Riley
I slammed the door open without knocking.
Lucas turned around, startled, halfway through pulling a shirt over his head. His bare chest tightened as he froze, shirt hanging off one arm. “Riles?”
I held up my phone, the screen still lit with Javier’s message. My hands were shaking. My voice cracked. “Is this true?! Have you been faking your injury just to get close to me?!”
His brows pulled together. “What?”
“Don’t play dumb, Lucas! Did you lie? Are you even really injured? Or was this just some sick way to—what—trap me into caring again?”
He yanked the shirt down and stepped toward me, eyes wide, baffled. “Riley, seriously? You think I would fake a career-threatening injury just to see you?”
I didn’t answer. I was too busy pacing across the room, breathing fast. The walls felt like they were closing in. I glanced around his space for the first time—really looked at it.
Trophies lined the shelves, gold and gleaming. Framed jerseys, medals, sports magazine covers. But what stopped me cold was the small nightstand beside his bed. A single photo frame sat on it.
Us.
High school. His arm around my shoulder, my head against his. We were laughing. It was creased from age but still there, plain as day.
I stared at it. “Why do you still have that?”
Lucas followed my gaze, then rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s… motivation.”
I scoffed. “Motivation for what? Guilt? Nostalgia? Or maybe it’s just a souvenir of the girl you left behind.”
“Riles…”
“Would you, though, Lucas? Would you have just called me?”
He opened his mouth, but I didn’t let him answer. My voice rose.
“I waited, okay? I waited days. Then weeks. Then months. Then years, Lucas! I watched interviews, highlights, ads—your life—while mine was falling apart. You didn’t even reach out! Not once! I had to find out you were okay by watching you smile on a screen while I was breaking behind mine!”
His face twisted in pain. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Why would you even pretend like any of this mattered to you when it was so easy for you to forget me?”
He took a step forward. “I didn’t forget you. I never forgot you.”
I laughed bitterly, gesturing at the photo again. “Sure. That’s why you left. No text. No call. Nothing.”
“I did try. I sent you that stupid apology basket, remember? The one with the books and the tea and your favorite chips? You never replied.”
I blinked. “An apology basket? That’s what I was worth?”
“I didn’t know what else to do, Riles!” he said, louder now. “I was nineteen. I had no idea how to balance Madrid, pressure, and heartbreak. I was drowning, and I knew you were too. So yeah—I ghosted. And I hate that I did. But I thought… I honestly thought that if I let you go, you’d be able to move on and chase your own dreams.”
I stared at him, tears welling in my eyes now. My voice broke. “It wasn’t easier, Lucas. It wasn’t easier at all.”
Silence. He stared at me like every word I said was cutting straight through him.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally. His voice was quiet. “I was stupid. And selfish. And scared. But I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped regretting it.”
I wiped my face with the back of my sleeve, shaking my head. “You don’t get to regret it now just because you finally looked back. You left me. You chose to leave me.”