Claim My Heart

Chapter 26

I found it folded neatly on the steps of my porch as soon as I got back home.

Tyler's jersey.

A sticky note was tucked into the collar:

Wear this if you're brave enough to root for me. No pressure. Just hope.

I rushed up to my room and stared at it for a long time, holding the fabric in my hands like it meant more than it was supposed to. Because it did.

I wasn't the kind of girl who wore anyone's name across my back.

And yet—here I was, pressing it to my chest like it could protect me from something.

It was the day of the finals, a big day for Tyler, but he was here...hoping, waiting. 

I looked back at his jersey again. Still folded. Still here.

It lay there like a question. Like a dare.

My fingers hovered over it for a moment before I picked it up. Pressed it to my chest, a sense of longing washed over me. But beneath it, something else rose.

A pulse of clarity. 

Because I didn't want to be forgiven. I didn't want to be begged back in. I wanted to fight. To show up.

I was tired of being afraid.

I was in love. Wild, messy, completely inconvenient love.

And if I had even the slightest chance to win back the boy who gave me back my heart, I was going to take it. 

I stood in front of the mirror, holding Tyler's jersey like it was some kind of emotional armor.

It smelled like him—cedar and something stupidly masculine that probably had a name like Storm Rush or Pine Regret. I hated how much comfort it brought me. Like just putting it on could undo all the damage I'd done.

I pulled it over my head, the hem falling just above my knees. 

Okay. Not exactly red carpet material.

But desperate times call for oversized-boyfriend-clothing energy.

I ran a brush through my hair and looked at my reflection in the mirror, something caught in my chest.

Neil should've been at that game.

It was supposed to be his night, too. He'd been prepping for it for months—running plays with Tyler and Jace in the backyard, polishing his speech in the back of his notebooks, convincing our sleepy town that our school had a shot this year.

But he wasn't going to be there.

Because he took my place.

Because Max didn't know—or didn't care—who he hurt in the process.

Because Neil, in all his maddening, loyal, quietly heroic ways, picked up the weight when I didn't even know it was falling.

He never even said it out loud. Never blamed me.

But I remember what he said the day after I revealed the truth about the crash to him, when I sat beside him in the hospital, unable to meet his eyes.

"You don't get to feel guilty for someone else's choice, V," he said softly. "You don't get to carry his decisions."

"But it was meant for me," I whispered.

Neil turned his head slowly, wincing from the bruises. "Yeah, and that's the silver lining for me. If I had a choice. I'd go through all of this again."

"Dont say that," I murmured, my voice thick. 

"I want you to fight." He smiled then, the kind that didn't reach his eyes. "I've never seen you fight for something that was yours. You fight for everyone else. Their pain. Their survival. But when it's about you? You run."

He reached out, weak but steady, and squeezed my hand. "Stop running."

I closed my eyes now, standing in front of my mirror, the jersey falling just above my knees.

I have a lot of things to fight for. Love. Justice. Revenge.

But first, I have to go get my man.

This wasn't just about Tyler. This was about me not running anymore. About showing up. I wasn't going to let Max's choices define me. I wasn't going to let fear decide what kind of love I deserved.

I glanced at my reflection.

Hair? Questionable. Makeup? Smudged mascara and the leftovers of last night's insomnia.

Overall vibe? 40% emotional breakdown, 60% romantic halftime Hail Mary.

Honestly, I looked like the end of a teen movie. You know, the part where the girl runs across the football field and confesses everything in front of a horrified marching band and possibly God.

I groaned. Maybe I should just send a text like a normal, emotionally stunted person?

But deep down, I knew the answer.

Tyler deserved more than a message. He deserved a moment. A memory. A choice I made out loud.

And sure, I might trip over my own feet and get tackled by an unsuspecting player, but...

If I were going to make a grand romantic gesture, I was going to do it while slightly unhinged and wearing his number like a badge of honour.

It was peak chaos.

It was peak me.

And he loved me anyway.

I picked up my cellphone and shot off a text to Neil before running out the door:

I'm going to the big game today. 

Need to fix something I broke. 

Wish you were there to see it.