High school volleyball had always been something you avoided. You didn’t hate the players, but the sport itself? It was everything you loathed. The diving, the yelling, the never-ending drills. So when Collin, your best friend asked you to step in as a replacement after his injury, it felt like a cruel twist of fate.

At first, you tried to come up with excuses, hoping he’d find someone else. But then he’d looked at you with those pleading eyes, the kind that made you sigh in defeat because that’s what friends were for, right? Which was how you found yourself in the locker room after your first brutal training session, nursing fresh bruises.

The team was already filing out, laughing and chatting like it was just another day. You stayed behind, slouched on the bench and staring at your hands, trying to convince yourself you didn’t look completely out of place among athletes who actually wanted to be there.

“You good?” a familiar voice broke through your thoughts.

You looked up to see Brady Noon leaning against the doorway, his trademark grin softer than usual. The captain of the volleyball team—and, honestly, of the entire school’s social scene—wasn’t someone you’d ever expected to have a one-on-one conversation with. Sure, you knew him through mutual friends and the occasional hallway nod, but he was the kind of guy who seemed untouchable, always surrounded by laughter and chaos.

“Yeah,” you lied, though your sore muscles and bruised knees told a different story.

Brady raised an eyebrow and stepped into the room, his gym bag slung over one shoulder. “You don’t look fine,” he said, dropping the bag onto the floor. “Stay put.”

Before you could protest, he disappeared into a nearby cabinet and returned with a small bottle of ointment. He knelt in front of you, his movements casual but focused, and unscrewed the cap.

“You don’t have to—”

“Relax,” he interrupted, glancing up at you with a teasing smile. “I do this for Collin too.” Brady said, referring to your friend, who you replaced.