The locker room door slammed shut behind them, the echo ricocheting off the tiled walls.

Patrick hissed as he peeled off his bloodied jersey, wincing at the way his shoulder screamed in protest. His knuckles were torn, his cheekbone already swelling, and there was a nasty cut near his brow where someone—he wasn’t even sure who—had landed a lucky punch.

Across from him, the door creaked open again.

“Feely,” she said softly, stepping inside.

Patrick froze, shirt half off. She was holding a first aid kit in her arms and a look on her face that was halfway between furious and worried. Sunshine, even when she was stormy.

“You’re a bloody idiot,” she said, marching over.

Patrick didn’t argue. He just dropped onto the bench and let her kneel between his knees, fingers gentle as she cleaned his knuckles with antiseptic.

He flinched.

“Serves you right,” she mumbled.

“I know.”

Silence. The only sound was the faint thrum of Scotty Doesn’t Know still echoing from the field speakers outside, like someone (probably Gibsie) had looped it just to twist the knife.

She was frowning hard now, working on the gash at his temple. “You didn’t have to hit him. Any of them.”

“I did.”

“Why? Because he was a dick? Because he ran his mouth?”

Patrick looked at her then—really looked at her. Her hair was windblown from the pitch, cheeks still flushed, eyes too kind for this world. His heart squeezed.

He hadn’t meant to say it. But the words came tumbling out anyway.

“Because I love you.”

Her hand stopped midair.

Silence crashed over them like a wave.

Patrick blinked like he wasn’t sure he’d said it out loud. His face flushed, eyes dropping to the floor. “Shit—I mean—sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Or I did, but not—forget I said it, alright?”

But she didn’t say anything.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just knelt there, close enough to feel the warmth of him, eyes wide and unreadable.

Patrick’s throat tightened. “You’re not saying anything.”

Still nothing.

He forced a crooked smile, trying to laugh it off. “Maybe I actually am concussed.”

And even though her hand stayed on his knee, and she didn’t pull away—her silence felt louder than any punch he’d taken that afternoon.

And somehow, it hurt more.