Ezekiel's POV
The thing about burying the truth is that it always finds a way to surface, no matter how deep you dig the grave.
I've been feeding myself the same lie for years now. That I mess with Ximena because she's an easy target. Because watching her get riled up entertains me. Because it's simple, harmless fun.
But that's complete garbage.
The real truth? The one I've been running from since I was thirteen? It started long before Ximena became the girl who hides behind oversized sweaters and sharp comebacks.
It started back in middle school, when everything was different.
Back then, Ximena wasn't trying to disappear into the background. She had this wild energy that drew people in like a magnet. She'd spray water across the lunch table at Anton, making everyone crack up. She'd challenge us to races after football practice and somehow beat us every single time, even though she was half our size. Her laugh was loud and infectious, and she never apologized for taking up space.
I was fascinated by her before I even understood what that meant.
The way her smile was crooked, lifting higher on one side. How she'd scrunch her nose when she was thinking hard about something. The way she never backed down from a fight, even when common sense said she should.
I wanted to be around her all the time.
And that terrified me.
Because she was Anton's twin sister. And Anton isn't just my teammate or my friend. He's my brother in every way that matters. There's this unwritten code between guys like us: sisters are completely off-limits. No exceptions.
So instead of dealing with what I was feeling, I chose the coward's way out. I started picking at her, pushing her buttons, making her the target of my jokes. It was easier to play the role of the annoying guy than to risk anyone figuring out what was really going on in my head.
Especially her.
Years passed, and the mask became permanent. Now everyone believes that's who I really am. The guy who makes cracks about her eating habits or embarrasses her in front of people. Even Ximena thinks I genuinely can't stand her.
But they're all wrong.
Every time I say something that makes her eyes flash with anger, there's something else happening underneath. Something I can't control.
I'm studying the way her lips part when she's about to fire back at me.
I'm memorizing how her cheeks flush when she's frustrated.
I'm thinking thoughts that would get me killed if Anton ever found out.
Last week nearly broke my resolve completely.
We were at Anton's house, watching game footage on his couch. Ximena wandered in with a bowl of fresh popcorn, acting like she didn't care if we demolished the whole thing. She settled on the carpet, back against the coffee table, drowning in one of those hoodies she always wears.
Then something on the TV made her genuinely laugh. Not the defensive sound she usually makes around me, but her real laugh. The one I remembered from middle school.
It hit me like a tackle I didn't see coming.
I couldn't look away from her. The way her whole face lit up, how relaxed she seemed for once. It was like seeing a glimpse of the girl she used to be, before I helped turn her into someone who felt like she had to hide.
When she glanced up and caught me staring, everything inside me went tight with tension. For one heart-stopping moment, I swear she could see right through me.
She knew I'd been watching her.
She knew that beneath all the teasing, there was something else entirely.
The worst part? I don't want to stop.
I know I should. She deserves better than being someone's guilty secret, buried under layers of sarcasm and fake antagonism. Anton would probably end our friendship if he suspected the truth.
But then she'll shoot me that fiery glare across a room, or snap back with some cutting remark, and it's like striking a match near gasoline. I can't help myself.
It's like I'm addicted to dancing on the edge of disaster, wondering what would happen if I finally jumped.
What if I stopped hiding behind jokes and told her the truth?
That I notice when she wears those soft T-shirts that make her look touchable.
That the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she's nervous drives me crazy.
That I've spent more time than I care to admit imagining what it would feel like to kiss her, to run my hands through that messy hair, to make her breathe my name instead of curse it.
That the reason I can't leave her alone isn't because she's too sensitive.
It's because she makes me feel completely exposed, like she could see every secret I've ever kept if she looked hard enough.
And the only defense I have is making sure she feels just as off-balance as I do.
Lying in bed now, staring into the darkness, I know I'm in serious trouble.
Because this thing between us is getting harder to hide. The tension is building every time we're in the same room, and eventually something's going to give.
When that happens, everything could fall apart. My friendship with Anton. My place on the team. The careful balance we've all maintained.
But here's the truth that scares me most of all.
If there's even a chance that Ximena might see me the way I see her, might want me the way I want her...
I think I'd be willing to risk it all.
Even if it means watching everything burn.