A SECOND CHANCE AT FOREVER Chapter 76: CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

KYLE

The ball slammed against the polished court with a resounding thud, each bounce matching the erratic rhythm of my pulse. My grip tightened around the leather, my fingers digging into its grooves as I pivoted sharply, muscles coiled, every part of me tuned into this game—this fight against the thoughts I couldn’t shake.

I dribbled hard, quick, the sound echoing through the empty gym, filling the silence I refused to sit with. My breath came fast, my chest rising and falling as sweat trailed down the back of my neck. The tension in my body hadn’t eased—not even after an hour of this. If anything, it had only sharpened, festering beneath my skin like an itch I couldn’t scratch.

The court inside Dominion Elite was pristine, built for the best of the best—athletes, business moguls, politicians. A place where power was a silent currency, where the weight of influence hung in the air just as thickly as the scent of polished wood and sweat. It was exclusive, private. Which meant I could do this—could play like I was trying to outrun my own damn mind—without an audience whispering about it.

Ryan stood a few feet away, watching, his hands on his hips, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t playing anymore. He hadn’t for the past fifteen minutes—not since I stopped playing for the sake of the game and started treating the court like a battleground.

I ignored him. Focused only on the ball, the basket, the sharp squeak of my sneakers cutting across the court as I drove forward.

One step. Two.

I feinted left, then spun, my body moving on instinct, muscle memory taking over where thought had no place. The ball left my fingertips in a perfect arc—clean, precise, deadly. It swished through the net without so much as grazing the rim.

Still, it wasn’t enough.

I didn’t stop. Didn’t let up.

I grabbed the rebound and went again. Shot after shot. Drive after drive. Each one harder, faster, more ruthless than the last. My heart pounded, my breath ragged, but I kept pushing, forcing my body to move, to act, to forget.

But I couldn’t.

I gritted my teeth, launching myself forward again. Ryan stepped in front of me this time, finally moving. I didn’t stop. I shoved past him, my shoulder knocking into his, using every ounce of strength I had to power through. He staggered, but I was already airborne, dunking the ball with a force that rattled the backboard.

I dropped to the ground, breathing hard, my hands on my knees. Sweat dripped from my forehead onto the court. My arms trembled from the exertion, but it still wasn’t enough.

Nothing was.

Ryan let out a low whistle, his hands still on his hips. “Jesus, man.”

I grabbed the ball, spinning it between my fingers. “Play or leave.”

Ryan snorted. “That’s rich, coming from the guy playing like he’s trying to break something.” He took a step forward, scanning my face. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

He arched a brow. “Nothing? Right. So you’re just out here playing like a damn lunatic for fun?”

I didn’t answer. Just turned and took another shot.

The ball hit the rim and bounced out.

A miss.

I clenched my jaw, going after it again, but this time, Ryan stepped in my way, grabbing it before I could.

“Kyle.” His voice was steady, his gaze sharper now. “Talk to me.”

I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my damp hair. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Ryan studied me for a long moment before tossing the ball aside. “Alright, fine. Then let’s call it what it is.” He gestured at me. “You’re pissed. And if you’re pissed, that means something did happen.”

I rolled my shoulders, walking over to grab my towel from the bench. My pulse still pounded, the burn in my muscles barely cutting through the tangle of thoughts in my head.

Because he was right. Something had happened.

I’d ruined it. Again.

Ashley.

Her name alone sent a fresh wave of frustration through me, clawing at the edges of my already frayed self-control. It had been two days since I last saw her—since everything crashed down like some twisted, cruel joke from the universe. Two days since I found out the truth. A truth I never even saw coming.

She had been pregnant. With my child.

And I had no idea. Not then. Not now, until it had already been ripped away. Until she stood there, telling me in that quiet, broken voice that it was too late, that I couldn’t fix what was already gone.

The memory burned. Her face. Her voice. The raw pain behind her eyes as she looked at me like I was the last person in the world she wanted to see.

And she was right.

I had no right to be angry. No right to feel this fucking gut-wrenching guilt when I was the one who left her alone to deal with it.

Except I hadn’t known.

Would it have changed anything? Would I have fought harder? Would I have stayed? Or would I have still let my own fucked-up priorities drive me away like they always did?

I exhaled sharply, my fingers tightening around the towel before tossing it aside.

I hadn’t reached out to her since that night. Not once. Not because I didn’t want to—because God, I did. Every damn second. But because I was pissed. At myself. At the fucking universe. At how, no matter what I did, I kept failing her. Kept losing her.

And then—something else slammed into my thoughts.

The video.

Shit.

How the hell had I forgotten about that?

Atlas. That scheming, manipulative snake. Whatever she sent, I had no doubt it was twisted, edited, designed to do exactly what she wanted—to ruin everything.

I had been so caught up in the truth about Ashley, in my own damn spiral, that I hadn’t even checked what damage Atlas had already done.

Not anymore.

My jaw locked as I grabbed my shirt off the bench, shoving it over my head. Ryan raised a brow, but I didn’t give him a chance to ask.

“I need to go,” I muttered.

“Where?”

I didn’t answer. Because I already knew where I was going.

And Atlas?

She was going to pay for every fucking second of this.