ETHAN'S POV
My phone alarm blared like an air raid siren. I fumbled to silence it, blinking at the time.
"Crap!" I launched out of bed. The exhibition match. I was supposed to be at school an hour ago.
I grabbed my phone and saw six missed calls from Matt and a text that just said:
WHERE ARE YOU???
After Tori's hasty exit this morning, I'd crashed back into bed, my mind replaying our conversation over and over. That kiss. The way she'd looked in my t-shirt. The panic in her eyes when she woke up.
Now I was beyond late for the most important showcase of the season.
I showered in record time, threw on my tennis uniform, and grabbed a protein bar on my way out. My car screeched out of the driveway as I fumbled to call Coach.
"Harrington! Where the hell are you?" he barked when he answered.
"Ten minutes out, Coach. I'm sorry, my alarm—"
"Save it. Jackson's covering your warm-up slot. Get here now."
He hung up before I could respond. Classic Matt
I pulled into the school parking lot, I could already hear the crowd. The spring showcase was always popular, but today seemed especially packed.
I jogged toward the courts, tennis bag bouncing against my back. Jake met me at the entrance to the tennis complex.
"Dude, where have you been? Coach is about to have an aneurysm."
"I overslept," I said, not meeting his eyes. No way was I telling him about Tori.
"Well, hurry up. You're on in fifteen, and scouts from Stanford and UCLA are here."
My stomach dropped. The pressure I'd been ignoring all morning crashed down like a wave.
"Hey," Jake nudged me. "You good? You look pale."
"Fine," I lied, pushing past him toward the locker room. "Just need to warm up."
After a rushed warm-up, Coach pulled me aside.
“I trust you, Ethan. Don't mess this up."
"Yes, Coach."
As I walked toward the main court, I noticed unusual activity on the far side of the athletic fields. Volleyball nets. A small crowd.
"What's going on over there?" I asked Jake.
"Some volleyball exhibition. Coach was pissed because they scheduled it the same time as our showcase." He smirked. "Like anyone cares about volleyball."
I bit back a defense of the sport that would have surprised both of us.
"You're up, Harrington," the assistant coach called.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped onto the court, scanning the bleachers for my father. He was there, of course, sitting next to a man I recognized as the Stanford recruiter.
I was turning back to the net when movement by the volleyball courts caught my eye. Dark ponytail, confident stride. Tori.
Our eyes locked across the distance. For a second, everything else faded away—the crowd, the pressure, the scouts. Just her eyes meeting mine. I raised my hand in a small wave, but she turned and walked away without acknowledging me.
"Ethan! Focus!" Matt shouted.
I took my position across from my opponent, a highly-ranked player from NorthWestern University. The first serve was his, a rocket down the center that I barely returned.
After a shaky start, I found my rhythm. As I moved across the court, I couldn't help glancing toward the volleyball exhibition.
During a water break, I spotted her again, talking with her coach. She looked up, caught me watching, and quickly looked away.
The second set was about to begin. As I walked back onto the court, I felt a new energy. Tori was watching. Maybe she didn't hate me after last night. Maybe there was something there worth exploring.
I played better than I had in months, hitting shots that surprised even me. Every time I scored a point, I resisted the urge to look over at the volleyball courts. But during changeovers, I'd catch glimpses of her.
By the third set, I was up 4-2, but exhaustion was setting in. My muscles burned, lungs screaming for more oxygen than I could give them.
"Just finish strong," Coach called from the sideline.
I pushed harder, ignoring the warning signs my body was sending. The tightness in my chest wasn't just exertion—it was the familiar onset of anxiety. But I couldn't falter, not with Stanford watching.
Not with Tori watching.
When I finally won match point, the crowd erupted. I raised my racquet in acknowledgment, scanning the volleyball courts one last time.
There she was, standing at the edge, watching me. Our eyes met again, and this time, I thought I saw the ghost of a smile.
That was when it hit me—a crushing pressure in my chest, radiating down my left arm. My vision tunneled, breath coming in short, painful gasps.
"Good match, man," my opponent said, approaching the net.
I tried to respond, but couldn't form words. The racquet slipped from my fingers.
"Ethan?" Jake's voice sounded far away.
The court tilted beneath me. I reached for the net to steady myself, but my legs gave out. I dropped to my knees, then collapsed fully onto the court, pain radiating through my chest.
The last thing I saw before my vision went dark was Tori, running toward the tennis courts, her face twisted with concern.