Page 115 of Bad Prince

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Holds it.

Exhales.

“We fucked up.”

The words sit heavy in the air.

I shoot again.

Swish.

“She hates that kind of attention,” he adds.

I don’t argue.

Because he’s right.

“She didn’t look happy,” he continues.

I grab another ball.

“She didn’t look chosen,” I say quietly.

Kane’s eyes flick up.

That lands.

Chosen is quiet.

Last night was spectacle.

We go back to shooting.

Not angry now.

Focused.

“She’s pulling back,” Kane says.

I nod once.

I felt it before sunrise.

“If chasing costs her,” I say finally, “I’m not chasing.”

Kane studies me from across the court.

“Same.”

We shoot until our arms burn.

Because the only thing worse than losing Stella?—

Would be being the reason she loses herself.

She’s already in the hallway when I see her.

Hair up.

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