Beyond The Court

14. Changed

We make our way back to my room after breakfast, the sound of my parents' quiet conversation drifting down the hallway. The air between Kesley and me is thick with unspoken words, emotions bubbling just beneath the surface, but neither of us says anything as we walk. My thoughts are still reeling from last night—everything that happened, everything we talked about, and the things we didn't. My mind's been spinning nonstop since I woke up with her in my arms.

The truth is, I don't know how to do this anymore. I don't know how to be the Izzi she once knew, the Izzi I used to be.

When we step back into my room, I see it—Kesley's dress from last night, still draped over the chair. The fabric's delicate, soft lavender, but to me, it looks like a reminder of everything that went wrong. Of Aaron, of the moment I found her in that bathroom, her face bruised, her eyes full of fear.

Kesley's gaze lands on the dress too, and I watch as her body tenses. She doesn't say anything at first, just walks over to it, her fingers brushing against the fabric. Then, she raises a hand to her face, touching the spot where Aaron had hit her.

My chest tightens. Seeing her like this—vulnerable, shaken—it brings something out in me. A need to protect her. A need to fix this, even though I know I can't fix everything.

Before I even realize what I'm doing, I cross the room and gently place my hand on her shoulder. She flinches slightly at first, but then she relaxes into my touch. Her eyes close for a moment, and I can tell she's trying to hold it together, trying to be strong.

"Kelsey..." I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

She doesn't look at me, but I can see the way her jaw clenches, the way her shoulders rise and fall with each unsteady breath.

"I'm so sorry," I continue, my fingers tightening just slightly on her shoulder. "I'm sorry for everything."

It's not just about last night. It's about all of it—about the years we lost, the distance between us, the way we let everything fall apart. There's so much unsaid, so much unresolved, but I don't know how to begin to untangle it all.

She shakes her head, her voice thick when she finally speaks. "It's not your fault, Izzi. None of this is your fault."

I want to argue, want to tell her that it feels like my fault. That maybe if I'd been there, if I hadn't pulled away, things would have been different. Maybe she wouldn't have ended up with someone like Aaron. Maybe she wouldn't have gotten hurt. But I stay silent, biting back the words, knowing that now isn't the time.

Instead, I let my hand slide down her arm, feeling the warmth of her skin under my fingertips, until I'm holding her hand. She squeezes back, just slightly, and the simple gesture tells me everything I need to know. We're still here. After everything, we're still standing next to each other.

But there's so much we haven't said, so much we've kept bottled up for years. As much as it feels like old times, I know we're not the same people we were back then.

After a moment, she finally turns to face me, her eyes wide and filled with something I can't quite place. Sadness, maybe. Regret. But there's something else too, something deeper.

"We've got a lot to work through, don't we?" she says quietly, her voice barely a whisper.

I nod, swallowing hard. "Yeah. We do."

She lets out a shaky breath, looking down at our hands still entwined. "I just... I don't know how we got here, Izzi. I don't know how we let things fall apart."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut because I've been asking myself the same thing for years. How did we get here? How did we go from being inseparable to... whatever this is?