Chapter 1
The ball lifted from Lennox Barnes's fingertips in a clean, practiced arc, spinning into the late-afternoon sky. The sun hung low over Summer Crest, turning the edges of the court gold and throwing long shadows across the cracked pavement. For a moment, the shot looked perfect—smooth release, steady rotation, the kind he'd drilled into muscle memory since he was ten.
The ball clipped the front of the rim with a sharp, metallic clang.
"Seriously?" Lennox hissed under his breath. "Front rim. Every fucking time."
He didn't wait for it to settle. He just jogged after it, shoulders tense, the lavender of his Stonewyn High Chameleons jersey catching the last of the light. Sweat slid down his temple as he reached for the ball—a hand got there first.
Lakota.
He scooped it up cleanly, spinning it once like he was checking the grip. No smirk, no dramatic sigh—just that steady, older-brother scrutiny Lennox hated.
"Are you good?" Lakota asked, voice low.
Lennox wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. "I'm fine."
Lakota didn't buy it. "You don't seem fine."
Caspian jogged over, catching the tension before he even reached them. "Dude, what's going on with you? You look pissed as hell."
"I'm not pissed," Lennox muttered. "I'm just—" He cut himself off, jaw tightening. "Forget it."
Kaysen clapped once, louder than necessary. "Can we get our shit together and start practicing, or are we just gonna stand here and argue?"
Lakota finally nodded once, jaw tight. "Positions."
The boys shifted back into place, sneakers scraping against the pavement as they reset the drill. Lennox moved slower than the rest, irritation still buzzing under his skin. He rolled his shoulders once, trying to shake it off, but the edge didn't go anywhere. Everything felt too loud—the court, the guys, the stupid silence between him and Lakota.
He bent down to grab the ball—his phone buzzed in his pocket.
Once.
Then again.
Then a third time, quick and insistent.
Lennox froze.
Lakota noticed immediately. "Len?"
Lennox didn't answer. He pulled the phone out, screen lighting up with three new messages from the same contact.
Amethyst:
I'm done pretending this relationship still means something to me.
Buzz.
Amethyst:
I don't want to be in this anymore. I don't feel the same, and I'm not going to keep faking it just to make everything look okay. This hasn't felt right for a long time, and dragging it out is just making everything worse.
Buzz.
Amethyst:
And don't make this into something it isn't. This isn't some failure on your part—I'm just done. I'm over pouring myself into something that stopped mattering to me a long time ago. I'm moving on, and I'm not going to apologize for doing what's right for me. So don't blow up my phone tonight. I'm not dealing with a whole emotional meltdown. This is over. Let it stay that way.
Lennox didn't move.
He just stared at the screen, the words landing so hard his mind stalled out. A muted, distant quiet settled over him, as if someone had turned down the volume on everything he felt.
He locked the phone fast and shoved it into his pocket.
Lakota's voice came in low. "What was that?"
"Nothing," he managed, too quickly. His voice came out thinner than he meant. "Just... some stupid shit. Spam or whatever."
Caspian glanced over from the free-throw line. "You sure? You look kinda—“
"I'm fine." Lennox cut him off, sharper than he intended. He forced a breath, tried to smooth it out. "Let's just run the fucking drill."
Lakota sent the ball toward him.
Lennox reached for it, but it slipped straight through his hands and skidded across the court.
Caspian threw his hands up. "Bro—what the hell are you doing?"
Lennox looked up fast, irritation flashing across his face. "Can you not?"
Caspian shook his head. "You're acting weird, man. And people are starting to notice."
Lennox didn't look at him. His eyes stayed on the cracked asphalt, voice barely above a breath. "Just... don't"
Lakota spoke quietly, but there was no mistaking the force behind it. "Talk to me." He took a half-step closer, gaze fixed on Lennox. "I'm not letting you fall apart out here."
Lennox's jaw tightened, but he still didn't look up. "I'm not falling apart," he muttered, the words flat and empty. "I just don't want to fucking talk about it."
Caspian shifted behind them, lowering his voice like he wasn't sure if he should jump in or stay out of it. "Len... you're kinda scaring us, man."
Lennox let out a slow breath through his nose, shoulders rising and falling like he was trying to keep himself steady. "I'm not trying to scare you."
Lakota's expression didn't shift, but something in his stance did—a subtle bracing, like he was preparing for whatever came next. "Then tell me what's going on. Because you're not like this unless something hit you hard."
Lennox's fingers curled once at his sides, barely a movement. "It doesn't matter," he murmured, eyes still locked on the ground. "It already happened."
Caspian's tone softened, the worry finally breaking through. "Len... what does that mean?"
Lakota stepped in a fraction, not enough to crowd him—just enough to make sure Lennox couldn't disappear into the space between them. "It matters to me."
Lennox swallowed hard, the movement barely visible. "It doesn't matter," he repeated, quieter this time—like he was trying to convince himself more than them.
Kaysen dragged a hand down his face, frustration bleeding into worry. "Len, seriously—this isn't you. Just tell us what the hell happened."
Lennox let out a sharp, annoyed breath, his jaw shifting like he was holding back something he didn't trust himself to say. "Since everyone's so desperate to know what the hell's going on, here it is: I've got two nosy friends and a brother who think cornering me counts as caring, and apparently I'm supposed to spill my entire life story the second anyone decides they want answers. Didn't realize I was supposed to unload my problems on three people who barely listen to me anyway. I had no idea that was my fucking role here."
Caspian's expression collapsed, the irritation draining out of him like someone had pulled a plug.
"Len... that's not what we're trying to do." His voice was steadier than before, but softer too. "We're not here to drag anything out of you." He shifted his stance, eyes locked on Lennox like he was finally seeing the weight he'd been carrying.
"If you're dealing with something and we missed it... that's on us. We should've paid more attention."
He rubbed his palms against his shorts, restless, unsure.
"You don't have to lay everything out for us. But don't think you're on your own, either. We're right here."
He stepped back a half-pace, giving Lennox room without breaking eye contact. "We're not trying to make this worse. We just don't want you shutting us out."
Lakota didn't jump in right away. He watched Lennox for a long, steady moment—the kind that made Lennox's skin prickle, like Lakota was seeing more than he wanted him to.
Lakota's jaw tightened, but his voice stayed controlled. "Len... be honest with me."
A flicker crossed Lennox's eyes—quick, defensive. Lakota caught it.
"You've been off for a while," Lakota continued, taking a measured step closer. "This isn't about one bad shot or one bad day. Something's been weighing on you long before we got here."
Lennox's shoulders stiffened, but he didn't look up.
"And whatever just hit you?" Lakota added, quieter now. "It didn't come out of nowhere."
The words landed with a quiet finality—not loud, not dramatic, just undeniable.
Lennox turned away. His steps were steady, unhurried, the kind of walk meant to pass as normal even though nothing in him felt that way. He didn't look back. He didn't say a word. He just moved off the court, putting space between him and the three of them before anyone could read his face.
Kaysen let out a low breath, the kind he usually covered with a joke but didn't bother to this time. "Okay... what the hell was that?" he muttered, though the edge in his voice had dulled into something closer to worry.
Caspian didn't answer. He just watched the spot where Lennox had disappeared, hands on his hips, shoulders sinking as the realization settled in. "He's not okay," he murmured. "Like... at all."
Lakota stayed silent the longest. His jaw tightened, eyes fixed on the path Lennox had taken off the court. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady, stripped of its usual command. "No," he replied. "He's not."
The three of them stood there in the fading light, the court suddenly too quiet, the drill forgotten. Whatever had just happened wasn't going away. And none of them knew what to do next.
