Chapter 8

Rowan Hale decided to be careful.

It wasn’t a dramatic choice. It didn’t come with a promise or a turning point or even relief. It was simply the quiet, grinding decision to pull back in every way she knew how—less eye contact, fewer pauses, no unnecessary proximity.

Careful was something Rowan understood.

For three days, it worked.

She focused on drills and deadlines, on upcoming games and keeping her team steady. She sat with her usual friends at lunch. She didn’t linger in hallways. She didn’t look for Lila Moreno in a crowd.

She told herself that noticing someone’s absence wasn’t the same thing as missing them.

By Thursday, the cracks were obvious.

Lila wasn’t avoiding her the way Rowan was avoiding Lila. Lila moved through the school the same way she always had. Confident, visible, loud when she wanted to be. That was the problem. It meant Rowan noticed her anyway.

At the pep rally rehearsal, Rowan stayed near the back with the soccer team, arms crossed, jaw set. Lila stood center court, commanding the cheer squad with sharp, precise movements. Her voice cut clean through the gym, every count perfectly timed.

Rowan forced herself to look away.

“Eyes up,” Coach muttered beside her. “You’re distracted.”

Rowan stiffened. “I’m not.”

Coach gave her a look that said he didn’t believe her.

The fundraiser meeting that afternoon was unavoidable.

Rowan arrived late on purpose, choosing a seat far from the head of the table. Lila was already there, flipping through papers, hair pulled back tight. She didn’t look up when Rowan entered.

Good, Rowan thought. Let’s keep it that way.

They spoke only when necessary. Short sentences. Neutral tone. Professional. It was almost impressive how well they pulled it off.

Almost.

“Rowan,” Lila said at one point, voice even. “The field setup needs to be finalized.”

Rowan looked up despite herself. “I sent the layout.”

“Yes,” Lila replied. “But it’s missing the stage access.”

Rowan frowned. “That wasn’t in the plan.”

“It is now.”

The room went quiet.

Rowan leaned back in her chair. “You changed it without asking.”

Lila met her gaze, unflinching. “I adjusted it. There’s a difference.”

Rowan’s pulse ticked up. “You don’t get to make unilateral decisions.”

“And you don’t get to act like your way is the only way,” Lila shot back.

The tension was instant and unmistakable.

“Hey,” someone cut in nervously. “Let’s just—”

“It’s fine,” Rowan said flatly, eyes still locked on Lila. “We’ll figure it out.”

Lila nodded, lips pressed thin. “We always do.”

Something in the way she said it—like a challenge, like a reminder—made Rowan’s chest tighten.

They finished the meeting without another incident, but the air felt charged as they packed up. Rowan moved to leave quickly.

“Rowan,” Lila said behind her.

Rowan stopped but didn’t turn around. “What?”

Lila hesitated. Rowan could hear it in the silence. “This isn’t sustainable.”

Rowan closed her eyes briefly. “Neither is what you’re implying.”

Lila stepped closer. “I’m not implying anything.”

Rowan finally turned. “You don’t have to say it out loud for it to be obvious.”

Lila’s expression softened in a way that felt dangerous. “Then say it for me.”

Rowan swallowed. “I won’t.”

They stood there, neither willing to move, neither willing to give.

Lila broke first. Not by stepping away, but by lowering her voice. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

Rowan laughed, sharp and defensive. “I’m not afraid.”

“Yes, you are,” Lila said gently. “You’re afraid of wanting something you can’t control.”

The truth of it hit too close.

Rowan stepped back. “This conversation’s over.”

She left before Lila could respond.

That night, Rowan sat on her bed with her cleats beside her and her phone in her hand. She scrolled past messages from teammates, from friends, from people whose expectations felt manageable.

She stopped at Lila’s name.

She didn’t open the thread.

She set the phone down face-first and went to sleep with the light still on.

The game on Saturday should have settled her.

Instead, it amplified everything.

Rowan played well. Focused, dominant, unyielding. She led the team through a hard-fought win, blocking out the noise until the final whistle blew and the crowd erupted.

She lifted her head instinctively.

Lila stood near the track, clapping politely, expression unreadable. No smile. No challenge. Just distance.

Rowan felt the loss of it like a punch.

After the game, she avoided the locker room and went straight to the bleachers, needing air. The stadium was already emptying, the lights humming overhead.

“You can’t keep doing this.”

Rowan turned.

Lila stood a few steps away, cheer jacket draped loosely over her shoulders. Her voice was calm, but her eyes weren’t.

“I told you,” Rowan said, tired. “This ends.”

Lila shook her head. “You can say that as many times as you want. It doesn’t make it true.”

Rowan’s chest tightened. “What do you want from me?”

Lila’s gaze searched her face. “Honesty.”

Rowan laughed softly. “You wouldn’t like it.”

“Try me.”

Rowan stared at the field behind her, the place she understood better than anything else. “I don’t let myself want things that can be taken away.”

Lila’s voice dropped. “I’m not trying to take anything from you.”

Rowan looked at her then. Really looked.

“I don’t believe you,” Rowan said.

Lila flinched.

“Good,” Rowan added, forcing her tone steady. “Because believing you would mean admitting this matters.”

Lila stepped closer anyway. “It already does.”

They stood there, close enough to touch, the night thick with possibility.

Rowan broke away first.

“Stay out of my head,” she said quietly.

Lila’s voice followed her as she walked away. “Stop pretending I’m not already there.”

Rowan didn’t look back.

But later, lying awake in the dark, she realized something she hadn’t been ready to admit before:

Being careful wasn’t the same as being safe.

And the more she pulled away, the more inevitable this felt.