“Bye, lover boy! If you’reseeingAlli, make sure to use protection—”
I hang up mid-sentence, tossing my phone onto the bed with a groan as her laughter rings in my head. Sisters—they live to get under your skin, and Serena has mastered it to an art form.
The door creaks open, and a wave of noise and sweat hits me. The Anchor, one of the college bars downtown, reeks of spilled beer and cheap cologne. It’s crowded, but not too tight. UCLA by RL Grime settles in the background, blending with the clink of pool balls, chatter, and the occasional shout.
I spot Troy instantly, nestled like a goddamn pool shark, flicking his cue stick in the air with the cockiness of someone who knows how to get into your head without saying much. He catches my eye, a stupid smile spreading across his face.
“Well, look who finally crawled out of their cave,” he calls out, raising his drink. “Thought you were too busy playing secret agent again.”
I shove my hands deep into my jacket pockets, giving him a lazy smile. “Nah, I’m just here to remind you how it’s done.”
Troy rolls his eyes, still grinning. “Right, keep talking. You’ve got the reputation of a champion, but we all know that falls apart when the pressure hits.” He shakes his head dramatically, taking a pull from his drink, watching me with exaggerated pity.
I snort. “You’re just upset you had to beg for a redo last weekend, man. Don’t act like I don’t remember.”
Troy raises an eyebrow, ready to defend his pride. “Bullshit.”
We both know he wouldn’t drop it unless I got a redo before the tears came.
Kevin casually leans against the bar, his arms crossed and eyes narrowing as he watches the exchange. “Troy denying his pool meltdown?”
“He’s Pinocchio,” I shoot back, heading for the bar to grab a drink. “All talk, no action. Just a lot of excuses.”
“Always the same,” Kevin laughs, lifting his drink. “At this point, we keep him around for entertainment value.”
I lift my beer and take a long swig, feeling the welcoming energy of the bar slowly ease the knots I didn’t even realize I was holding. The noise dulls the buzz in my head for a second, but it doesn’t last long. I try not to let it show. It’s not like I can just drop the weight of everything I’m carrying: football, my mom, all the other shit piling up. It’s easier to hide behind the jokes and distractions. But the tension doesn’t go away. Even in a crowded room full of my teammates, I’m still alone with it.
More guys from the team trickle in, and soon the place is thriving with that effortless camaraderie. Conversations flow easily, transitioning from the game to whatever ridiculous gossip’s floating around. But the best part is the way the guys have this ability to make everything feel lighter. Even if it’s just for a few hours, I forget about my problems. There’s no football obligations, no expectations, no bullshit with my mom’s disappearance. Just the kind of mindless fun you can only get in a dive bar with your friends.
The clink of pool balls pulls me back as Troy lines up for his shot, his face locked in exaggerated concentration.
“Hey, you should’ve seen Mason try to hit on this girl at the diner the other day,” Kevin says suddenly, nudging me lightly. “Dude couldn’t string together a full sentence, tripped over his feet before she even noticed him.”
I let out a laugh, rolling my eyes. “Classic Mason. It’s his personal strength: how badly can he embarrass himself before anyone notices?”
“Everyone loves a little self-sabotage,” Troy chips in, his shot ridiculously overdone but effective. It rolls in, and the cue ball bounces like it’s got a mind of its own.
Speaking of the devil, Mason walks up from behind, shaking his head. “Please don’t talk about my horrible love life. It’s so depressing.”
Kevin slaps Mason on the back as he sits down, then glances at me with a knowing look. “Let’s distract him from the fact he can’t talk to girls. You’re up. You’re really not gonna go for the ridiculous trick shot?”
“Nope,” I reply, lips curving up slightly. “Just here to make sure I walk away with bragging rights, not show off.”
Kevin raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Sure thing. You got something on your mind, or are you just pretending to look cool?”
Before I can respond, Troy chuckles once more. “Bet he’s just trying to shut out the noise in his head,” he teases, clearly getting a kick out of poking at me when I’m caught off guard.
The light-hearted jab stings a little more than I let on, but I don’t engage. “You know, sometimes it’s about quieting the noise.”
Chase, who’d chosen silence, shoots me a look from behind. His gaze turns serious, and I know he’s picking up on the subtle shift.
“You good?” he presses, his voice quieter than usual.
I want to brush it off, tell him I’m fine, that everything’s fine, because it’s easier. It’s always easier to pretend. But I know Chase. He won’t let it slide. He knows how I’ve been. He knows about the pressure, the doubt that builds every time I hear about my mom, or when the phone rings, or when I just can’t breathe through it all. It’s how he got to know the real me—no judgment, just understanding.
“Yeah, just been handling stuff,” I say fast—too fast, maybe. It’s a dodge, but it does the trick.
“Yeah, you keep saying that.” Kevin half-jokes, patting me on the back. The conversation moves on. We all laugh, but I feel a little heavier.
