Chapter 52

    Chapter 52: Stay away from her.

    GAVIN HAWKINS POV

    Today's practice sucked. I couldn’t bring myself to focus at all, no matter how hard I tried. We had a game in three days—I wasn’t supposed to be slacking off.

    Grabbing a bottle of water, I sat in the locker room, trying to rehydrate before heading home. My muscles ached from the drills, but my mind felt even more exhausted.

    The door swung open, and Aaron walked in, drenched in sweat. A towel was draped over his torso and another around his neck as he wiped his face. He was obviously heading to the showers.

    "You played dumb out there today. Is something on your mind?" he asked, his brows furrowing as he studied me like I was some puzzle he wanted to solve.

    Good luck with that.

    "No doubt, Sherlock," I grumbled, twisting off the cap and downing the rest of my water. The cold liquid was refreshing, but it did nothing to clear my head.

    Aaron scoffed, running a hand through his damp hair. "I don't even wanna know what shit you've gotten yourself into this time. Just figure it out and get back in the game, okay?"

    I nodded, my jaw clenching. I hated how much I agreed with him. I needed to get my head back in the game—and stop thinking about what Emilia had told me.

    Later that day, I had to return to school for my only class. I could’ve skipped because of practice, but I liked attending math.

    Or maybe it was because there was someone I wanted to see.

    Badly.

    And I didn’t even know why.

    After showering, I changed into a gray henley and white joggers, combed my hair, and sprayed on my favorite cologne. A part of me knew I was putting in way too much effort just for a single class, but I didn’t stop myself.

    Today, we were getting the results of the makeup exam I had taken. I knew I was going to pass, but there was still a small knot of nerves in my stomach.

    As soon as I stepped into class, a wave of clapping erupted around me.

    I blinked, caught off guard. A standing ovation?

    I wasn’t necessarily surprised, but I was… touched.

    "Gavin Hawkins, you've made the school proud."

    I frowned slightly, still confused. "What?"

    "You did great on your makeup exam," my professor announced with a proud smile. "You got a B—an upgrade from your usual E. Congratulations!"

    A small murmur of approval rippled through the classroom, and a few people clapped again.

    "Thank you, sir," I said, still feeling a little overwhelmed.

    "This is proof that anyone can succeed with a little determination," he added, nodding encouragingly.

    "Thank you, sir," I repeated, though my voice lacked enthusiasm.

    The one person who would’ve made this moment worthwhile wasn’t here.

    The class was packed, yet it felt… empty.

    I glanced at her seat—only to find some random guy from another course sitting there.

    For some reason, my chest tightened.

    "Come and take your results."

    I walked up to retrieve my paper, then returned to my seat. The crisp sheet in my hands should have felt like an achievement, but without her here, it felt meaningless.

    For a moment, I considered snapping a picture and texting her.

    But no.

    I wanted to show her in person.

    I would wait.

    I would give them to her tomorrow.

    "Why are you smiling so much?"

    Someone nudged my elbow, pulling me from my thoughts. I turned to see a guy sitting beside me. His face was familiar, though I couldn’t recall his name.

    I hadn’t even realized I was smiling.

    I wasn't grinning because I passed.

    I was smiling at the thought of showing Lyric my results.

    She was my tutor, after all. She needed to know I wasn’t dumb and that I actually paid attention in her class.

    "You keep staring at your phone. What’s wrong?"

    After school, Iris had asked me to drop her off at her place since she had forgotten her keys at home and had no ride back. She sat in the passenger seat of my car, her arms crossed as she eyed me with suspicion.

    "Nothing," I shrugged nonchalantly, gripping the steering wheel. "I was just wondering if I should send Lyric a copy of my grades. After all, she was my teacher."

    Iris raised a brow, her expression unimpressed. "She asked you to leave her alone."

    My stomach sank.

    "I know," I muttered, drumming my fingers against the wheel. I was trying to justify myself, but even I could hear how weak it sounded. "I just wanted to show her my results. If she doesn’t respond and leaves it on ‘delivered,’ I won’t care."

    "Uh-huh." She didn’t sound convinced.

    "I'm serious," I insisted, shifting in my seat. "I’ve been avoiding her, like she asked."

    "But why is she acting like a bitch over something so small?" Iris scoffed, shaking her head.

    I clenched my jaw, my grip tightening on the steering wheel. "She gave me something special, and I ruined it. I don’t think she’s overreacting."

    Iris blinked at me, then let out a low whistle. "Wow."

    "What?" I let out a small laugh, glancing at her.

    "You’re actually defending this girl. Just… wow."

    "I'm not defending her," I corrected, though I knew deep down that I was. "I just understand where she’s coming from."

    "If you do, then don’t text her. Stay away from her."

    "Okay," I muttered, my shoulders slumping as I stared down at my phone.

    I hated that she was right.

    ###

    The next day, I woke up feeling restless. I had convinced myself that I would wait to show Lyric my results in person, but now that I was actually heading to class, doubt started creeping in.

    Would she even care?

    Would she look at the paper, give me a nod, and walk away?

    Or worse—would she ignore me completely?

    I ran a hand down my face as I parked in the school lot. My fingers itched to check my phone, but I resisted the urge. Iris’s words from yesterday kept playing in my head.

    "She asked you to leave her alone."

    I had told myself I was respecting her wishes, but deep down, I was just looking for an excuse to see her again.

    Sighing, I grabbed my backpack and headed to class.The room was already half full when I arrived, students chatting or reviewing notes before the lesson. My eyes instinctively drifted toward her usual seat.

    Empty.

    I exhaled slowly, settling into my own chair. Maybe she was running late. Or maybe—

    A soft thud snapped me out of my thoughts. Lyric had just placed her bag on her desk. She wore a beautiful sundress today. 

    My heart did this weird, annoying thing where it sped up for no reason. I quickly straightened, watching as she pulled out her tablet and a notebook. Her dark hair was tied back today, a few loose strands framing her face.

    She looked tired. I hesitated. Should I say something? Should I wait until after class? Before I could decide, she glanced up—and her eyes met mine. I felt a cram in my chest. 

    For a second, neither of us moved.

    Then, just as quickly, she looked away, her expression unreadable. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

    Right.

    So that was how it was going to be.

    Class dragged on. Normally, I didn't like math, but today was worst, I couldn’t concentrate. Every now and then, I would steal a glance at Lyric, but she never once looked in my direction.

    When the professor finally dismissed us, I wasted no time. I grabbed my results and walked straight to her desk.She was packing up her things, fingers moving swiftly as she tucked her notebook into her bag.

    I cleared my throat. "Hey."

    She froze for a fraction of a second before continuing to zip up her bag.

    I exhaled, holding out the paper. "I wanted to show you this. My exam results."

    She didn’t look at it.

    I shifted awkwardly. "I passed. Got a B."

    Still, nothing.

    My fingers tightened around the paper. "You helped me with this, Lyric. I just wanted to thank you ''

    Finally, she looked up. My heart raced at the red marks on her face, which were almost bluish, as if she had put ice on them. The scratch marks on her arm had started to heal, but those on her face looked recent.

    What happened?

    Did I even have the right to ask her? She reached for her phone, typing something before holding it up.

    "I'm glad you passed. But I meant what I said. Please stop trying to talk to me."

    The words felt like a slap. I opened my mouth to argue, to say something—anything—but she was already walking away.

    And just like that, she was gone.

    I stood there, gripping my paper, feeling like the biggest idiot on the planet.