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Backing out of the driveway and driving down the street feels strange. I haven’t left the house this late all summer. I’ve had to work early most mornings, so I was responsible and went to bed before midnight. Sydney and Holden were both gone, so my options for people to hang out with were limited.
The court is empty when I park. Unsurprising. It’s late on a Tuesday night, and people have already started to leave town and return to campus. I’m not even sure if younger grades know this place exists, let alone hang out here. Holden and his friends kind of claimed it as their own.
I climb out of the car, inhaling deeply. The night air is thick and humid, sticking to my skin and hair. Clogging my lungs.
I’m craving the cool, refreshing air from the mountains. Wishing I could rewind to being in that tent with Holden, beforeI knew about my parents. Before I was carrying around Sydney’s secret.
Both are weighing me down, situations I can’t do anything about but am burdened by.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and send a quick text.
CASSIA:I’m at the court.
The metal bleachers are damp and cool when I set my phone and keys down on the lowest risers.
A weathered basketball is half-rolled beneath the bleachers. I retrieve it and dribble over to the free throw line. Take a shot. Miss. Continue shooting, my percentage abysmal, but the repetition calming some of the chaos in my head.
“Isn’t it like an hour past your bedtime?”
I spin, my breathing fast and my hair falling in my eyes.
Holden is walking toward me, a smirk covering his gorgeous face. A little of the tightness eases watching him approach.
I tuck the basketball I’m holding under one arm, pushing my hair out of my face with my free hand. The elastic isn’t doing much.
“Wanna play?” I ask.
Confidence turns to confusion as Holden searches my face. “What’s going on, Cassia?”
I pass him the ball—hard. Anyone else would miss it. Holden snags it out of mid-air easily. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
His nod is slow as he continues to scan my face. This is out of character for me, and we both know it.
But he doesn’t voice his concern.
Doesn’t push me to talk.
And I love him for it.
“Okay.” He dribbles to the mid-court line. “Make it, take it?”
I nod, stripping my t-shirt off and tossing the ball of fabric toward the bleachers. I’ve already worked up a sweat.
Holden’s eyebrows shoot half-way up his forehead as I crouch a few feet away, my gaze falling to the ball he’s holding.
I love school.
I’m a people pleaser. Making my parents and teachers proud has always driven me. So has the goal of getting into vet school.
But I miss playing basketball. Regret giving it up as easily as I did.
I hate and love how it’sHoldento me.
At times, it’s been an unpleasant reminder. It’s also another love we share, aside from our feelings for each other.
He’s better than me. Always has been and the gap in our respective skill levels has only widened over time. I quit in eighth grade. Holden is one of the top college players in the country.
He feints left, but I’m ready. I mirror his movements, knocking my shoulder against his chest as I reach for the ball.
