I saw him again on Thursday.
Not in a controlled space.
Not in practice.
Not in anything official.
In the hallway outside the athletic study center.
And he didn’t see me first.
That was the first weird thing.
Mason was leaning against the wall, phone in hand, not talking, not performing, not surrounded by noise.
Just… still.
His thumb paused mid-scroll like he’d forgotten what he was looking at.
Then he exhaled sharply and shoved the phone into his pocket.
I slowed without meaning to.
He looked up.
And for a second—too long to be casual—he just stared at me like he was recalibrating something.
Then:
“Hayes.”
My name sounded different when he said it like that.
Less teasing.
More… tired.
“You’ve been avoiding me?” I asked before I could stop myself.
His jaw tightened slightly.
“No.”
That was immediate.
Too immediate.
I narrowed my eyes. “That was a fast answer.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“With what?”
A pause.
Then: “Everything.”
That wasn’t an answer.
