The studio was quiet, other than the hum of the speaker as we rewound our track for what felt like the thousandth time. I glanced around, catching the strained expressions of my friends, Juliette and Elodie, as they paced across the laminate floors. We'd been working for hours on our choreography for the year-end recital, and I still couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. That something was missing. The routine had potential, but it wasn't... alive. It lacked that spark, that unnameable quality that would make it something memorable.

Something that would catch the attention of the big-wigs that were sure to attend.

My muscles were burning, a soreness spreading from my legs up through my arms. The floor was cold beneath me as I took a seat. I welcomed the drop in temperature against my skin, stretching out my legs and glancing up at Elodie, who was busy correcting her stance in the mirror.

"Maybe it's the spacing," I said aloud, trying to identify the problem. "Or maybe... maybe it's just me."

Juliette's eyes softened as she plopped down beside me, pulling her hair into a high bun. "It's not you, Celeste. You're an incredible choreographer. We just need to find that thing to tie it all together."

That thing.

Part of me wanted to believe her, pass the blame onto something else, but I would have been lying if I said I hadn't been distracted.

I nodded, my thoughts drifting back to the morning. Maverick hadn't been home when I woke up. And while I'd agreed to keep things casual between us, the emptiness that took hold of my room, the coldness of his side of the bed, had gnawed at me more than I'd expected. I knew Maverick wasn't the commitment type, and I'd told myself I'd be fine with that. But knowing and feeling it were two different things.

"Earth to Celeste," Elodie said, snapping her fingers in front of my face.

"Sorry, just...thinking," I muttered, rolling out my shoulders.

Juliette placed her hand on my knee. "Don't overthink it. Sometimes you just have to let it happen. Let the music take you where it wants to go."

"You're probably right," I muttered.

My two friends exchanged glances, but before either of them could press further, the door creaked open, and someone stepped into the studio.

Miles.

He looked out of place in the brightly lit room, standing there in a faded sweater with a cup in each hand, and a warm smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Have time for a coffee break? I brought you a matcha," he said, holding one of the cups up with a sheepish grin.

A matcha latte with oat milk had been my drink of choice anytime we frequented Rise n' Grind, the little café on campus. Of course he would manage to remember that now that we were no longer dating. Miles always made sure he remembered the small things when he wanted to get back in my good graces.

Elodie and Juliette stiffened beside me. The looks they were giving me spoke volumes. Neither of them liked him, and they hadn't been subtle about it either. But reluctantly, they took a few steps back, giving us space to talk. The vibe in the room was tense, my friends on edge as they kept a close eye on us.

"Thanks," I said, my voice uncertain as I took the cup from him. "I can't talk. We're in the middle of practicing for the end-of-the-year recital."

He stepped forward, shoving one hand in his pocket. "I won't take long. I...I just wanted to make you aware that I know I messed things up," he said, letting out a small sigh. "People keep asking about you, and it's made me realize how much I took for granted. I get it now, Celeste. And I wanted to apologize."

There it was—that strange, backhanded way of making things about himself. Somehow, his apology was tied to how people were questioning him about me. As if the problem with our relationship wasn't how he'd treated me but rather the reflection it left on him. But I bit back my frustration, holding my tongue. All I wanted was to find some kind of resolution to this, something that would finally make him back off.

"So," he continued, his tone soft, "I was hoping we could be civil, you know? Not friends, just...civil. Maybe work on rebuilding things. Maybe even, I don't know, eventually get back to what we had?"

I stared at him, words failing me. It wasn't that I hadn't expected him to keep coming back—it was Miles, after all—he didn't take to the word 'no' very well. But I didn't realize he'd be this persistent. It made me want to go running for the hills.

But I forced a smile. "Sure. We can be civil."

He seemed pleased enough with my answer, that practiced smile spreading across his face as he gave my arm a gentle squeeze. It took everything in me not to recoil back. "Good. I'm glad we're on the same page."

With that, he left, the door swinging shut behind him, and I let out a heavy breath. His presence lingered in the room, like an unwanted stench clinging to the air, and I could feel Juliette and Elodie's eyes on me. When I turned around their faces were a mix of sympathy and irritation. Juliette's more sympathetic. Elodie's more irritated.

"Well, that killed the mood," Elodie muttered, frowning as she crossed her arms.

"Yeah," I said, tossing the match cup in the garbage by the studio doors. While I would have loved to indulge in the steaming cup of tea, I couldn't trust Miles as far as I could throw him. "Maybe we should call it a night."

Juliette nodded, looking as drained as I felt. "Let's pick this back up tomorrow. All I want to do is curl up in bed and binge Disney shows."

We gathered our things, discussing our favourite childhood TV shows as we packed up. When they offered to give me a ride home, I graciously accepted. While the weather was beginning to warm, my body was too sore to make the fifteen minute trek without complaining.

When we pulled up to the Hockey House, I noticed the additional cars along the street. Had Booker planned another party that I wasn't aware of?

I thanked Juliette and Elodie as I shut the car door behind me. I made my way inside, straining to listen to the murmur of conversation coming from the kitchen. It wasn't a party, but there were definitely guests.

After kicking my shoes off I made my way towards the kitchen. Upon me entering the room went quiet. It was as if I had stumbled upon some secret cult meeting taking place within my own house. I paused, my gaze landing on Easton who was sitting at the island. His hands were folded, fingers intertwined, as they rested on the granite. He looked all business and I was ready to make a remark until I noticed Ella's somber face. She was sitting at the kitchen table with Eden by her side, rubbing her back.

My brow furrowed as I continued to peer around the kitchen. McKinley, the team's captain, was standing over by the fridge, arms crossed as he blank-stared into the living room. Booker was standing next to him, lower back pressed up against the sink.

But it wasn't until I saw his face that I clued in on something being terribly wrong. Booker's face was void of any trace of a smile––his usual dopey grin absent. A knot of unease twisted in my stomach.

"Hey," I said, glancing around. "What's going on?"

Everyone began exchanging looks and it wasn't until Cole began pacing in the living room that I realized people were in there. Maverick's somber expression reached me from his spot on the couch. There was so much hurt there. I wanted to reach out––sit next to him and ask him what was wrong. But he ran his hands across his face, breaking the connection.

McKinley cleared his throat, his voice subdued. "Hendrix got taken out during our game against Brite tonight. He took a hard hit and it looks like he might have a concussion."

My heart sank, a wave of worry washing over me. Hendrix was one of the sweetest guys I knew. The idea of him being injured, laid up in a hospital bed, was hard to grasp. "Is he... going to be alright?"

Easton nodded, though his face was grim. "They think so, but concussions are tricky. It's going to be a long recovery, and we're not sure if he'll be able to play again this season."

The gravity of the situation settled over the room. Hendrix was the backbone of the team, the one they all relied on, and the idea of facing the rest of the season without him was daunting. But more than that, he was a friend, someone they all cared deeply about.

Maverick's gaze lingered on me, jaw tightening as he glanced at the empty wall next to him.

"He'll be fine," Cole stated, trying to bring up the moral of the group. "This is Tate we're talking about."

Ella sighed before adding, "I'll feel much better once he's home."

Despite the house growing silent after that, I think we all agreed with her.

_ _ _ _ _

author's note:

The Falcons just can't catch a break. Who remembers the heartbreak of this happening to Hendrix in Shutout?

Happy reading!