The field's roar hit Kayla like a tidal wave, the air thick with tension and the smell of sweat.
She stood on the sidelines, watching in slow motion as Andrew, her ex yanked Wyatt away from her and threw a brutal punch that connected squarely with Wyatt's jaw. Time seemed to freeze in that instant, the sound of the punch reverberating through the stands.
Wyatt staggered backward, clutching his face, his expression morphing from shock to fury. Before anyone could intervene, he lunged forward, tackling Andrew to the ground.
Chaos erupted as players and spectators rushed forward, shouting, shoving, and trying to separate the two. The referee's whistle blared uselessly, the game entirely forgotten. Kayla's heart pounded in her chest, her breath catching in her throat. This wasn't supposed to happen. Andrew always had his temper like this—especially when something pushed him over the edge.
Her. She was the reason. The guilt hit her all at once, almost knocking the air out of her lungs. She was the one who had unintentionally stirred up the tension between Andrew and Wyatt. It was her words, her actions, that had fanned the flames of their rivalry. And now, because of her, the game was over, and Andrew—her Andrew—was throwing punches in a fit of rage.
Kayla's legs trembled as she instinctively took a step toward the brawl. She needed to stop this, to pull Andrew away before things got worse because Wyatt didn't relent until both of them were rolling around on the floor before the other teammates came to pull them apart but even that didn't stop them.
But then she froze. Dozens of eyes were on her, watching, accusing. She could feel their judgment, the unspoken blame being cast her way. It was suffocating. Her lungs felt tight, and her head was dizzy with the weight of it all.
She couldn't handle it.
Without another thought, Kayla turned and ran. She bolted out of the fields her feet pounding against the pavement as she fled from the chaos, from the shame, from the eyes that were all too eager to pin the blame on her.
"Kayla! Kayla! Where are you going!?" Louisa yelled wanting to go after but Jack held her back.
"She would want to be alone."
Louisa glanced at him coldly, "She would want me to be by her side!" She shook her arm from his grip and ran after her but because of the crowd rioting, she lost her.
"Kay! Kayla!" She called out, scanning for auburn hair but she couldn't see her as people pushed her aside.
The cold night air hit Kayla's face, but she didn't stop running. Not until the noise of the stadium had faded behind her, leaving only the sound of her ragged breathing.
Kayla's steps slowed as she neared the bar on the corner of the street. It was a dive, dimly lit and crowded, the kind of place where she could disappear for a while. She pushed open the door and was greeted by the familiar smell of alcohol and desperation. Perfect.
Sliding onto a barstool, she ordered a drink. Then another. The alcohol burned its way down her throat, dulling the sharp edges of her guilt and fear. She drank faster, each sip numbing her mind just a little more, until the world around her blurred, and her thoughts became hazy.
"Why does my life have to be complicated? Who did I offend?" She sighed deeply taking another drink.
Before long, the music took over. Kayla found herself on the dance floor, moving to the beat, her body swaying in time with the bass. She wasn't thinking anymore.
She didn't want to think. The alcohol had done its job, and now, in this moment, she was free. Free from the pressure, the judgment, and the chaos she had left behind. No Oliver, no Wyatt, no Andrew, and not even her family. Everyone could rot in hell at this point.
She closed her eyes, letting the music and the alcohol carry her away.
"Wow! Don't stop caring about me now!" She jumped, hands in her hair, her wide hips swaying to the beat.
"Soooooooooo, if you don't wanna see me, dancing with somebody!" She lowered herself to the floor, twerking before coming back up when the beat dropped, "Don't show up! Don't call now!"
Time passed in a blur. Faces came and went, but Kayla didn't pay attention. She laughed, danced, and drank until her legs felt like jelly and her head was spinning.
When she finally stumbled out of the bar, the cold night air hit her again, this time sobering her just enough to realize how drunk she was.
She fumbled with her phone, trying to call Louisa for a ride home. But in her drunken state, her fingers slipped, and she dialed the wrong number.
The phone rang once, twice, before a familiar voice answered. "Hastings, to what do I owe this miracle?" Oliver smirked.
Kayla giggled, leaning against a nearby lamppost for support. "Louisa! I'm going to heaven!" she sang, her words slurring together in a drunken melody.
There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by a sigh. "Hastings, where are you? Are you drunk?" Oliver's tone was softer now, but there was an urgency in his voice that Kayla was too intoxicated to notice.
"Your voice… it's so deep and sexy, Louisa." She let out another giggle, her head lolling to the side as she tried to keep her balance.
Oliver's concern deepened. "Hastings, listen to me. Where are you right now?"
Kayla glanced around, squinting at the unfamiliar street. She wasn't sure where she was anymore. The buildings all looked the same, and the lights were starting to blur together. "I dunno," she muttered, giggling again. "But your voice… I like it."
Oliver ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. He had to find her. Without wasting another second, he accessed the AI program, Harry, had once installed on her phone. Thank God he did.
Within seconds, he had her location.
He found her not far from the bar, standing under a streetlight, swaying to a song only she could hear. Her eyes were half-closed, her lips parted as she hummed the tune of "Break Free" by Ariana Grande. Her movements were slow and uncoordinated, but there was something almost ethereal about the way she stood there, illuminated by the soft glow of the light.
Oliver watched her for a moment, his heart clenching. She looked… peaceful. In her drunken stupor, all the tension, the anxiety, and the sharpness that usually defined her was gone. She was just Kayla, carefree and beautiful, lost in her little world. For a moment, he didn't want to disturb her.
But then she stumbled, her foot catching on the edge of the curb. She let out a small gasp as she tipped forward, her arms flailing to catch herself.
Oliver reacted instantly, rushing forward and catching her before she hit the ground. "Hastings," he said softly, his arms wrapping around her to steady her.
She blinked up at him, her vision blurry. "Professor?" Her voice was small, confused. "What're you doing here?"
"I'm here to take you home," he replied, his tone firm but gentle.
Kayla frowned, her lips puckering like a child. "But I don't wanna go home," she mumbled. "I'm having fun."
Oliver sighed, adjusting his hold on her. "You're drunk. You need to rest."
Kayla pouted, pushing weakly against his chest. "I don't feel so good…"
And then she vomited. Right on him.
Oliver didn't flinch. He held her steady as she heaved again, this time turning her toward a nearby bush. He gently rubbed her back, murmuring soft words of reassurance as she emptied her stomach. Once she was done, she slumped against him, her energy completely drained.
He scooped her up, carrying her in his arms as he made his way back to his apartment. The night was quiet, the streets deserted, and Kayla's soft breathing was the only sound that filled the air.
By the time they reached his apartment, Kayla was barely conscious. He set her down in the bathroom, her body limp as he helped her out of her soiled clothes. "You need to take a shower," he said, his tone gentle but firm.
Kayla giggled again, splashing water at him as he tried to help her. "You're all wet!" she teased, her words slurred and incoherent.
Oliver rolled his eyes, doing his best to avoid the water she kept flinging at him. It took far longer than it should have, but eventually, she was clean and dressed in one of his shirts and a pair of boxers. She collapsed onto the bed, her eyes closing almost immediately.
At 3 a.m., he heard her stirring. She stumbled to the bathroom, her eyes bleary as she moved. She wanted to pee. He knew her pattern because when he watched her sleeping she did the same thing every night.
Oliver anticipated this, having prepared a medicinal soup and pain reliever, knowing she would regret her choices in the morning. He helped her drink both before she fell back into a deep sleep.
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the window as Kayla woke slowly, her head surprisingly clear. She stretched lazily, only to realize that she wasn't in her bed. Panic shot through her, and she rolled off the edge, landing on the floor with a thud.
"Aaaaahhhh!"
Oliver burst through the door, eyes wide. "What's wrong?"
Kayla pointed an accusing finger at him. "Kidnapper!" she shrieked again, her face red with shock and embarrassment.
Oliver groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Really, Hastings?"