His Cold Heart, My Burning Love

' d sent to Jake sat there, unanswered, a stark reminder of his comple

beach was our place. We' d spent countless summer afternoons on the sand, him teaching me how to serve, our laughter mixin

ers, Jake and I were assigned to the same team. A tiny, treacherous spa

e sand. "I'll make sure we win the prize." The prize was a private, ro

sand was hot beneath my feet. I tried to pl

to him as I set the ball. "You tried to teach me

n, his face a stony mask, and perfectly spiked the ball over the net. He didn't even look at

nt, powerful observer. He only moved when the ball came directly to him, executing each play with cold, de

court. It was my play. I lunged, my body straining, my eyes fixed on the ball. I managed to get a hand on it,

t up my leg. I cried out,

looked for Jake. He was standing on his side of the court, wat

delines. "It looks like a sprain," he

ave. According to the rules, the winning team got to choose their date for th

hadow falling over me. I look

at and devoid of any emotion. He didn't ask if I was okay. H

ith a throbbing ankle and a shattered heart. The physical pain was nothing compared to the agony of his rejection. I watched them go, their figures shrinking agai