LOGINRYDER 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.MIA POV The morning after the apartment was emptied, the finality arrived in stages. I woke to sunlight and the solid warmth of Ryder’s body, and for a few seconds there was only the present. Then the fear checked in—not as sharp as it had been in the early days after I canceled the lease, but clearer than it had been the day before. It spoke in a simple, familiar line: *There is nowhere else left that belongs only to you.* I named it. Old survival logic. Then I checked the present. His arm was heavy across my waist. His breath was steady against my shoulder. The sheets still smelled like both of us. The present held. “Morning,” he said when he felt me surface. “Morning.” “Volume?” “Present. Clearer than yesterday. The empty apartment is landing.” His hand moved once along my side. “That’s allowed. Finality has weight.” I turned to face him. In the morning light his expression was open and patient. I touched the line of his jaw and let the simple fact of him steady the residua
MIA POV Saturday arrived clear and cool, the kind of morning that made the decision feel practical instead of symbolic. I woke to the solid warmth of Ryder’s body and the late, soft check-in of the fear. It registered, named itself, and receded when the present answered with the weight of his arm and the quiet fact that we had already agreed on the shape of the day. I turned into him and rested there for a few minutes before either of us spoke. “Morning,” he said. “Morning.” “Volume?” “Low. Manageable. Ready enough.” His hand moved once along my back. “We can take the whole day if you need it. Or stop halfway. Nothing has to be finished on a schedule.” “I want it finished. But I might need quiet while we do it.” “Quiet I can do.” We rose and moved through the early hours without hurry. Coffee. Toast. The ordinary rhythm that had become the foundation of most mornings. I stood at the window with my mug and looked out at the city without searching for the windows tha
MIA POV The morning I reached for him first had started something I could feel in the hours that followed. I woke to sunlight and the solid heat of Ryder’s body, and the fear arrived so late it barely registered before the present answered it. I turned into him without performing the old inventory first. His mouth found mine, slow and warm with sleep, and for a long stretch there was only the quiet fact of wanting him and being allowed to act on it. “Morning,” he said against my lips. “Morning.” “Volume?” “Almost nothing. I didn’t check before I reached.” His hand spread across my bare back, steady and open. “Keep doing that whenever you want.” We stayed in bed until the light moved further across the sheets. There was no urgency to turn the closeness into more than it was. His fingers traced the line of my spine. I closed my eyes and let the quieter sequence hold without testing it for cracks. When the fear stayed secondary, the space it left open felt like something I could
MIA POVThere came a morning when I woke and reached for him before I checked anything else.The fear arrived afterward, late and soft, and found the present already occupied by the heat of his skin and the weight of his arm and the slow, deliberate way his mouth found my shoulder. I named the alarm out of habit, then let it recede while I turned in his arms and kissed him the way I had started to—without needing the wanting to justify itself first.“Morning,” he said against my mouth.“Morning.”“Volume?”“Late. Quiet. I reached for you first.”I felt the smile more than I saw it. His hand spread warm across my bare back. “That’s the best version of late I’ve heard.”We stayed in bed longer than usual. The closeness did not need to become more than it was. His fingers traced the line of my spine. I closed my eyes and practiced remaining inside the quieter sequence without bracing for the old urgency to reclaim
MIA POVThe quieter mornings had begun to make space for things that were not about fear at all.I woke to sunlight and the solid warmth of Ryder’s body, and for a long stretch there was only the present. The alarm checked in late and soft, then receded without argument when the room answered it. I lay still and listened to the difference. The old urgency was still capable of speaking, but it no longer arrived with the assumption that it would be obeyed.“Morning,” he said when he felt me wake.“Morning.”“Volume?”“Low. Background. The room was here first.”His arm tightened around me briefly. I turned to face him and touched the corner of his mouth, watching his eyes soften the way they did when the morning was easy. The wanting under my skin stirred, familiar and uncomplicated by shame. I leaned in and kissed him—slow, unhurried—and he kissed me back the same way, one hand resting warm at the side of my neck.
MIA POVThe quieter mornings had started to change the way I moved through the hours that followed.I woke to sunlight and the solid warmth of Ryder’s body, and for a long stretch there was only the present—no late alarm, no sharp inventory of exits, only the weight of his arm and the slow rhythm of his breathing. When the fear finally checked in it was soft enough that I almost missed it. I named it anyway, then let it recede while the room remained solid around us.“Morning,” he said when he felt me surface.“Morning.”“Volume?”“Barely there. The room came first again.”His arm tightened around me for a moment. “I’m glad.”I turned to face him. In the morning light his features looked open and rested. I touched the corner of his mouth and watched his eyes soften. The wanting that lived under my skin stirred, familiar now, no longer tangled as tightly with the old shame. I leaned in and kissed him—slow, unhurr







