My phone buzzed with the number that automatically rang when someone hit the button next to my apartment number outside, letting me know Clay was here. I tapped the code to let him in and felt my smile growing wider without me even willing it to. I texted him right after.

Door’s unlocked.

The homemade vodka sauce I’d put together bubbled precariously on the stove, so I turned the heat down before bending to check on the cheesy garlic bread toasting in the oven. The sausage was already done, covered in foil in the microwave to keep it warm. My entire apartment smelled like an Italian heaven, and my stomach grumbled just as my front door slowly creaked open.

Clay didn’t even stand a chance of a normal greeting, not before I skipped over to him and grabbed his wrists, pulling him the rest of the way through the door and kicking it closed with my foot behind us.

I mouthed the words to the song just as my favorite part came on, and I even made a little hang ten gesture with my hand as I pretended it was a shot I was throwing back in time with the lyrics. The beat was intoxicating, and I pulled Clay to the middle of my living room floor, doing a little spin under his hand before I let him go altogether and turned around just in time to drop it down in a twerk for him.

He should have laughed.

He should have been dancing with me, being a silly fool like we always were together.

At the very least, he should have had his hands on me after that twerk situation, because I knew my ass looked good in these sweatpants.

Instead, he watched me with a long, expressionless face, his eyes far off and distant.

And my heart bottomed out at the sight.

“Shit,” I said, running over to my phone to pause the song and pull the vodka sauce off the burner. I took the bread out of the oven before rushing back to him. “What’s wrong? Did something happen at practice?” My eyes shot open wider when I thought of the next possibility. “Oh God, are you hurt? Did you get injured?”

I grabbed him by the arms, taking in the full length of him in search of anything that might be bandaged or bleeding. When I didn’t find anything, I let my gaze find his again.

And the misery staring back at me stole my next breath.

“Clay…” I warned. “What is it? You’re scaring me.”

I saw every ounce of effort he put into trying to keep his face straight, into trying to remain emotionless. But slowly, little by little, he gave himself away. His eyebrows bent, nostrils flaring, bottom lip quivering just once before he blew out a breath and pulled out of my grip.