"Curveball" (Part 7 — All In)
By Monday, Leah thought things were finally slowing down.
No more stares.
No more drama.
Just her, Ryan, and the hoodie that still smelled like his cologne.
But peace?
Never lasted long at their school.
⸻
It started in the courtyard.
Leah was sitting with her girls, laughing about nothing, biting the edge of a red Jolly Rancher.
Suddenly, two girls walked by — loud on purpose.
One whispered, "That's the girl who got Ryan Lynch whipped."
The other said louder, "She gotta be freaky, 'cause she ain't all that."
Leah looked up. Calm. Glossy lips parted like she was about to check somebody sweetly.
But before she could even blink—
"Say it again."
Ryan's voice.
Outta nowhere.
He was standing behind them.
Gray hoodie, fists clenched, jaw locked so tight you could see the muscle twitch.
The entire courtyard went silent.
The girls froze. "We weren't even talking to you—"
"Say it to her face," Ryan growled, stepping forward, chest rising and falling heavy.
One girl backed up. "Relax. It's not that serious."
"It is to me."
⸻
Leah got up, hand on Ryan's arm. "Ryan. It's fine."
He turned to her. Eyes dark, voice tight.
"Nah. You been quiet for me. Let me be loud for you."
Her stomach flipped.
That was when Jordan — another senior baseball player — stood up from the benches.
"Bro, chill. They just talking."
Ryan turned slow. "You got something to say, too?"
Jordan shrugged. "You acting different. Getting soft over some freshman. You skipping practice for her?"
That did it.
Ryan walked right up to him.
"I'm not soft. I'm serious."
Jordan smirked. "She got you that whipped?"
And without warning—
Ryan swung.
One clean hook.
Fast. Brutal. Loud.
Jordan hit the ground hard.
Gasps. Screams. Teachers running.
Ryan didn't flinch. He wiped his hand on his hoodie like it was nothing.
Leah ran to him, grabbing his wrist. "Ryan—what did you—"
His chest was heaving, but his voice was calm when he looked at her.
"I don't care what people say about me. But you? They don't get to touch you. Not even with their words."
Leah blinked, heart hammering.
"Why do you care so much?" she whispered. "I'm just—"
"You're not just anything," he cut her off. "You're the only person who looks at me like I'm more than this body. This game. These tattoos."
He stepped closer, voice low, only for her.
"You see me. All of me. And I can't go a day without you in my head."
Leah's throat tightened.
"I thought this was just messing around," she whispered.
"It's not."
His hand slid around her waist.
"It's you. And I'll fight every day if I have to."