Lola POV
When I saw him collapse, my whole world crumbled.
Jace Reyes, the guy who never flinched, never showed weakness, was lying on the gym floor gripping his knee, his face twisted in pain.
And I didn’t think. I just ran.
I didn’t care if we were rivals. I didn’t care if the whole damn gym was watching. I didn’t care about the scholarship, the score, or the championship. The only thing on my mind was Jace. I needed to know he was okay.
But he wasn’t.
Now, I was sitting in a cold hospital waiting room, my hands clasped so tightly together they were turning red. I had no idea how bad the injury was—just that he couldn’t walk, and that he’d screamed in a way that still echoed in my ears.
He was in the room with the doctor. I had begged them to let me stay close.
Every minute felt like an hour.
My chest was heavy. Not just because he was in pain, but because deep down I knew something else: if things had been different… if we had stayed close… he wouldn’t have had to push so hard. He wouldn’t have had to prove anything. He wouldn’t have been trying so hard to block Cassian’s spike just to prove a point to his father, his team… and maybe even to me.
The door finally opened. The doctor stepped out, clipboard in hand.
“Are you his sister?” he asked, glancing at me.
I shook my head quickly. “No… I’m just… I’m Lola.”
The doctor looked at me for a beat, then nodded. “He’s awake. You can go in if you want to see him.”
I stood up so fast the chair creaked behind me. “Thank you.”
I walked into the room slowly, my stomach flipping. The beeping machines, the white walls, the smell of antiseptic—it all made it feel so much worse.
And then I saw him.
Lying in the hospital bed, his right leg in a cast, a sling of gauze wrapped tight around his knee.
He looked pale. Tired. But when his eyes found me, something in them changed. The faintest light returned.
“Hi,” I said softly, stepping closer. “I wasn’t sure if you… if you wanted to see me.”
“What’s up, Sinclair?” he replied, his voice rough but playful. “Didn’t think you’d come all the way here.”
“Are you feeling alright?” I asked, even though it was obvious he wasn’t.
He rolled his eyes. “Does it look like I’m feeling alright?”
“Okay, stupid question,” I mumbled, and gave a tiny smile. “But… at least it’s just a sprain, right?”
“Yeah. A bad one.” He winced. “They’re not sure yet, but I probably can’t play for a while.”
My smile dropped. “Really? What did the doctors say exactly?”
He looked away, his fingers fidgeting with the blanket. “They said we’ll have to wait until it heals… but the chances that I’ll play again? Don’t look great.”
My heart sank. “I’m so sorry, Jace.”
He shrugged. “It’s alright. It’s not like I even like the sport, anyway. I just do it because…”
But he didn’t finish the sentence.
Because right then, the door slammed open.
“How the fuck could that happen?” a deep voice barked from behind me.
I turned and saw a man standing in the doorway—tall, sharp-jawed, furious. I didn’t need to ask who he was. The resemblance to Jace was too clear.
His father.
“Jace,” he said, stepping forward, “you were supposed to be focused. Prepared. And now you’re here? Lying in a hospital bed like a damn idiot?!”
“Dad,” Jace muttered, but it was too late.
His father’s eyes fell on me. And they burned.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” he snapped.
Jace pushed himself up in bed. “Don’t talk to her like that.”
“You’re defending her?” His father laughed bitterly. “She’s the reason you’re here right now!”
“She didn’t do anything,” Jace said, his voice rising. “I landed wrong. That’s it.”
“She messed with your head! She’s been a distraction since the start! You were winning before she walked into your life—”
Then the doctor walked in.
He looked between us, confused by the tension in the room. “Mr. Reyes,” he said, nodding at Jace’s father, “your son has a severe ligament tear and some bone bruising around the knee. He’ll need surgery and a long recovery. We’ll do our best, but… the chance of him returning to competitive volleyball is… minimum.”
The silence in the room was deafening.
I looked at Jace. His face was blank.
His father, though, turned red.
“This is your fault,” he said, stabbing a finger in my direction. “You did this. You ruined him. You destroyed his future!”
I blinked, stunned. “What…?”
“You got in his head. Played your little games. He was fine before you—”
“Stop it!” Jace shouted, voice breaking. “Stop it, Father!”
His fists were clenched against the hospital sheets, jaw tight, eyes locked on his dad.
“Do not speak to Lola like that. Ever again.”