Page 59 of High Hopes

“Oh, okay,” I say, biting back a laugh. “You should get some rest, then.”

I can almost picture him now, sprawled out on his hotel bed, eyes half-lidded with that goofy grin on his face. The thought makes my stomach flutter, warm and light.

“Sleep tight, Liam,” I murmur.

“Mmhmm,” he mumbles, his voice slurring with exhaustion. “Night.”

I wait for the line to disconnect, but it doesn’t. Instead, I hear the soft sound of his breathing—slow, steady, and unmistakably on its way to a snore. My heart melts.

“Liam?” I whisper, smiling even though he can’t see me. “You’re supposed to hang up, you know.”

No response, just the faint, rhythmic sound of his breathing. He’s out. Completely.

With a quiet laugh, I take my phone away from my ear and press the red button to end the call. Then I’m left lying there with a head full of him—his voice, his laugh, the promise of his lips on mine. He called me his favorite.

It’s intoxicating, this feeling that’s wrapping itself around me, warm and insistent. I didn’t know I could feel like this again—so excited to wake up tomorrow. So hopeful, like the world’s suddenly a little brighter just because he’s in it.

It’s not even seven,and I’ve already been up for hours, flipping through my presentation slides—tweaking, rearranging, and trying not to let my nerves completely devour me.

By the time Friday rolls around, I know I’ll be a wreck. They’ve given me the last presentation slot, the so-called “grand finale” of the week. That means I’ll be facing the fellowship panel with every other finalist’s brilliance still fresh in their minds. It’s like the universe decided my stress level wasn’t quite high enough.

And then there’s Liam. Because why not add another layer of chaos to my already spiraling thoughts?

He said he’d find me yesterday when he got back, and I waited. I sat there like a lovesick fool, jumping every time my phone buzzed, checking the door every time I heard footsteps in the hall. But nothing. Radio silence.

Sena tried to reassure me last night, saying he was probably just wiped out from the away game. But that didn’t stop the overthinking. What if he forgot? What if he was just drunk talking that night, and now he doesn’t mean what he said?

I’m brushing my teeth, staring blankly at the bathroom mirror, replaying every overanalyzed second of our last conversation. There’s still an hour until my first class, and I’ve been half-heartedly running through my presentation notes to keep my mind occupied.

But all that goes out the window when there’s an unexpected knock at the door.

My heart leaps into my throat.

I spit, rinse, and nearly trip over myself as I rush to answer it. I probably look like a half-drowned raccoon, but I can’t bring myself to care. I yank the door open, and there he is.

Liam Donovan, in all his glory.

He’s standing there in his Dayton Soccer hoodie, hair still damp from a shower, looking way too awake for this hour. That lazy, crooked grin of his—the one that makes my knees feel like jelly—is firmly in place.

“Hey, Birdie,” he says like he’s done this a thousand times before.

“Hey,” I squeak and then clear my throat. “I didn’t, um, expect to see you this early. Or, you know, here at all.”

“You said you were picking up your pieces from the kiln this morning, right?” He rubs the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. “Figured I’d walk with you.”

I blink. “You . . . remembered?”

“Of course.” He steps past me, casually slipping inside the apartment without waiting for an invitation. “I also remembered that I promised to help you with any last-minute fellowship stuff this week.”

“Oh, right.” I tug awkwardly at the frayed hem of my sweatshirt, unsure if I should be flattered or mortified by how much I was spiraling yesterday. “I thought maybe . . . I’d see you yesterday.”

He winces, guilt flashing across his face. “Yeah, sorry about that. I slept most of the day. And then I realized I had a midterm this week that I’d totally forgotten about. Spent all day cramming so I could be free to help you now.”

“Oh.” My heart does a weird flip. Relief floods through me, and I feel a little ridiculous for how worked up I got over nothing.

“Yeah, so,” he says, rocking on his heels, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket. “You ready to head out? Or do you need a few more hours of staring at those slides you’ve definitely memorized by now?”

I let out a laugh, my nerves loosening. “Okay, okay. Let’s go.”

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