I faked that I didn’t care about him, that I wanted Maliyah to come back into his life, that I wanted to help that happen.

I had been living one giant lie for months.

And now, I had no idea who I was.

I dragged my feet as I rounded the last corner that led to my block, digging in my pocket for my key. I was too busy staring at the sidewalk that I didn’t notice that I wasn’t alone until I was at the edge of my stoop.

And a large pair of white Allbird sneakers came into view.

My heart stopped in my chest at the sight of them, at the dark gray joggers that cuffed at the ankle of legs I could draw blind, I knew them so well now. I clutched my key in my hand as my eyes trailed up those sweats, the NBU Football sweater, and finally, to Clay’s face.

His miserable, tortured face.

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything other than watch where his knee bounced, his clasped hands balancing over it wrung together like he was a man on the edge of breaking. His nose flared, red eyes taking in the length of me like he was looking for something he couldn’t find even with a magnifying glass.

“How did it go?”

His question surprised me, especially with how slow and achingly it came from his lips. It was barely a croak, like the words had burned his esophagus on the way out.

“Honestly?” I asked on a slow breath. “Awful.”

Clay didn’t show any emotional response to that.

“I mean, he tried,” I clarified. “I… I got what I wanted, I guess. But I just…” I paused, stomach rolling painfully at the truth I wasn’t brave enough to say. “It felt off. It felt… wrong.”

I stared at my shoes, at Clay’s, at his hands that were still white-knuckled.

After a long moment, I managed a swallow, pulling my gaze to meet his. “Why are you here?” I whispered.

I swore I saw a world war raging behind his eyes, heard gunshots and bombs exploding as he battled with whatever was on his mind. It was like he was on the precipice of deciding whether he wanted to say it or keep it inside forever.

And then, he looked at me, Adam’s apple bobbing hard in his throat before he dared to push forward.

“I couldn’t eat,” he started, knee still bouncing. “Couldn’t train, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t do anything other than make myself sick thinking about him touching you.”

My breath caught at the need, at the pure, desperate possession that rolled off his tongue along with those words.

“I tried to pull my head out of my ass, to remind myself that this was what you wanted, what we both have been playing this game for.” Clay shook his head. “But it was useless.”