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RYDER POV

I slam the door of the empty locker room behind me, the sound bouncing off the tiles like a gunshot. My heart is still jackhammering from the hallway shitshow, adrenaline mixed with something sour that won’t settle.

Mia’s face keeps flashing in my head—red, tear-streaked, eyes wide with pure hatred as she scrambled on the floor gathering those stupid pages. I went too far. Way too far. Again.

But fuck, she makes it so easy to love her.

The way she looks at me, all fire and fear, that virgin blush spreading down her neck… it twists something dark and addictive inside me. I can’t stop pushing. Can’t stop wanting to break her open just to see what spills out.

I rip off my letterman jacket and throw it against the lockers. It doesn’t help. Nothing helps.

“Shit,” I mutter, pacing like a caged animal.

The private part starts the second I’m alone. No audience. No teammates to impress. Just me and the ugly truth.

I pull out my phone and open the photos I secretly took while she was crying—close-ups of her tear-filled eyes, the way her lips trembled when I called her “virgin” in front of everyone. My thumb hovers over delete, but I don’t press it. Instead, I zoom in on her face. She looked so small. So destroyed.

A sick thrill shoots through me even now. I hate that it does.

“Goddamn it, Vaughn, you’re fucked up.”

I replay the scene in my mind on loop, but this time without the crowd’s laughter as a soundtrack.

Just her broken “I hate you” ringing clear. The way her voice cracked. How she dropped to her knees like I’d physically hit her.

I went overboard. Deliberately. Cruelly.

I told myself it was just banter, just keeping the king-of-the-school act alive. But deep down I know the truth: I wanted her to break. Wanted her to feel as obsessed and messed up as I’ve been since she started writing my name in that notebook like a prayer.

I sink onto the bench, head in my hands. My chest feels tight. For the first time in years, real regret crawls up my throat like bile.

She’s going to hate me forever now.

The thought should feel like victory. Instead it hollows me out.

My phone buzzes. It’s Jax: “Bro that was legendary. Virgin Mia is trending on the group chat lol. You destroyed her.”

I stare at the message until the screen goes black. Legendary. Right. I destroyed her in front of the entire school—twice. Made her cry in public. Called her pathetic, creepy, a charity case. Read her most private sexual fantasies out loud like they were jokes.

She’ll never forgive me.

I stood up too fast, dizzy. The locker room spins. I punched the metal door of my locker hard enough to dent it, knuckles splitting open. Blood smears across the cold steel.

Good. Pain feels honest.

I imagine her at home right now, packing her bags. The rumor already hit me in the parking lot—someone overheard her mom on the phone saying they’re pulling her out of Lakewood High. Moving. Leaving town. Her family decided enough is enough after the arena and the hallway.

Because of me.

She’s running. Because I made her life hell. Because I couldn’t stop being the asshole everyone expects me to be.

I should feel powerful. Captain. Untouchable. Instead I feel like the biggest piece of shit on the planet.

I grab my jacket and storm out of the locker room, ignoring the few teammates still hanging around. Their congratulations bounce off me like rubber bullets. I don’t stop until I’m in my truck, engine roaring to life.

Driving past her neighborhood is a mistake. Her house is dark except for one upstairs window. Her window. I kill the lights and sit there like a creep, staring.

Is she crying again? Packing boxes while telling her parents how much she hates this school—hates me?

My hands grip the steering wheel until they ache. I want to go knock on her door. Apologize. Tell her the truth: that her diary entries didn’t disgust me, they haunted me. Every time I embarrassed her, part of me was screaming because I couldn’t handle how badly I wanted the girl who saw something in me worth writing about.

But what the hell would I even say?

“Sorry I announced to the whole school that you’re a virgin and want my dick”?

“Sorry I made you cry and now you’re leaving town because of me”?

There’s no fixing this. No grand gesture that erases public humiliation. She’ll remember me as the bully who broke her. The crazy asshole who took it too far for laughs.

I rest my forehead against the wheel. For once, the cocky smirk is gone. Just raw, ugly guilt.

She’s leaving because of me. Packing up her life, her friends, her future here—all because I couldn’t control my need to torment the one girl whoever made me feel seen.

The worst part? Even now, sitting in the dark like a loser, some twisted piece of me still replayed her tears and felt that rush. I hate myself for it.

I start the truck again before I do something stupid like walk up to her door.

As I drive away, one thought loops louder than the rest:

Mia Thompson is leaving town.

And there’s nothing I can do to make it better.

I ruined her.

I ruined us before we even had a chance.I think I’m going to miss hating how much I want her.

And the craziest thing of all?

She was dead wrong if she thought I was going to let go.