Just a little breathing room to keep my father off my back until I can plant my feet firmly back on the ground again.

Before either of us can say anything else, a delivery driver in a helmet and biker gear appears at the top of the stairs with a box of takeout held in both hands. He glances at me on the floor, pauses for half a second, then simply reaches over my head to pass the food to Meg like I’m a normal obstacle in his evening. The smell wafts, causing my stomach to groan, and Meg all but forgets I exist.

“I'll see you in the morning,” she vaguely calls back, already nudging the door shut with her foot. I stay exactly where I am as the door closes, unable to move for several seconds.

The hallway is quiet again, except for the muffled return of her game soundtrack and Thiago’s distant voice behind the door. The normality of it makes my heart ache, but I’m happy for her. Truly. Thiago may be an unseen complication, but I’ve never known Meg to have much of a social life outside of lacrosse and the friend she used to visit on weekends. I haven’t heard anything of Avery since Meg’s return, and I know better than to ask. Meg would rather cut her tongue out than confide in me.