The game was over, but the electricity of it still lingered in the air. The crowd had thinned, with people spilling outside the court into the cool spring evening. The sky was brushed with soft purples and golds, the kind of twilight that made everything feel cinematic. Elena stood beside Clara near the court entrance, arms folded tightly, as players clapped backs, exchanged water bottles, and shared half-laughed comments about sore muscles and near misses.

  Then Dylan spotted them and made his way to them.

  “Hey!” He said, his voice light and buoyant. He jogged over, wiping sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt before letting it fall back into place. “You stayed for the whole game?”

  Clara smiled, casual and unbothered. “We didn’t plan to. But the game was surprisingly… intense.”

  Dylan chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, these guys take it way too seriously for a bunch of overgrown college kids.”

  Elena gave a small, polite nod. “You played well.”

  He turned to her, grinning. “You saw me score, right?”

  “I did.”

  “That last assist? My idea.”

  “Great idea.”

  Her voice was cool, composed, and too smooth for someone who was seeing her boyfriend after weeks of half-hearted check-ins. But Dylan either didn’t notice or chose not to.

  “You both heading home?” he asked, eyes darting briefly between them.

  “That was the plan,” Clara said, stepping in before her sister could excuse them.

  “Let me drive you,” Dylan offered. “It’s getting dark. And we’re grabbing dinner not too far from here, it's the casual spot the team hangs out. You should come too.”

 Before Elena could respond, one of Dylan’s teammates, a loud, stocky guy with a crooked grin, called out from a few feet away. “Yo, man! Bring your girls to dinner! We’re all heading to Brady’s!”

  Dylan turned back to them with a shrug. “See? It’s fate.”

  Clara, eyes gleaming with mischief, nudged Elena. “We could eat. Right?”

  Elena looked at her. At Dylan. Then out at the horizon where the sky was bleeding orange.

  “Sure,” she said after a pause. “Why not.”

                                                                  - - - -

  Brady’s Diner was loud, low-lit, and pulsing with the kind of warmth that stuck to your skin. Vinyl booths lined the walls, the floor were checkered and slightly sticky, and a jukebox played something soft in the background that didn’t match the mood of the crowd.

  They all slid into one of the long tables near the back, as the rest of the team had taken over two sections of the diner, laughing, shouting orders to the overwhelmed waitress, and flipping ketchup bottles like toddlers with sugar highs.

  Clara sat beside Elena, across from Dylan, who kept a possessive arm across the back of her seat. She tried not to flinch when his fingers brushed her shoulder.

  Introductions circled the table, full of nicknames and in-jokes. Most of them were alumni from Dylan’s college years - some younger, some older - but all are clearly close. They shared history in the way they ribbed each other, loud and layered, a brotherhood built over sweat, years, and Saturday basketball.

  One guy raised a glass and toasted to Dylan’s “upgraded life,” and everyone hooted.

  “Man’s marrying the principal’s daughter,” someone said. “That’s straight-up MVP moves.”

  “Elena,” a woman with long braids added, grinning at her, “you’re gorgeous. And you’ve got yourself a whole court in your name now.”

  Everyone laughed, as Dylan basked in it.

  Elena smiled, faint but polite and answered. “Thank you.”

  “Yeah,” Dylan said, pulling her slightly closer. “I’m lucky.”

  She didn’t resist the gesture, but her fingers curled in her lap under the table. Her stomach turned at the claim. Not because of the way he said it, but because it was empty, because it didn’t land, even more because someone else’s eyes had already seen through her just hours earlier.

  And because those same eyes were now across the table, carefully unreadable.

  Nate sat diagonally across from her, in the middle of the crowd. He laughed at jokes. High-fived someone over a play. Asked the waitress for extra fries. Every move was smooth, composed, like he didn’t feel her gaze flicker to him every time he spoke. Like her presence didn’t shift the way he held himself just a little more still than usual.

  If the others noticed anything off, they didn’t say. To them, it was just a good Saturday. Just a casual dinner with friends. Just another game, another win.

  But for Elena, the table felt like a stage. Like they were all pretending. Dylan was pretending things were fine between them, while she was pretending to belong beside him.

  And Nate, he hadn’t even sparred her a glance the whole evening.

                                       - - - -

  The laughter and music faded the moment Elena stepped away from the table. She needed air, or maybe silence even, or rather, just a break from being looked at like someone’s possession, claimed with every arm-drape and shoulder-brush from Dylan, as if that was all there was to her.

  The hallway outside the restrooms was narrow, dimly lit, with flickering bulbs overhead and a “Closed for Maintenance” sign taped crookedly on one of the doors nearby. She made her way down quietly, the noise from the main room fading behind her.

  That’s when she saw him. He was leaning against the wall just a few steps from the restroom door, his head tilted slightly back, and his lips curled into the softest laugh. And he was on the phone.

  “Hey, slow down,” he said, voice warm, too gentle for a grown-up conversation. “You saw a what? No way. A real hummingbird?”

  His hand ran over the back of his neck, a slow motion of affection as he listened, nodding along even though the other person couldn’t see him.

  Elena stopped short, debating whether to turn back or keep walking past him quietly, but she didn’t have to decide, because, without even turning, Nate reached out with a casual sweep of his arm and caught her wrist. Not tight, but just enough to pause her steps.

  “Someone’s still in there,” he mouthed, with a voice low in whisper and nodding toward the restroom door. “Give it a minute.”

  His tone was easy. The kind of neutral only someone very practiced could wear. He didn’t look at her. Just turned slightly back into his call.

  Elena stood still beside him, arms crossed, pretending not to listen, but she couldn’t help it.

  “You miss me?” he said into the phone, his voice softer now. “I miss you too. Be good for Grandma, yeah? I’ll call again tomorrow.”

  Be good for Grandma.

  Her breath hitched slightly. There was only one person that kind of voice was for.

  His son.

  The restroom door creaked open behind them, and a girl with earbuds shuffled out without noticing either of them. Elena stepped in silently, mind reeling, emotions unsettled. There was something grounding about knowing he had a child. It explained the gentle way he moved through the world. The tiredness in his eyes that had nothing to do with age.

  She didn’t linger long.

  When she stepped back into the hallway, Nate was still in the same place.

  This time, he turned.

  “You waited?” she asked, brows raised slightly.

  “No. Just finished my call,” he replied, pushing off the wall, casual again.

  They began to walk slowly back toward the dining area, their steps echoing lightly off the linoleum.

  “You doing okay in there?” he asked, glancing sideways. “Didn’t expect to see you.”

  Elena nodded, keeping her tone light. “It’s been… surprisingly fun.”

  He chuckled. “That’s your honest voice or your politician voice?”

  She smiled, soft and small. “You tell me.”

  He shrugged. “I think you’re bored out of your mind. But you’re trying really hard to pretend otherwise.”

  “That obvious?”

  “To me, yeah.”

  A beat passed. They reached the hallway corner, just before the turn that led them back into the main room, the voices of the group rising louder now.

  Nate stopped, one hand resting against the wall again.

  “You should go in first,” he said, low. “Don’t want anyone getting ideas.”

  Elena paused. The air between them was quiet but charged.

  “Right,” she said, nodding. “Three-minute delay?”

  “Exactly.”

  She stepped away, fingers brushing her side nervously as she turned the corner and walked back into the room like nothing happened.

  Three minutes later, Nate joined them, easy as ever, sliding back into the booth with a beer in hand and a smirk on his face, like he’d been there the whole time.

                                             - - - -

  Few hours later and the group had narrowed, whittled down from the noisy alumni crowd to something smaller, quieter, with just Dylan, Elena, Clara, Nate, and two of Nate’s friends: Caleb, a lanky man with glasses and quick comebacks, and Jonah, the soft-spoken guy with a beard and a laugh that took its time arriving.

  Conversation drifted between topics, ranging from old college memories, to music, and then someone’s terrible experience with homemade wine.

  And then Clara, in true Clara fashion, perked up suddenly. “Okay, this night is too normal. We need chaos.”

  Jonah raised an eyebrow. “Chaos?”

  “Karaoke,” Clara declared. “Or pinball. Or both. Come on. I refuse to end the night quietly.”

  Caleb grinned. “I’m in.”

  “Where are we going?” Dylan asked, arms stretched behind his head.

  “There’s that retro arcade down the street,” Clara said. “Neon signs. Screaming kids. Bad lighting. It’s perfect.”

  “Lead the way,” Jonah replied, already grabbing his jacket.

  The group piled out with that breathless, late-night energy that only spring could deliver. The arcade buzzed with the sound of crashing games, bell dings, and half-shouted lyrics bleeding from the back room.

  Within ten minutes, Clara had taken control of the karaoke machine.

  While Elena was politely refusing to duet with her, Nate’s phone lit up again.

  He looked down at it, then up at the group.

  “I’ve got to go,” he said, standing. “Something came up.”

  “Everything okay?” Jonah asked, squinting at him under the green glow of a pinball machine.

  “Yeah,” Nate said with a half-smile, “just an emergency I need to handle.”

  He met no one’s eyes directly. Not Elena’s. Not even for a second.

  And then he was gone. Like a pause pressed too long on a song that never resumed. And the night spun on, too loud, too fast, pretending nothing had shifted.