Page 63 of The Hearts We Fumble
I blink. “Nothing?”
“Of course not. I didn’t really know much either, but even if I did, I wouldn’t have told him. I mean, I knew Claudia was dating one of the guys, so I figured that’s why you went, but it wasn’t my place to say. Plus…” She smirks, throwing a conspiratorial glance at Tatum. “I liked the idea of you driving him crazy. Hayes said he was practically coming out of his skin trying to get information.”
Tatum bursts into laughter, tossing her head back.
The crowd around us erupts as the team takes the field, and just like that, all eyes are on the game.
All eyes except for mine—because my gaze instantly finds him.
“What are you gonna say when Colter asks why the hell you’re wearing Zane’s jersey?”
I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Didn’t want to be left out.” I nod toward their jerseys, the same navy and teal as mine. Everly tilts her head, considering, before giving me a slow nod of agreement.
Tatum arches a brow. “You’re just hanging out?”
“Yeah.” I exhale, glancing out at the field like I’m not feeling the weight of their scrutiny. “I’m not trying to overthink it. It’s way too soon to put any labels on anything, ya know?” I look between them, eyes pleading. “Please don’t say anything.”
Everly raises her hands in surrender. “I won’t.”
Tatum leans in, voice conspiratorial. “We have to keep them on their toes somehow. It’s no fun if we don’t make them work for it a little.”
Everly wags her brows, and I laugh because Lord knows she loves pushing Hayes’s buttons as much as I love doing the same to Zane.
For the first half of the game, Zane is locked-in—head down, laser-focused. Keaton had an early lead, up by fourteen, so he’s all business. But just before halftime, Beckham fires a long pass downfield to Hayes, who takes off like a rocket, running it in for a touchdown.
The stadium erupts.
Tatum, Everly, and I jump to our feet, screaming along with the rest of the Braysen fans. The momentum shifts—if we can score on our first drive of the third quarter, we’ll tie the game.
Except things don’t go our way.
Beckham takes a hard sack, dropping them back twelve yards, making it an impossible third down. In the next play, he fakes a deep throw and hands it off to Reed, who explodes through an opening in the defense, sprinting the length of the field for another touchdown.
The crowd loses it.
We’re still riding the high of the play when Hayes spots us, lifting a hand in our direction. Everly waves like she’s been waiting for him to notice her all game.
Then Hayes nudges Zane, nodding toward us.
Zane’s eyes track his movement, following his gaze—searching. It takes him a second, but when he finally sees me… really sees me…
It’s over.
His stare locks on me, on the jersey stretched across my chest, his number displayed in bold block letters like a silent declaration.
The air shifts.
I feel it crackle between us, the roar of the crowd fading into a dull hum in the background. My heart slams against my ribs as he yanks off his helmet and stalks toward the sideline, placing it on the rack without once breaking eye contact.
Sixty-five thousand people in this stadium.
Yet, at this moment, it’s just us.
Everly snickers beside me. “Damn, girl.”
“No kidding,” Tatum adds. “I’m surprised you didn’t combust under that look.”
I press my thighs together, heat curling in my stomach, mentally counting down the hours until I can see him again.
