Page 23

Grayson

The noise of the locker room starts to blur—laughter, slamming doors, the spray of showers.

I don’t say goodbye. I just pull on a hoodie and head up the concrete stairs.

Past the maintenance landing.

Up another flight—until I push open the battered rooftop access door and step into air that cuts clean and cold against my skin.

The rooftop is quiet. High above the hum of traffic and the lingering buzz of fluorescent lighting inside. No shouting. No stick-on-ice chatter. No one watching.

Just space.

Just sky.

And maybe, finally, room to breathe.

I see Caleb’s here too, standing at the edge of the concrete ledge with the city spread behind him, a six-pack at his feet and a half-drunk can in his hand. His posture is loose, like he’s been up here awhile.

He doesn’t look at me as I walk over.

I grab a beer from the plastic ring, crack it open, and take a slow drink.

The silence holds for a beat. Then another.

I exhale and lean against the ledge beside him.

“You’ve been weird,” I say.

He huffs, gives me a side glance. “You’re the one who’s been disappearing every time she walks in the room.”

I take another sip. “Well, I’m just… trying not to punch you in the face every time you’re alone with her.”

That gets him. He barks a short laugh, then shakes his head.

“Same,” he says.

The quiet stretches again. The hum of traffic below barely registers.

“It’s not just a crush anymore,” I say, my voice low. “Not for me.”

Caleb nods slowly. “Yeah. I figured. She looks at you like she’s trying not to.”

I glance over. “And you? You’re not just messing around either.”

His jaw works for a second. Then he sighs. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. But yeah. She matters.”

I nod, swallowing down something sharp. “She asked me things no one else ever has. Stuff I didn’t even know I wanted someone to notice.”

We both go quiet. The wind kicks up a bit. Someone honks in the distance.

Finally, Caleb says, “So what are we doing, then? Taking turns? Fighting it out?”

I shake my head. “She doesn’t want that. She’d hate that.”

“She’s not gonna choose,” he says quietly. “Not yet.”

“I know.”

He tilts his beer toward me. “You good with that?”

I’m not. Not really.

I take a sip of my beer, thinking.

“So?” Caleb asks, leaning back on his heels. “What, we flip a coin? Fight it out?”

I smirk. “I mean, I’d win. But nah.”

Caleb chuckles, and I continue.

“She deserves more than being torn in half just because we can’t get our shit together.”

“So… what are you saying?”

I shrug. “I’m saying maybe we stop pretending this is black and white. Maybe we just… trust her. Trust us. Figure it out together instead of making it harder on her.”

“You’re seriously okay with that?”

“I’d rather be beside her with you… than not at all.”

Caleb looks over, surprised. And there’s a long pause. “…You’re such a sentimental bastard.”

“Shut up and drink your beer.”

We clink cans. We drink.

And the night settles around us like a peace treaty, fragile and unspoken.