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“Tell her…” I swallow, fighting nausea. “Tell her if she doesn’t take it down in the next hour, I’m going to the Athletic Department about her posting personal medical info about a student athlete.”
She nods. “I will.”
Here’s a new fucking rule:
Trust no one.
The bus pulls into campus.Brynn checks her phone every two minutes, fingers twitching. Something’s wrong.
Coach Drew is waiting. His face says it all.
“Camdyn,” he starts. “I’ve seen the article. I’ll get it taken down.”
I nod. No words. No emotion. Nothing.
The walk to my dorm is a minefield. Every glance is a stare, every whisper about me. About the article. About that day.
And then I see him.
Jaxon. Waiting in his practice uniform, looking like he hasn’t slept in days.
You know that feeling when your life’s imploding, but everyone else acts like it’s just another Tuesday? That’s right now.
Two girls pass, whispering. Maybe it’s their Psych midterm. But my brain only hears: the article, my story, my secrets.
Jaxon stands there, hat backwards, but something’s off. His shoulders slump. Broken.
Another group passes. More whispers, more glances. Or maybe I’m just paranoid. Tears pool as I watch everyone else moving on, like my life isn’t burning down.
Jaxon looks wrecked. “I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice cracks. “I swear I didn’t know she was going to publish it. I would never?—”
“But you talked to her.” My voice sounds hollow. “You knew she was writing it and didn’t tell me?”
He nods.
A guy from Stats walks by and double-takes. Great. Free entertainment. The sun glints off Baker Hall, everything golden and unreal, like we’re extras in someone else’s soap opera.
Jaxon steps closer. I catch the scent of his sports deodorant and dirt—used to make my heart race, now it turns my stomach. “Can we…” He glances around, running a hand through his hair. It’s already a mess, sticking up in all directions like he’s been doing that nervous habit of his all day. “Can we go somewhere private?”
“Why? If you knew and didn’t tell me, there’s nothing left to say.”
Two more people slow down. One girl stops, Starbucks in hand, full-on eavesdropping. Welcome to campus celebrity. No wonder real ones go nuts.
Jaxon notices. His eyes are rimmed red, jaw twitching—his game-time tell. He’s barely holding it together.
“Cam,” he says, soft. The same voice from the night he found out about the baby. “Please. You have to believe me. I didn’t know she’d publish it. I told her not to.”
Behind him, the coffee cart’s closing up. Students sprawl on the grass. Everything looks normal. But nothing is.
Here’s the truth about college sports: people think they know you because they watch you play. They see the field, the news, your socials. But they don’t know the sacrifices, the pain, the private moments—the ones you want to keep.
Now, thanks to Inez—and Jaxon—they think they know everything about me. Why I failed that day.
The late sun throws harsh shadows. Everything is too bright, too loud, too much. “Well, she fucking did. That wasn’t yours to share. It happened to me.”
Jaxon blinks. “I was there, you know.”
Anger flashes. He can see it. “No, you weren’t. I was in Oklahoma. In a hospital. Alone. Coach held my hand. You were gone.”