Page 560 of Bad Prince
When I finally pull back, my face is a mess.
His thumbs wipe under my eyes.
Careful.
No fuss.
“Did you watch?” I ask, though I already know.
His mouth tightens.
“Every point I could.”
I look down. “I should’ve ended it at fourteen-thirteen.”
He goes still.
Then he cups the back of my neck and makes me look at him.
“No.”
The word lands hard.
“But—”
“No.” His eyes hold mine. Steady. Certain. “Do not do that to yourself tonight.”
I swallow.
The parking lot hums softly around us—distant engines, a far-off door slamming somewhere on campus, the faint metallic rattle of somebody loading gear.
My season is over.
The phrase still doesn’t fit in my mouth.
I look at him and whisper, “I don’t know what to do now.”
That’s the real wound.
Not the loss.
The void after it.
His expression changes when I say it.
Softens at the edges without losing any of its steadiness.
“You don’t have to do anything tonight except let it hurt.”
The tears burn again.
Not because the line is pretty.
Because it’s exactly right.
I nod once.
He kisses my forehead.
