End Game

Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Aurora

The pub buzzed with the usual noise—students laughing too loud, clinking glasses, textbooks open but ignored. Normally, that energy made me feel alive, like I was part of something bigger. Tonight, it felt suffocating, every sound grinding against me, reminding me how far I'd fallen from normal.

I hadn't slept in days.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him—Nate. Those green-blue eyes, that cocky smirk that could undo me in an instant, the way he looked at me like I was the only person in the room. Torture. And all of it was my fault.

The silence from him was unbearable. No calls. No texts. Not one. I went from floating on air with him to clawing through this pit of regret, replaying every moment, every choice, wondering exactly where I lost him. The answer was obvious: I hadn't told him the truth.

I was unraveling.

Even my dorm looked like proof of it—clothes on the floor, my laptop untouched, my lavender candle burned out and useless. My phone mocked me from my nightstand. I'd sent message after message:

Hey, I just wanted to check in.
Can we talk?
Please, Nate. I just... I need to talk to you.
I will fix this.
Nate, please.
I'm sorry.

Nothing. Not a word back.

I told myself I was done reaching out. But the silence was unbearable, like an itch I couldn't scratch.

And now, here I was, sitting across from Callie at a sticky pub table, nursing a beer I hadn't touched, feeling like I might fall apart any second.

"I still don't understand why you didn't tell him," Callie said, stirring her Long Island with the kind of calm directness only she could pull off. Her eyes were sharp but soft, cutting and caring at once.

I pressed my palms into my thighs, trying to hold myself steady. "I don't know, Callie. I just—" My voice cracked. "I didn't know how to. What was I supposed to say? 'Hey, Nate, by the way, my ex and Isla teamed up to ruin your life, and I knew about it before you did'? How do you even start that conversation?"

"You just... start it," she said with a shrug, like it was obvious. "Now look where you are. He's pissed, and you're here feeling like crap. Was it worth it?"

"No." My voice was barely a whisper. "It wasn't."

I dug my nails into my scalp as I tugged at my hair. "He won't talk to me, Cal. He won't even look at me. I texted, I called—nothing. And it's not just silence. He hates me. I saw it in his eyes. I ruined everything."

Callie tilted her head, studying me carefully. "Samuel told me Nate hasn't been himself. Said he's been drinking too much, fighting with his teammates." She hesitated, then added, "At practice, it got so bad he went after a few guys—one of them was TJ. His coach kicked him out."

My stomach dropped. "What? Kicked him out of practice?"

She nodded, her tone heavy. "And his moms... they're devastated after finding out about Florida revoking the offer. They don't know what to do. And you know Nate—he's too proud to admit he's struggling. He'll self-destruct before he asks for help."

My insides twisted, guilt clawing at me. I'd done this. Not just the article. Not just Florida. This. His unraveling.

"This is my fault," I muttered into my beer.

Callie's voice sharpened. "Aurora, stop. This is not your fault. William and Isla started this mess, not you."

"But I didn't stop it either," I snapped, heat rising in my voice. "I could've told him. I could've warned him. Maybe then he would've been ready. Instead, I stayed quiet. I let it happen."

Callie reached across the table and caught my hand, squeezing until I looked at her. "Listen to me. You didn't write that article. You didn't feed them the lies. You didn't ruin Nate's future. William did. Don't put all this weight on yourself."

Tears burned my eyes. "But that's the thing, Cal. I feel like I'm just like them—my parents, William. They use their power to hurt people, to control people, and I let it happen. That makes me no better."

Her grip tightened, her head shaking fiercely. "You are nothing like them. If you were, you wouldn't be sitting here tearing yourself apart over Nate. You care about him. Hell, you love him, don't you?"

The word landed in my chest like a blow. Love. Did I love Nate? The answer was instant and terrifying. Yes. I loved him. I knew it in the way he made me want to be more than the girl my family raised me to be. But what good was love if all I brought him was pain?

"I do," I whispered, barely audible. "I love him. And I've ruined everything."

Callie sighed and leaned back, her expression softening. "Then fix it."

My head snapped up. "How? He won't talk to me. He hates me."

"Then don't talk to him," she said simply. "Talk to the people who can undo the damage. Call the program. Write a letter. Use your connections. Do whatever it takes to make them see who Nate really is. Instead of letting people like William or your parents use their power to destroy, you use yours to rebuild."

Her words hit me like lightning. My pulse raced as the idea rooted itself. She was right. I couldn't undo the article, but I could fight back. Nate deserved better than to be judged by lies. He deserved a chance. And I was the one who could help him get it.

"But what if it doesn't work?" I asked, fear leaking into my voice. "What if I make things worse?"

Callie tilted her head, eyes steady. "What's the alternative? Sit here wallowing while Nate spirals? That doesn't sound like the Aurora I know."

I swallowed hard, her words sinking in. She was right. Again.

Slowly, I nodded. "Okay. I'll do it. I'll reach out to the program. I'll tell them the truth about Nate. I'll make them see he deserves another chance."

Callie grinned, raising her glass. "That's my girl. Now go be the badass I know you are."

I managed a smile, though it didn't quite reach my eyes. Because this wasn't just about Nate. It was about me too—who I wanted to be, the kind of love I wanted to fight for, and the life I was finally ready to claim.

When I got back to my dorm, the silence hit me like a physical thing. I kicked off my shoes and fell onto the bed, the weight of my conversation with Callie pressing down on my ribs.

I stared at the ceiling until I realized tears were sliding down my face. It wasn't just about Nate, the article, or Florida—everything felt like it was collapsing at once: my parents' world, the life I'd been groomed for, the choices I'd been afraid to make. For years I'd tried to live in both places—the polished cage of Connecticut and the messy, real life I was beginning to want—but that balancing act had finally snapped.

I buried my face in the pillow and let myself cry until my chest ached. The salt and the noise felt cleansing somehow. When the sobs faded, a quiet clarity settled in. One world had to go.

I couldn't go back to their rules, to the manipulations and conditional love. I couldn't be the girl who sat by while other people got hurt because it was easier than standing up. Nate had shown me another way to live—one that was messy and real and full of things that mattered beyond appearances. He'd made me want more, and I wouldn't forgive myself if I let that go.

I whispered into the dark, to the ceiling, to him—"I'm sorry. I'll fix this. I'll make it right." The words were small but steady.

Lying there, raw and exhausted, one thought repeated until it felt true down to my bones: I loved him. And I'd do whatever it took to prove it—to him, and to myself.