Curveball

"Curveball" (Part 4)

Ryan Lynch was more than just a tall, tattooed mystery.
He was built like a problem.
• Forearms veiny and sculpted like he benched bricks.
• Back broad and cut, muscles shifting like waves under his skin.
• Abs tight, carved — like they'd been drawn on with a pencil.
• Hands big and rough, but careful — like he knew exactly how to touch.
• Jawline sharp enough to slice her in half.

Leah couldn't look at him too long without needing to catch her breath.

Which was wild, considering she literally just snuck into the locker room and made out with him like they were in a movie.

But Monday came fast. Too fast.

She was sitting in Algebra, bored, tired, lip combo faded. She hadn't eaten all day.
Her head started spinning. Eyes heavy. Skin clammy.
She stood up to sharpen her pencil — and everything tilted.

Black spots.
Heat.
Then nothing.

⸻

She woke up to voices — panicked, low.

"She just dropped, bro."
"Go get Lynch. That's his girl, lowkey."
"You think he'll—"

The door slammed open.

And then...

Ryan.

Storming into the room like a force.
Gray hoodie stretched tight over his shoulders.
Eyes wild. Focused.
Jaw clenched.

He didn't say a word.

He walked straight to Leah, knelt beside her on the floor. Brushed her curls off her forehead with those big, warm hands.

"Leah," he whispered. "Look at me."

Her eyes fluttered open. She blinked up at him, dazed. "Ryan...?"

Without a second thought, he scooped her up — strong arms sliding under her knees and back, lifting her like she weighed nothing.

Gasps all around the class.

"Woah—"
"Ain't no way—"
"Is that Ryan Lynch?!"
"HE'S CARRYING HER—"

Leah pressed her face into his chest, half-embarrassed, half-weak.
He smelled like cedar and sweat and boyfriend energy.
His arms were locked around her tight, like she was breakable. Like she was his.

Ryan stalked down the hall, eyes locked forward, ignoring every stare, every whisper.
He kicked the nurse's office door open gently with his foot.

"She passed out," he said. "She needs water, food, rest. You got all that or do I need to go somewhere else?"

The nurse blinked at him. "Put her on the cot, Mr. Lynch—"

"I'm not leaving."

He set her down gently, brushing her curls off her face again.

"You good?" he murmured, voice softer now.

Leah reached up, fingers curling around his hoodie sleeve.

"I skipped breakfast. You really carried me?"

"Course I did."
Then, leaning down so only she could hear:
"I told you. Every time."