We were more alike than either of us cared to admit. Stubborn, driven, desperate to succeed—for others and ourselves. Trying to be more than what our pasts had made us.
Mark straightened again; his gaze locked on the rebound net like it was the only thing keeping him upright. The fierce determination in his expression hadn't faded—but something in his stance seemed... less strained now. Calmer. As if, for a moment, he'd found his rhythm again.
And for reasons I couldn't quite explain, I silently willed him to win—whatever fight he was battling out there. Even if he never realized someone was rooting for him.
I drew shaky breath, pushing back the sudden ache in my chest. It was too easy to see him this way—to let my mind wander to places I couldn't afford to linger. He was still Mark Rowley—distant, infuriating, and completely off-limits.
But even knowing that... it didn't stop the quiet pull I felt toward him.
_
