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LUKE

I n my experience, worst-case scenarios almost never come true. The scratching at the window is just branches in the wind, the check engine light is just a loose gas cap, Coach’s “we need to talk” text is about practice schedules. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, your mind is just spinning stories.

This isn’t one of those ninety-nine times.

The photo surfaces within minutes. Thora finds it easily—I’m tagged in it, after all—and holds out her phone so I can see. The image is in perfect focus, leaving no room for misinterpretation: I’m pressing Thora against her car, my hands cupping her face while we kiss. Under different circumstances, it would be a nice photo. But in the few minutes since it was posted, hundreds of comments are already flooding in, all of them vicious.

who is this fat bitch

omg she’s so ugly, luke what are you thinking

probably some groupie who threw herself at him

he can do so much better than her

My grip tightens around her phone until it feels like I might break the damn thing.

“Sometimes I hate people,” I tell her through clenched teeth. The rage builds in my chest, threatening to spill over. “These comments are complete bullshit. You know that, right?”

“I know.” She takes her phone back, exhaling slowly. “Trust me, I know how toxic people can get online. Doesn’t feel great reading stuff like that about myself, but I’m not taking it to heart.”

“Good, because you’re gorgeous.” The words come out fierce, protective. “Anyone who says otherwise doesn’t deserve a second thought.”

“Thanks.” She looks down at her phone, then back up at me again, worry clear in her eyes. “Aiden is going to see this, isn’t he?”

I run a hand down my face. “Yeah. There’s a pretty good chance he will.”

“I should call him. Try to explain before?—”

“No.” I pull out my phone. “I need to be the one to do this. I’m the one who promised him I wouldn’t pursue you, then kissed you anyway.”

She starts to protest, but I’m already dialing. My heart pounds as the phone rings once, twice.

“Hey, man!” Aiden’s voice comes through bright and energetic. “Perfect timing—I just beat my personal best at Mario Kart. Turns out being stuck on this couch has some benefits.”

He hasn’t seen the photo yet. The knowledge settles heavy in my stomach.

“That’s great.” I meet Thora’s worried gaze. “Listen. I need to talk to you about something.”

I don’t blame Aiden for being pissed. If someone promised to not pursue my sister, then went ahead and kissed her anyway, I’d probably react the same way. Still hurts, though, watching our years of friendship ice over in a single phone call.

A week passes. I send him text after text, each one some variation of I’m sorry . The bubbles of my messages fill the screen, one after another, without a single bubble in response. Each time I type out another apology, I wonder if this will be the one that finally gets through to him.

It never is.

My thumb hovers over Thora’s contact info at least a dozen times. I want to check on her, to make sure she’s okay, to tell her again how wrong those comments were. But reaching out would only make everything worse, so I shove my phone back in my pocket every time.

I don’t know if that photo of us keeps circulating or dies down. I stay logged out of my accounts, resisting the urge to hunt down every cruel commenter and tell them exactly what I think of them. Instead, I pour my frustration into training. I add extra reps to every set, run until my legs burn, fire throw after throw until my shoulder aches. The physical exhaustion helps, but it doesn’t fix the hollow feeling in my chest when I think about losing one of my closest friends.

And it definitely doesn’t do a damn thing to help me forget Thora.

In our final meeting before spring training kicks off, Coach runs through the roster updates. When he lists the players who’ll miss the start of training due to injuries, Aiden’s name hits me hard. He’s always been the heart of spring training—gets everyone hyped up, keeps the energy high even during the most grueling drills. The thought of him missing it twists my gut.

I pull out my phone right there in the conference room.

Spring training won’t be the same without you, man. The whole team’s going to miss your energy.

But like all my other texts, it goes unanswered.

Four weeks into spring training, Aiden flies out to Arizona to join us. I haven’t reached out to him since that text in the conference room, and I’m prepared for more of the same frosty silence when we finally see each other in person.

We cross paths in the hotel gym. To my shock, he’s the one who breaks the ice.

“Hey.” The greeting comes out tentative, but it’s there.

“Hey.” I take in his movements as he works through his PT exercises. “Looking stronger.”

“Yeah. I’m doing a lot better.” He finishes his rep on the resistance band. “Plus, I’ve been practicing my dance moves. Figure if baseball doesn’t work out, I can always try out for that dancing show.”

The tension of the past few weeks loosens its grip. We’re not back to normal, but at least this no longer feels like a friendship I’ve permanently wrecked.

“Listen, man. I’m sorry about everything that happened. With Thora, with the photo—all of it.”

“I know you are.” He sets the resistance band aside. “I’ve had a lot of time to cool down, think things through. I want to put it behind us.”

“Works for me,” I say.

We embrace in one of those back-slapping guy hugs. When we step apart, I feel lighter. Unburdened. Ready to move forward.

We head toward the elevators together, his gait practically back to normal. After a moment, he clears his throat. “I know you’re probably wondering about Thora. She flew back home before I came out here. She’s doing fine.”

“That’s good.”

He studies me for a long moment, his brows drawn together in thought. “You were really into her, weren’t you?”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “This feels like a trap.”

“No, you’re right.” He shakes his head. “Let’s not go there.”

I nod in agreement, even as every part of me wants to tell him exactly how much I still think about his sister.