“I’m good.” I wave them off and head toward my room, but Troy isn’t letting it go.
“Hey,” he calls after me, his tone light but laced with concern. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie, not bothering to turn around. “Just tired.”
I close the door behind me and lean against it, exhaling a shaky breath. The muffled sounds of their laughter and chatter seep through the walls, but I ignore it, moving to sit on the edge of my bed.
The game replays in my mind in a cruel loop: every fumble, every missed pass, every chance to turn things around that I blew. It doesn’t matter how many times people tell you it’s just a game; when you’re the one screwing up, it feels like the world is watching your every move.
My phone buzzes again, pulling me out of my spiral. It’s Alli.
Alli:you don’t have to talk, but at least let me know if you’re alive
I swallow, not just for my throat, but for my pride. For a second, I consider calling her. But then the doubt creeps in: what if she’s better off without this mess?
My thoughts drift back to Thanksgiving. I tried so hard to be someone that Alli is proud of. But hearing her aunt talk about me, my reputation, and the fake smiles she thought I didn’t notice. It had hit a nerve I didn’t know was raw.
Part of me wants to prove her aunt wrong, to show Alli’s family that I am so much more than my mother’s past. But tonight’s game just reinforced everything I’ve been trying to ignore. Every bad decision on the field, every time I missed a pass or hesitated. It felt like a confirmation that I wasn’t good enough. Not for the team, not for Alli, not for anyone.
The guys outside laugh again, louder this time, and I know I won’t get any peace here tonight. Grabbing my jacket, I slip back out the door without anyone noticing. The night air stings my face as I make my way across campus and to the beach for peace and quiet. It’s late, and most people are already at bars or their apartments, escaping the chill. When I reach the sandy shores, my knees give out once the pain in my chest becomes unbearable. With all my might, I contain a cry.
Just then, footsteps crunch behind me, breaking the silence. I don’t bother turning around.
“Figured I’d find you here,” Alli says softly, her voice cutting through the cold night air.
I glance up as she steps into view, bundled in her coat, cheeks pink from the chill.
I rise to my feet, my hands instinctively finding her arms to keep her warm. “Babe, what are you doing out here? It’s freezing.”
“Yeah, well,” she says, sitting down on the bench. “You didn’t exactly leave me a choice. You haven’t really been talking to me.”
“Not now, Alli,” I mutter, my emotions barely contained. “I’m—”
“No,” she interrupts, her voice firm. “We’re doing this right now. You can’t just ice me out every time things get hard.”
I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair. “I just need space, okay?”
She doesn’t move, her gaze pinning me in place. “And I’ve given you space. But at some point, you need to talk to me. You can’t keep shutting me out like this. You’ve been acting weird since we came back from Thanksgiving. And… I don’t know, I just thought we’d had a good time.”
Her words hit harder than I expect, and I look away, unable to hold her gaze.
“It’s not about you, nor Thanksgiving. It’s… everything else. The game, school, my head—it’s all too much. I’m drowning, Alli.”
There’s a long pause before she speaks again. Her voice drops down multiple volumes that I can’t register, “Let me help.”
I shake my head, taking a step back. “You shouldn’t have to deal with all this. I’m not… I’m not in a good place right now, Alli. You deserve someone who’s… better.”
Her voice remains calm, but the fire in her eyes says otherwise. “You don’t get to decide what I deserve. That’s my choice. And I’m choosingyou, mess and all.”
I scoff, the frustration boiling over. “Why would you choose this? I have nothing figured out.”
Her breath catches, and the hurt flashing across her face makes me feel like a jackass. “Just say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you don’t want to be with me,” she snaps, her laugh bitter. “Isn’t that what this is? You don’t want me anymore, and instead of telling me, you’re pushing me away.”
“What? No, I—”
