Playing Defense

Charlotte

The first screenshot didn’t just pop up on the screen; it hit like a high-speed collision, the kind that leaves your ears ringing and the world tilting on a nauseating axis.

It wasn’t that I didn’t understand what I was looking at. It was that I understood it too well. The recognition was instantaneous, visceral—a jagged piece of glass sliding into my gut.

Brooke was perched at the foot of my bed, her legs crossed tightly, holding her phone with both hands like it was a live grenade. She had that look on her face—the one people wear when they’re about to ruin your life and they hate themselves for being the messenger. Across the room, Kayla was a blur of kinetic fury. She paced in tight, angry circles by my desk, her arms clamped over her chest, looking like she might actually combust if I didn't say something soon.

And me?

I just stared.

I stared at the face I’d woken up next to three days ago. Nick’s face. He was smiling up at me from a Hinge profile that I knew for a fucking fact he shouldn't have had. We’d been together eleven months. Eleven months of late-night study sessions, away-game nerves, and sharing every goddamn part of our lives.

At least, I’d thought we were sharing them.

My stomach did a slow, sickening roll, and the room went grey at the edges. I had to drop onto the edge of my mattress before my legs gave out entirely.

"Charlie," Brooke said, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry."

I didn’t answer. What was there to say? *Maybe I’m hallucinating? Maybe one of the most recognizable star pitchers on campus has a long-lost evil twin with the same jawline, the same blue eyes, and the same douchey bio about how he "never loses at cornhole"?*

No. It was him. It was undeniably, heartbreakingly him.

And somehow, the profile wasn't even the killing blow. Brooke’s thumb swiped the screen, revealing the next screenshot. Then the next.

A message thread.

Then another.

The tone was casual. Flirty. Easy. I watched Nick slide into conversations with other girls as if I didn't exist. As if the last year of my life was just background noise to his ego trip. I stared until the words blurred into meaningless shapes, my heart hammering a frantic, uneven rhythm against my ribs.

"So," Kayla said, her voice dangerously level—the tone she used right before she broke someone's nose. "He’s dead. We’re burying him tonight, right?"

Brooke shot her a warning look. "Kay, give her a second."

"Give her a second for what?" Kayla snapped, throwing her hands up. "He’s on a dating app, Brooke. I don’t think we need a forensics team to tell us he’s a piece of shit."

I finally looked up, and the air in the room shifted. They both went still. They saw the exact moment the shock curdled into something far more toxic: humiliation.

This wasn't a "gray area." This wasn't him getting too drunk at a frat party and saying something stupid. This was a calculated, digital betrayal. This was him swiping on girls between classes. Matching with them while I was sitting in the stands cheering for him.

He’d been texting these girls while he was sleeping with me. While he was telling me he missed me. While he was eating fries off my plate and asking if I wanted to go home with him for Thanksgiving break to meet his parents.

My throat tightened so hard it felt like it might snap. "When did you get these?"

Brooke shifted uncomfortably on the duvet. "My roommate matched with him two nights ago. She sent them to me this morning."

Two nights ago.

The room felt like it was shrinking. Nick had stayed here three nights ago. I’d been wearing his T-shirt when he kissed me goodbye the next morning, promising to text me after practice. The bile rose in my throat, hot and bitter.

Kayla saw the change in my expression and dropped to a crouch in front of me, grabbing my hands. "Hey. Look at me."

I did, and that was the end of it. I didn’t cry—not yet—but I felt the first massive fissure split right down the center of my chest.

"Maybe it’s old," I whispered, the words sounding pathetic even to my own ears. "Maybe he just never deleted the account and—"

"Charlie," Kayla said softly, her eyes full of a pity that made me want to scream. "Look at the messages. Look at the dates."

I shut my mouth. She was right. There was no loophole. No misunderstanding. There was no world where this was okay, and the most devastating part was that even with the evidence burning my retinas, I still wanted there to be an excuse.

Brooke reached out and locked the phone, setting it face-down on the bed. "You don't have to do anything right this second. Just breathe."

A small, jagged laugh escaped me. "I kind of do."

"No, you don't," Kayla insisted.

"Yes, I do." I stood up too fast, the world spinning as I steadied myself against the desk. "Because if I sit here for five more minutes, I’m going to start doing that thing I do. I’m going to talk myself into believing it’s not that bad. I’m going to convince myself that he was just bored or that 'guys are just like that.' And I can't do that. Not this time."

Neither of them argued. They knew me. They knew I was an expert at smoothing down the sharp edges of my own pain to make things easier for everyone else.

Not today.

I grabbed my phone. My lock screen was a photo of us at the lake last fall—sun-kissed, laughing, leaning into each other like we were two halves of a whole. I felt a flash of pure, unadulterated loathing for that girl in the photo. She was so fucking stupid.

I swiped past it and hit his contact.

"What are you doing?" Kayla asked, rising to her feet.

I didn't answer. I just hit the call button and put it on speaker. He answered on the second ring.

"Hey, baby," he said, his voice warm and familiar.

I closed my eyes, my hand shaking. Hearing him sound so normal—so *untouched*—while I was standing in the wreckage of our relationship felt obscene. It felt like a slap in the face.

"Come outside," I said. My voice was a dead, flat thing.

There was a pause. A beat of silence where the atmosphere on the other end changed. "What? Is everything okay?"

"You heard me, Nick. Outside the dorm. Now."

"Charlie—"

I hung up before he could finish.

Kayla was already grabbing her boots, her face set in a grim mask. "You are not going down there alone."

I wanted to tell her I was fine. I wanted to be the strong, independent girl who didn't need backup. But then I thought of the screenshots again—the ease of his lies—and I realized I was one "I'm sorry" away from collapsing.

"Okay," I whispered. "Let's go."

Nick was waiting under the massive oak tree by the east entrance. He looked exactly like the man I’d loved for a year: gray hoodie, baseball cap pulled low, hands stuffed in his pockets. He looked handsome. He looked safe.

He looked like a fucking lie.

The sheer nerve of him standing there, looking so casually perfect, made my blood boil. For a split second, my brain tried to reconcile the two versions of him—the one who held me while I cried over my finals, and the one who spent his bus rides to away games hunting for my replacement.

As we approached, his expression shifted from curiosity to a practiced sort of concern. He didn't look guilty. He just looked like he was bracing for a mood.

"What's going on?" he asked, his eyes flickering briefly to Kayla before settling on me. "You sounded weird on the phone."

I didn't waste my breath on a preamble. I unlocked my phone, pulled up the first screenshot Brooke had sent me, and shoved it inches from his face.

I watched his eyes scan the screen. I watched him recognize his own face, his own words, his own betrayal.

And there it was. The tell. He didn't look shocked. He didn't look outraged. He looked like a man who had just realized he’d left a paper trail.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I said, my voice cracking on the last word despite my best efforts.

Nick ran a hand through his hair, shifting his weight. He looked away for a second, scouting the perimeter like he was looking for an exit. "Charlie, look, let me explain."

The "explain" did it. The fuse lit, and the anger finally exploded. "Explain what, Nick? Explain the part where you told this 'Brianna' girl that you were 'looking for someone fun' while you were literally sitting on my couch? Explain the timing? Because the timestamps say you were messaging her while I was in the kitchen making us dinner."

Kayla muttered, "Fucking prick," under her breath.

Nick ignored her, stepping closer into my personal space. He used that intense, focused gaze—the one that used to make me feel like the only girl in the world. Now, it just made me feel hunted. "It didn't mean anything, Charlie. It was just... it was just an ego thing. I never met up with anyone. It was just talking."

I let out a harsh, jagged laugh. "Oh, it was just talking? Well, thank God. I guess the eleven months we spent together were also 'just talking' then, right? Because clearly, I didn't mean enough for you to keep your fucking phone in your pocket."

"You're blowing this out of proportion," he said, his voice hardening. "You don't even know when those are from."

"Two nights ago," I snapped. "Brooke's roommate. Two nights ago, Nick. You left my room at 10:00 AM, and you were matching with her by noon."

He went stiff. The lie died in his throat, but he didn't apologize. Instead, he tried to manage me. He tried to minimize the damage until it was a size he could handle. "It’s an app, Charlie. It’s not like I actually cheated. It’s just pixels on a screen."

"It's a betrayal of everything we had," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper that felt heavier than a scream. "And the fact that you're standing here trying to litigate the definition of cheating instead of falling on your knees tells me exactly who you are."

I looked at him and realized I wasn't going to get the remorse I needed. I wasn't going to get the "good" Nick back, because that version had never existed.

"We're done," I said.

He blinked, looking genuinely stunned. "What? Over this? Charlie, be serious."

"I am being serious. More serious than I've ever been about us." I took a step back, putting distance between us. "You went looking for someone else while you had me. You can have them now. You can have all of them."

"You're dumping me over a few messages?" He let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "You're going to throw away a year over some stupid app?"

Kayla stepped forward, her hand twitching like she was ready to swing. "She's dumping you because you're a liar and a cheat. Get it through your thick fucking skull and get out of her face."

"Stay out of it, Kayla!" he barked.

"No," I said, stepping around her to look him dead in the eye. "She's staying. You're leaving. I don't need an explanation. I don't need a 'talk.' I need you to be gone."

For a moment, he just stared at me, his face darkening with a flash of something that looked a lot like resentment. "Fine. If you want to be dramatic about it, be dramatic. But don't come crying to me when you realize you're overreacting."

"I'm not overreacting," I said, my heart feeling like a cold stone in my chest. "I'm finally seeing you."

I turned my back on him. It was the hardest thing I’d ever done—to walk away while my skin was still crawling and my heart was screaming for a reason to stay.

"Charlie!" he shouted behind us.

I didn't stop. I didn't look back. I kept my eyes on the heavy glass doors of the dorm.

Once we were inside, the climate-controlled air hit my face, and the fluorescent lights turned everything a sickly shade of yellow. The adrenaline evaporated, leaving me hollow and shaking so violently I had to lean against the mailboxes.

Kayla reached out, pulling me into a tight, grounding hug. "I've got you," she whispered. "I've got you."

I buried my face in her shoulder, the first sob finally breaking through the ice. But through the grief, a cold, sharp realization settled in my bones. Nick Mercer wasn't the kind of guy who took 'no' for an answer, and he definitely wasn't the kind of guy who handled being dumped well.

This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.