Avery Turner, a perfectionist with a double life, and Kyran Drake, a charismatic boy with secrets, find their fates intertwined when their secrets threaten to unravel their dreams-will they overcome their differences to protect their futures, or wil...
If someone had indirectly destroyed my future, I would never ever forgive them. There would be no way in hell we'd get back to who we were before it happened. This had to mean that Kyran would do the exact same thing—right? It'd be the most logical thing to do.
But part of me was hopeful. Maybe he wouldn't blame me. Maybe he would feel sympathetic towards me, because what he did to me was so much more worse than what I did to him.
What I did to him? It felt like I didn't even do anything wrong—it couldn't be my fault he was distracted. But it didn't really matter whose fault it was.
The next few days at school were a blur of whispers and stars. People looked at me like I was a ticking time bomb—which I was. I was just one trigger close to exploding at any moment. I wasn't sure if everyone caught hold of what happened at the match, or if it was just me. But, I kept my head down, focusing on everything else that didn't include Kyran Drake. Like my extracurriculars, my assignments. It was hard though, especially with the constant reminders of Kyran everywhere I went.
"Hey, Avery. Did you hear that your boyfriend fucked up his game?" Some of his football "friends" found it quite entertaining—in fact, I was quite sure they were happy that Kyran messed up. After all, it gave them the attention they probably wanted. But I'd underestimated Kyran's influence on this school, he really was a star even when he didn't do his best.
Well, he did his worst, if I was being entirely honest.
Maybe that was why he was a no show at school for the past few days, and it didn't help that I wanted to talk to him—in person, not over text.
So, when he did show up a week after the game, without the usual Kyran Drake smile, I felt more awful than ever.
Kyran's sudden arrival at school was like a storm cloud looming over a normal day. The usual swagger of confidence in his step was gone, replaced by a heavy, almost disheartening weight which slowed him down. His football friends seemed unsure how to approach him, their laughter awkward. It was clear he was angry, and everyone could feel it.
For the first time since the incident, the entire school shut up about it—and all it took was their star player to come back looking like he'd punch somebody.
I spotted him at lunch, sitting alone at the far end of the cafeteria. He definitely made that choice, and I saw his friends steal glances now and then. His dark eyes got even darker somehow, fixed on some distant point on the wall. My heart ached, but now wasn't the time to go over to him.
