Chapter 29: Emmett

Today was the championship game. The bus sat in front of us, idling as everyone loaded up their gear. The air buzzed with excitement and nerves, but my mind was elsewhere.

I scanned the crowd, hoping—praying—that maybe Tasha would be here. After last night, when I finally admitted to myself how I felt about her, I couldn't shake the hope that it wasn't too late.

Kyle stood a few feet away, wrapping Milton in a tight hug. "I'll be driving down, so I'll be in the stands watching you play," Milton said playfully, grinning up at him.

"My very own cheerleader," Kyle teased, smirking.

Milton shoved him off with a laugh before Kyle climbed onto the bus. His gaze landed on me, and the lightheartedness vanished, replaced with a cold glare.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice flat.

I adjusted the strap on my bag, steeling myself. "Is Tasha coming today?"

Milton crossed his arms, tilting his head. "Why would I tell you?"

"Because I have something important to tell her," I said firmly.

Milton sighed, clearly unimpressed. After a moment, he gestured toward the other bus. My eyes followed his hand—and there she was.

Tasha stood next to Damien, her hair blowing softly in the breeze as she tucked loose strands behind her ear. She smiled, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush, looking exactly like the Tasha I remembered—kind, sweet, radiant.

And then Damien leaned in, hugged her, and kissed her cheek.

My bag slipped from my shoulder, hitting the ground as my chest tightened. My mouth hung open in shock.

It was too late. I'd lost her.

Milton tapped my shoulder, pulling me back to reality. "You'd better get on the bus before they leave you behind," he said, his tone a mix of pity and annoyance.

I nodded numbly, picking up my bag and trudging onto the bus. From my seat, I stared out the window, watching Tasha walk off with Milton. She was happy. She'd moved on.

My head leaned against the cool glass, my heart sinking. Was this how she felt when I told her it was "a mistake"? The memory stung, sharper now than ever.

"What's wrong with you?" Kyle's voice broke through my thoughts. He slid into the seat next to me, frowning. "Dude, you look like you just got hit by a truck."

"Feels worse than that," I muttered.

Kyle smacked the back of my head. "Get it together, man! We've got a championship to win."

I sighed, rubbing the spot where he'd hit me. "Yeah. You're right."

Six hours later, we stood in the tunnel, the roar of thousands of fans echoing through the arena. Adrenaline coursed through me as we ran onto the field under the bright stadium lights.

Coach gave a quick pep talk, and then the national anthem played. The game began, and the other team got possession first.

They fumbled on the second play, and Kyle dove for the ball, vanishing under a pile of players. The referees called it in our favor.

Our offense took the field, and I called the play: "Thunderstorm break."

The snap was clean, the execution perfect. Touchdown.

We dominated the game, pushing harder with each play, until the clock finally ran out. The scoreboard lit up: WINNERS.

The crowd erupted into cheers as confetti rained down. My teammates poured Gatorade over Coach, and I found myself swept up in a hug with Kyle.

"We're state champions!" I shouted, grinning ear to ear.

Kyle laughed, pulling back. "Hell yeah, we are!"

He turned and ran toward Milton, scooping him up in his arms before planting a kiss on his lips.

I smiled, but the happiness was bittersweet. Watching them celebrate made me think of Tasha. I wanted her here, sharing this moment with me. But I had no one to blame but myself.

Later, after the awards ceremony—where I'd been named MVP and All-American—we headed back to the hotel for a massive team party. Booze, food, and random friends spilled into a large suite. The atmosphere was electric, but I wasn't in the mood.

Kyle and Milton stayed for a bit before Kyle slung an arm around his boyfriend. "We're heading out," he said with a grin.

"Goodnight, Milton," I said, raising my cup.

Milton stopped, pulling Kyle back. "Wait." He turned to me, his expression sharp. "I saw the way you looked at her this morning."

I froze, lowering the cup.

"She's happy," I said quietly. "And you were right not to like me. I broke her heart."

"You did," they said in unison.

Kyle smirked, nudging Milton. "But that doesn't mean you can't win her back. Look at me—I had to fight for this guy." He kissed Milton's temple, earning an exaggerated eye roll.

"You think she'll ever forgive me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Milton shrugged. "Maybe."

"But you won't know unless you try," Kyle added.

I watched them leave, their words swirling in my head. I wandered back toward my room, pausing as I passed one of the doors.

Damien's voice carried through, muffled but clear enough to stop me in my tracks.

"Yeah, thanks, Tasha. The ring should fit my finger perfectly," he said, laughing.

My chest tightened as I strained to hear more.

"It's a date. 6 PM," he added, his tone dripping with excitement.

I clenched my fists, anger and frustration boiling over. I stormed into my room, slamming the door shut behind me.

They were going on a date.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, running my hands through my hair. Damien wasn't right for her. He couldn't be. Tasha was precious—special.

I had made the mistake of letting her go. But there was no way I'd stand by and let Damien have her.

Tomorrow, I'd interrupt that date. No matter what it took.