“Fine. Have it your way.” I grab my phone out of the witch's claws. Glaring at her, I shrug on my–Tyler’s–hoodie and dial my favorite person before disappearing outside with a wave to the band. I don’t feel like making more music, so might as well walk home while calling Ty.
Ifhe answers.
He’s probably too busy anyway, with all those post-game interviews and de-briefings. Or would they not have that because they lost and all? I’m not the one to know a lot about this so–
“Hey, you,” Tyler answers, interrupting my thoughts.
I instantly melt, and smile at the sidewalk as I wander to our apartment, hoodie drawn over my head. “Hey, babe. Are you okay?”
It’s silent for a bit, but then I hear him sigh. “Yeah. It just sucks.”
My heart breaks a bit at the pain in his voice. “I can make some joke now about sucking, but I don’t think that’s what you need right now. I know you worked hard for this, so yeah, it sucks.”
“It does. But hey, at least I now officially declared that I’m not entering the draft, so the media is off my back for a bit.”
I frown. “Didn’t you do that already?”
“For myself? Yeah. I always had the plan to graduate. But I didn’t announce it yet. They love the gossip you know, who would and wouldn’t declare to enter before graduation.”
“And now they know.”
“Yeah, now they know.” He’s quiet again, and I hear the rustling of what I presume are sheets.
“Are you in your hotel room?” I ask, nodding to some students in SSU football jerseys who walk by and greet me, heading to Yetties.
He hums an agreement. “Lamar’s still out, having drinks with the team downstairs. But I wasn’t in the mood… This was the dream, you know? I know I still have a career and such, but winning the trophy is like the cherry on the cake.”
I sigh, staring at the lights of my apartment building that’s looming up in the dark distance. “I think I know. I know what it’s like to have a dream, to feel like you’re finally living that dream and then have that dream slip right through your fingers,” I say, not needing to explain myself further. He knows I’m talking about my old band, about how wealmostmade it before shit was fucked. “I never had any other dream than music. Then taking the stage and pouring myself into the notes and lyrics that feed my soul, my very being…”
“Never?” he asks.
“No, never.” I take a breath and gather my guts. “At least, until you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you make my heart sing.”
He gives a soft chuckle. “Are you being corny again?”
I huff. “Admit it, you love it.”
“Yeah, I do,” he quietly admits. And Ireallywant to tell him how I feel, that I love him, to make him feel better. But saying it after his dream is crushed, is not the way I want to do this.
“Good. Because I mean it. You’re part of my dream, and I know football is part of yours, babe. And I know you're sad. You deserve to be sad. But I also know that you are great.”
“I am?” he hedges.
“You are. You’re not only great, you’re phenomenal. At least I think so. Now, stop begging for compliments.”
He finally laughs. “Caught me.”
“And this loss wasn’t on you,” I go on, wanting to reassure him. That’s what boyfriends do, right? “At least if I have to believe those idiots here, because I know jack shit about any of this.”
“Did you think I won?” I hear the smile again. At least he’s smiling now.
“Totally. Was already jumping on the table and everything. Was planning on streaking through campus in celebration.”
He snickers. “Please let someone film that. Could be good material for when I’m away at a game again. You know, next year.”
