Chapter 8 Don't Talk About It
Elias POV
By Monday, Noah Carter had erased me.
Not dramatically. Not cruelly. Just... efficiently.
He stopped sitting two rows behind me in Econ. He changed his practice schedule so he wouldn't cross the quad at noon anymore. When I passed him in the hallway, his eyes slid past me like I was a glass wall-present, visible, but not worth acknowledging.
It was impressive, honestly. The discipline of it.
The captain was good at denial.
I noticed everything.
The way his jaw tightened when my laughter carried too loud down the hall. The way his shoulders stiffened when someone mentioned the party. The way he stopped smiling as easily, as if something in him had gone rigid overnight.
He wanted silence. Distance. Control.
I wanted proximity.
Not desperation. Not pleading. Just presence.
So I didn't chase him.
I dressed instead.
That morning, I wore a pleated charcoal skirt that fell just above my knees, sheer tights, a fitted white button-down knotted at the waist, and a thin silver chain resting at my throat. My hair was pinned back loosely, deliberate but effortless. I wasn't hiding softness. I was sharpening it.
When I walked onto campus, heads turned the way they always did. Some curious. Some admiring. Some judgmental. I had learned long ago how to walk like none of it mattered.
Like I belonged.
The football building loomed at the edge of campus-brick and glass and quiet intimidation. I had no business being there. Which made it the perfect place to pass by.
I didn't look for him.
I let him find me.
\---
He was standing near the entrance with two teammates, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, posture locked into captain mode. Focused. Controlled. Untouchable.
Until his gaze caught on mine.
Just for half a second.
His mouth tightened. His eyes flicked away immediately.
There it was. The crack.
I didn't stop walking. I didn't smile. I didn't wave.
I passed him like I didn't notice him at all.
That was when he spoke.
"Elias."
One word. Quiet. Sharp.
I turned slowly, eyebrow lifting just enough to suggest curiosity. "Captain."
The guys with him exchanged looks-confused, intrigued. They knew my name. Everyone did. But they didn't know this.
Noah's voice lowered. "We said we wouldn't talk about it."
I tilted my head. "Talk about what?"
His jaw flexed. A warning. "Don't."
I stepped closer-not invading, just inside his comfort zone. Close enough that he could smell my perfume. Close enough that the memory would surface whether he wanted it to or not.
"I'm not talking," I said lightly. "You are."
The tension snapped tight between us. His teammates shifted uncomfortably.
"Noah?" one of them asked.
"I'll catch up," Noah said quickly.
They hesitated, then left.
And suddenly, it was just us.
Again.
\---
"You can't do this," he said under his breath. "You can't just-exist near me like nothing happened."
I smiled. Not sweet. Not cruel. Knowing.
"But something did happen," I said. "That's the problem, isn't it?"
He looked away. The sun caught the side of his face, highlighting exhaustion he hadn't slept off. "It was a mistake."
"You keep using that word," I said softly. "Funny thing is... mistakes usually don't haunt you like this."
His eyes snapped back to mine. "Stop."
I didn't raise my voice. I didn't push. I didn't need to.
"I'm not asking for anything," I said. "Not a confession. Not a repeat. Not even a conversation."
"Then why are you here?" he demanded.
I leaned in just enough for the truth to land.
"Because you don't get to pretend I don't exist," I said calmly. "And because the harder you try to forget me, the more you'll remember."
Silence stretched between us.
He exhaled, sharp and frustrated. "I have a girlfriend."
"I know," I said easily. "And yet."
That was the part he hated. The and yet.
He stepped back, like proximity itself was dangerous. "This doesn't happen again," he said. "Whatever you think this is-it ends here."
I nodded. "Of course."
He blinked. "You're... agreeing?"
I smiled, stepping past him, voice soft as a promise. "I'm agreeing that we won't talk about it."
As I walked away, I felt his gaze burn into my back.
He wanted distance.
I had just given him something far worse.
Time.