Ezekiel's POV
The blue light from my phone cast shadows across my bedroom walls. Downstairs, I could hear my parents' muffled voices drifting up through the floorboards - another heated discussion about money that they thought I couldn't hear. I'd been sitting in this same spot for a long time, staring at my message history, hoping for something that wasn't going to come.
Ximena Garcia.
Her contact sat there like an accusation. Our last exchange from some time back looked pathetic now - some meaningless joke from when everything between us felt lighter, simpler.
Before that night. Before Kane's cruelty. Before I turned everything into a disaster.
Practice had been brutal today. Every play felt foreign under my hands. Every formation crumbled in my mind. Coach had pulled me aside afterward, his weathered face twisted with frustration. "Enzo, whatever's eating at you needs to get resolved before the championship game. I've got no patience for distracted players."
