Page 122 of Guarded Love

Delete. That sounds like I'm using him as a distraction, which maybe I am, but I don't want him to know that.

Me: Hey, what are you doing? Just wanted to let you know I'm okay, just dealing with some stuff.

Delete. He'll see right through that lie. Blaise knows me too well now, can read the spaces between my words.

I set the phone down and press the heels of my palms against my eyes until I see flashing lights behind my lids. The truth is, I want him here. I want his arms around me, want him to tell me everything will be okay even if we both know it won't be. I want to bury my face in his chest and pretend the outside world doesn't exist.

But I can't let him see me like this. Can't let him witness how completely I'm falling apart. This raw, exposed version of myself feels too vulnerable, too broken. What if he looks at me and seeswhat Leo's followers see? What if the girl who can barely hold herself together isn't the same one who confidently took control in the front seat of her car?

Instead of listening to my gut this time, I turn my phone off, crawl into bed and pray for sleep that never comes.

36

WILLOW

By the time Ari parks her car in the parking lot of Crestwood Arena, I’ve convinced myself I’m fine. Not good, not stable, but fine. It’s a lie I’ve been telling myself, but here we are.

Even though I deactivated my social media accounts days ago, I decided that deleting the apps themselves would also be wise. It wasn’t out of strength, but pure exhaustion, and I’ve told myself multiple times that I’m allowed to feel this way.

But that doesn’t matter right now.

What matters is I’m about to surprise the guy I’ve been ducking for the last couple of days due to this situation. He doesn’t deserve the way I’ve been acting and frankly, neither do I. Shutting him out hasn’t been the best move, and I know I need to apologize for it, but with being overwhelmed with everything, I didn’t know what to do. So here I am, even though I’m still a hot mess. I pull my baseball hat down lower over my face and let Ari lead the way into the arena.

The event isn’t even technically open yet, but the Crestwood Red Wolves’ fan event already has a ton of volunteers and early bird superfans walking about. All the tables are draped inred-and-white tablecloths with Red Wolves decor everywhere. There’s a separate, smaller line off to the side that I assume is the table where the team will be signing their autographs for who knows how long. No sign of Blaise or Knox yet. I scan the area twice just to be sure.

Ari glances back at me and I know she knows I’m freaking out. She’s wearing a sick pair of mirrored sunglasses, even though it’s cloudy and we’re inside. “You wanna check out the merch table first?”

“Nah, let’s just walk around,” I say, keeping my voice low. My heart isn’t up for merch or small talk. I want to keep moving, keep breathing, keep the momentum before I can start making up reasons to bail and go back to my dorm room.

We roam around the perimeter of the arena floor, past the concession stands and photo booths, until I catch sight of something that makes my blood freeze.

A microphone. Professional lighting. A camera setup that's too polished for a simple fan event.

And then I see him.

Leo.

He's positioned near the tunnel entrance, angled perfectly to capture both himself and the Red Wolves branding in the background. His usual streaming setup, but mobile. Portable. Strategic. He's talking animatedly to his camera, that practiced grin plastered across his face like he belongs here. Like he’s still getting that brand deal.

My shoulders lock. The pulse in my ears drowns out everything else. I can’t hear Ari's voice, the crowd noise, the music playing over the arena speakers anymore. Everything narrows to this single, brutal realization: He's here to film content so he can go viral.

Not to apologize. Not to make amends. He's weaponizing this event, using the Red Wolves' platform to rehabilitate his image.To spin himself as the victim who's been wrongfully excluded from something that was “rightfully” his. And he’s doing it at my college, the place where I have to see many of these people day in and day out.

That’s when I’m finally able to admit to myself that I'm done letting him control the narrative. I don't think about what I’m going to do. I don't plan what I’m going to say. I just move.

I walk across the arena floor like I own this place. I’m not rushing or charging. I head toward him like I have every right to be here because I do. This is my school. My space. And he doesn't get to poison it with his performance.

The closer I get, the clearer his voice becomes. He's mid-sentence, gesturing toward his camera with the same fake-ass charisma that used to make me think he actually cared about something other than himself.

“I think it’s cool when teams do stuff like this. It gives fans a chance to actually meet the players and give back to the community. I’m glad I was able to come here today even after everything that has gone on the last few days.”

It’s then I realize not only is he trying to go viral, he’s trying to get on the Red Wolves’ good side to have them extend him another opportunity to do content with them. And that’s when I step into the frame.

Not beside him. Not behind him. Directly in front of his camera, cutting off his perfectly curated shot.

"Hi, Leo."

My voice is calm. Even. The kind of tone I use when I'm explaining something to Abue because she’s not as tech savvy as the rest of us.

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