SBU wasn't a basic institute, at least not to Maya. The campus flaunted its architecture, but the Thunderhawks Residence stood apart—a sleek glass-and-steel monument to the school's drive for top-tier athletes.
Maya hesitated at the foot of the marble steps, fingers tight on her backpack straps. For the first time, the full weight of her scholarship hit her—a fragile thread holding her in this world, one misstep from tumbling back to where she'd come from.
She adjusted her bag as she climbed the steps. The doors slid open, hitting her with a blast of cool air that smelled faintly of citrus. The lobby was a masterclass in excess—even at seven p.m., the lobby bustled with athletes, moving with the effortless confidence of silver-spooned champions. Maya kept her head down, suddenly unsure she belonged.
She spotted Jake by the elevator bank. Even next to Riley, Jake seemed to draw the room around him. He said something to the group and headed her way, every step intentional and effortless.
Hey," he said. He was in SBU-issued gear. His hair was damp, and he looked… on edge.
"You found it okay?"
Maya let out a small breath. "It's a glass tower with a two-story trophy wall in the lobby, Jake. I managed."
Jake's mouth twitched. "Yeah. Fair point. I'm on the third floor."
The elevator ride was silent. Trapped in the chrome box, Maya was hyper-aware of how much space he took up—he seemed taller in the quiet, his presence filling every inch.
They reached his room, and he swiped his key card. Maya stepped inside and froze. It wasn't just a dorm—it was a suite, spotless, faintly smelling of cedar, so organized it was obvious someone was paid to maintain it. One wall was occupied by a whiteboard, covered in a chaotic map of football plays.
"This is nice," Maya said, setting her bag on a desk that looked handcrafted, quietly avoiding the bed.
"I, uh… cleaned up earlier. Just in case," Jake said, rubbing the back of his neck, looking painfully awkward.
"I appreciate the effort," Maya said, sliding into the desk chair. "Shall we get started?"
Jake glanced at the bed, then back at her. "Uh… you take the bed. I'll… I'll sit here," he said, shifting awkwardly. "You're the one in charge."
"Calm down. You're making me nervous."
She pushed back from the chair. "Fine… you take the desk, I'll take the bed. Probably more comfortable for me anyway."
He settled at the desk. Maya sat on the bed, firm and comfortable, and opened her textbook. "Okay—related rates. You said the water tank problem was giving you trouble."
Jake pulled out a tablet, his knee brushing the desk. "Yeah… I can't even find the starting line."
For the next hour, Maya talked through the variables while Jake took notes, the tension slowly giving way to a calm atmosphere.
Maya couldn't stop noticing him. His knee bounced against the desk, a restless rhythm, and she caught the tight set of his jaw every time a problem didn't click.
Each time she moved to the whiteboard, she felt the heat of his gaze on her back, and her chest fluttered. They were close—too close. When he leaned over her textbook, a brush of his side pressed against hers, and she had to suck in a shaky breath to keep from panicking. She reached across the desk to point out a mistake, their fingers hovering a heartbeat apart. She jerked back, heart hammering, stomach twisting in a delicious, awful mix of nerves and anticipation.
Her back ached from sitting stiffly, trying to keep her distance. She needed a break. "Can I get some water?"
"Yeah, sure." Jake grabbed two bottles from the mini-fridge, and their fingers brushed as he handed her one. Maya's stomach flipped, and when she looked at him, she saw his jaw tighten—she knew he'd felt it too. Her throat went dry, and she swallowed hard before she unscrewed the cap, taking a long drink to steady herself.
"Take the chair," Jake said, gesturing to the desk. "You've been on that bed for an hour. Your back has to be killing you."
"I'm fine."
"Maya. Sit." His tone wasn't exactly a commanding ,but it left little room to argue.
She slid into the chair. Jake eased onto the mattress where she had been sitting. They finished the last few problems in silence. When Maya checked his work, he'd nailed eight out of ten.
"You're actually getting this," she said, a genuine smile tugging at her lips. "The handoff play is working."
Jake glanced down at his notebook. "Most people give me the steps or do the problem for me. But you… you actually take the time to teach me."
Maya shrugged, keeping her tone light. "I just remember what it's like to be the only one in the room who's misunderstood. I don't want anyone else to feel that way if I can help it."
Jake studied her, his usual confident mask gone. "You're really smart," he said quietly. "And you don't make anyone feel inferior. That's rare."
Maya felt her cheeks heat. She looked away, fiddling with her backpack to hide her face. "You're paying me to be good at this, Jake. It's just the job."
"I don't think it is," he said, his voice dropping.
Maya didn't answer. She reached across the desk to grab her calculator—and spotted a photo.
The photo was behind a stack of Biology books. It showed Jake at twelve, grinning with a trophy, next to a guy who looked like an older, harder version of him. His dad's eyes seemed to bore into whoever was taking the picture.
"That's my dad," Jake said, his expression shutting down.
Maya leaned in. "He looks... intense."
Jake laughed, but it wasn't funny. "That's one way to put it." He picked up the photo. "State championship, eighth grade. I threw four touchdowns. It was... it was a good day."
"Your dad doesn't look like he's celebrating."
Jake set the frame down. "He's a surgeon. He's always thinking about the next thing. He wanted me to be a star – still does, probably."
Maya sat back. "You're pre-med. You're doing what he wanted."
Jake shrugged. "It's what I've always done. But sometimes... sometimes I wonder what I'd do if it wasn't about the Thompson name."
He looked tired. "Football's different. On the field, I don't have to think about anything else."
Maya studied her hands, picking at the chipped polish.
"My parents worry about different things," she said after a moment. "Legacy isn't even on the list. They're just trying to keep their heads above water."
Jake didn't interrupt.
"They worked jobs that break their backs so I wouldn't have to." Her fingers curled loosely in her lap. "When I got the scholarship, it wasn't just mine. It was proof their hard work paid off."
The memory of her dad's rough hands hit her hard.
"Every time I spend money on things I actually need, it feels wrong. Like I'm skimming off their paychecks." She let out a breath. "I can't afford to fail."
Silence stretched between them.
Jake spoke quietly. "We're basically running the same play. Just in different jerseys."
Maya met his eyes. "Yeah… I guess we are."
Jake rubbed his palms together once, like
he was working up to something.
"Can I tell you something? Something I've never told anyone before?"
She nodded. "Okay."
He stared at his hands.
"I get panic attacks. They started in high school… and followed me here." He swallowed. "Usually when things get too loud in my head. Too many expectations stacked at once."
Maya shifted a little closer. "Does your dad know?"
Jake let out a humorless breath. "God, no. I'm pretty good at hiding it."
His fingers flexed.
"But some nights I wake up at three in the morning convinced I'm having a heart attack. Hands shaking. Chest locked up. The whole thing." His jaw tightened. "And I just sit there in the dark wondering why I'm pushing this hard for something I'm not even sure I want anymore."
Maya's throat tightened. "Jake…"
"You know what actually helps?" He finally looked up at her. "This. These hours with you."
His mouth tipped slightly.
"For a little while, I'm just a guy who's bad at calculus. Not somebody's investment." His voice softened. "With you, I don't feel like I'm being sized up all the time."
Heat crept up Maya's neck.
"You're literally paying me, Jake."
"I'd pay double," he said quietly, eyes locked on hers. "You're the only person I know who makes me feel normal."
The space between them narrowed.
"Jake," she whispered, pulse hammering, "we really shouldn't—"
A heavy knock slammed into the door.
"Thompson!" a voice barked. "Coach is in the film room. He wanted you there five minutes ago. Move!"
Jake muttered a curse and pushed to his feet, dragging a hand through his hair.
"Shit. I've got to go."
"It's fine," Maya said quickly. "I'll pack up."
He grabbed his stuff but paused at the door, looking back at her.
"Stay," he said. "Please. I'll be twenty minutes. Maybe less."
"Jake, I should really—"
"Please." He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell the cedar from his shirt still. "Twenty minutes."
Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving her alone in the quiet room.