behind the camera - fake dating sports romance (wlw)

Chapter Fifteen

HARPER

The sky is doing that thing I love again.

I stand by the kitchen window with my camera in hand, lens pressed loosely to my eye as the snow drifts down in fat, lazy spirals. It's not a storm-no, it's gentle. Soft. Quiet. The kind of snowfall that mutes the city into something almost dreamlike, like the world's exhaling all at once. I've always liked days like this. The kind of days where time stretches out and folds over itself like warm dough, where everything feels a little slower, a little softer, like you're being held without realizing it.

Click.

The shutter breaks the silence. I lower the camera and glance down at the screen, smiling to myself as the image comes into focus-powder-blue clouds, the faintest hue of pink bleeding through their edges like the sky's blushing. It's a small thing, but it feels like mine.

My hands are cold, but I don't mind. I've been going back and forth between the kitchen and the window for the past hour, alternating between baking cookies and chasing the perfect shot of the sky. The oven beeps behind me, its warmth curling through the apartment, smelling like brown sugar and melted chocolate and home.

I pull the tray out with mitts on, set it gently on the counter, and exhale slowly. The cookies are slightly cracked at the top, edges golden, soft in the center-just how Millie likes them, that's what Lauren said.

She's coming home today. My chest squeezes a little at the thought.
She texted this morning. Just a short "I'll be there soon" message, no flair, no emojis. Classic Millie. But I could tell she was tired.

And ever since I got that text, I haven't been able to stop moving. Baking, cleaning, photographing, pacing. Anything to keep myself from thinking too hard.

Because if I stop moving, I'll remember the moment from two nights ago. The exact second I saw that girl-Jenna, whatever her name is-drive her shoulder straight into Millie's back and send her flying into the boards like she weighed nothing at all.

God. I hadn't even realized I was holding my breath until Millie hit the ice and didn't get up.

My phone slipped out of my hand. I remember that. The sharp clatter of it hitting the hardwood floor as I stared at the TV, frozen. It wasn't like watching a game anymore. It felt personal. Like someone had reached through the screen and cracked something open inside me.

Millie had just been... so Millie lately. Stubborn and snappy and guarded, yeah-but also stupidly funny and stupidly kind in ways she doesn't even realize and in ways I'm not used to be treated.
She buys my favorite snacks even though she pretends she doesn't know what they are. She leaves me notes with dumb doodles when I have a rough day. She rolls her eyes like she's allergic to emotions, but she wears them all in those ocean-blue eyes.

I don't know when exactly I started caring.

Not just in the PR, let's-fake-date-to-save-your-reputation way. I mean actually caring. About the way she gets quiet when she's thinking too hard. About how her voice sounds rougher when she's trying not to cry. About how she fights for the world to like her as she is and not as they want her to be.

It's dangerous. Because I know what happens when I care. I've been here before. And Millie? She doesn't do soft. Doesn't let people in. Not easily. Sometimes I wonder if she even knows how.
I care and I do stupid shit like running in the pouring rain for about ten minutes to my best friend's mom's house so she can call her best friend so I can speak to Millie. Fucking pathetic.

I turn back to the cookies, setting them on a plate. There's a warmth in my chest that doesn't match the heat from the oven.
I should've gone to see her. When I asked if she wanted me to come, and she said no-I should've gone anyway. Just for her. Not for the PR. Not for the press. Just for her.