Noah

After practice, my body was tired in that good way—like the kind of exhaustion that meant I’d earned the shower I was going to take later.

But my brain wasn’t tired.

My brain was stuck.

On her.

On the way she’d looked at me this morning like she still couldn’t believe I was real. On the way she’d smiled like she was holding something fragile inside her chest.

So instead of going home, instead of doing what I always did, I drove to the Lombardi house.

It ...