Page 387 of Playing Dirty

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That night I didn’t go to sleep early.

I just sat in my room.

Phone in hand.

No music.

No noise.

Just thoughts I couldn’t organize properly anymore.

Rowan’s last message stayed open.

Everything around us was tightening.

Coach.

Media.

NYC.

Expectations.

And something worse than all of it—

people watching the space between us now.

My phone buzzedagain.

Rowan.

Rowan:

Are we still okay?

I stared at that.

Long.

Hard.

Then typed:

Mason:

I don’t know what “okay” means anymore.

Sent.

And for the first time—

neither of us followed it with comfort.

Fifty Eight

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

ROWAN

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