Lola POV
I don’t know why I texted him.
I really don’t.
Maybe it was because I was tired of holding everything in. Maybe because I felt like I was suffocating in my own house. Or maybe—just maybe—because I wanted to feel seen. Heard. Understood.
And Jace? Somehow, he always saw right through me.
After I shoved him into that janitor’s closet, we hadn’t stopped texting. When everyone left that day, I waited five minutes, then opened the door. He just stood there with that crooked smirk like he owned the moment.
“Well,” he said, brushing dust off his shoulder, “you shoved me into a janitor’s closet.”
I winced. “Yeah… I’m sorry about that.”
He tilted his head. “Sorry doesn’t really cut it. I think you owe me.”
“For what?” I asked, folding my arms.
“Hmm… your number would be a good start.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
Since then, we’ve been texting back and forth. Stupid memes. Rants about practice. Silly questions like “If you could serve a volleyball at anyone’s face, who would it be?” (I said Darla. Obviously.)
It was weird. It wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m supposed to hate him. We’re rivals. If anyone finds out about us, it’s over—game, reputation, scholarship. All of it.
But today? I didn’t care.
Because today, I walked in from volleyball practice, sweaty and drained, only to find them in the living room.
Cassian and Darla.
Making out. On our couch.
The same couch where we used to sit and watch old championship matches with Mom and Dad. Where he once gave me my first pair of real court shoes. Now it’s the place he lets Darla press her glitter-covered lips all over him like we’re not in the middle of our lives falling apart.
I slammed the door shut hard enough to shake the frame.
Cassian barely flinched. Just looked at me with that bored expression that made me want to scream.
I went upstairs. Changed into my oversized tee and shorts, my hair still damp from practice. When I came down to grab food, I heard voices coming from the kitchen.
I stopped at the corner, heart pounding.
“…She’s not even that good,” Darla whispered, like she was talking about someone miles away. “You should take captain from her. Or just hand it to me. We both know I could lead the team better.”
My hands clenched into fists at my sides.
I stormed in without thinking. “You are not fit to be captain.”
They both jumped.
Cassian turned slowly, already defensive. “What the hell is your problem now?”
“My problem?” I snapped, glaring between the two of them. “My problem is that you keep skipping practices, throwing games, and now you’re trying to replace me with her?”
Darla stepped forward. “You don’t have to act like you’re the only one who knows volleyball, Lola.”
I laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “And you don’t have to pretend like you’re not clinging to my brother just to take my place.”
Cassian raised his voice. “You’re being dramatic.”
“No. I’m being real,” I growled. “You don’t care about the team anymore. You don’t care about me. You’re just… gone.”
And then he left. With her. Again. And I broke. So I texted the one person I shouldn’t.
Now, I sat curled up on my bed, knees to my chest, waiting. My phone buzzed with a message.
Jace: I’m downstairs.
I ran down and opened the door. There he was—black hoodie, damp hair, expression unreadable.
He looked me up and down. “Is this a trap?”
I shook my head. “No. Cassian’s not here. We fought again.”
He stepped inside. I closed the door behind him.
“Come on,” I said quietly, leading him up the stairs.
Once inside my room, he turned to me, arms crossed. “Are you alright?”
I looked at him, voice barely a whisper. “Why are you being so nice to me? Is it because Regionals are next month? Are you trying to mess with my head before the game? Get close so you can break me easier?”
He frowned, stepping closer. “I’m here because you asked me to come.”
I sighed, sitting on the edge of my bed. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Jace. I feel like I’m slipping. I’m losing everything. The scholarship, the team, my brother…”
“We’re fighting for the same scholarship,” he said softly, “but that doesn’t mean you have to lose everything else.”
I looked up at him. “I’m trying to hold it together. But I’m breaking. I don’t even want people to know what’s going on with me.”
“You don’t owe anyone your strength,” he said, voice firm. “Just focus on the game. Do what you do best. Don’t depend on anyone.”
“But we’re a team,” I whispered. “We’re supposed to depend on each other.”
Then I paused. Looked at him. Felt everything boiling to the surface.
“You know what? Fuck it.”
Before I could second-guess it, I climbed onto his lap, straddling him. His breath caught, eyes wide for a second—but he didn’t stop me.
I crashed my lips against his, and he kissed me back like he’d been holding his breath for days. His hands roamed over my thighs, my back, my waist. My hands tangled into his hair as I leaned in deeper, needing him like I needed to breathe.
His mouth was hot, desperate, hungry. Everything about this was wrong. But it felt so right. And then—just as his hands slipped under my shirt…
A voice. Loud. Sharp.
“What the fuck is going on?!”