Tyler

“You okay?”

I stared at the words.

Too little. Delete.

“About earlier…” I stopped, then frowned.

Too much. Too straightforward.

“Fuck.”

I dragged a hand through my hair and tossed the phone onto the bed beside me. Only to grab it again three seconds later and just stare.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, eyes reading the name over and over again.

Because I’d played an entire basketball game with a hand that felt like I’d been run over by a truck, survived that near death experience when I was six.

Beaten someone unconscious.

But somehow, texting Sydney Walker felt like I needed some kind of special skill.

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