Technically, Brooke could have chosen it because she thought it was funny. Or because something about the word cliché just reminds her of me now. But the lyrics hit too close to home for it to be so simple. It can't be. Because it's everything I haven't said out loud.
I'm trying to be open and show her I care—in the small gestures and the quiet details that I'm sharing about my life. But despite giving more of myself to her than anyone else, I haven't told her all of it.
The fact that I'm fighting to maintain my confidence with Brooke and that I'm scared the real me isn't good enough—for the world or for her. I'm scared that she's right—I'm too young to have it all together like she needs. And I'm terrified that if I don't figure out how to show her I do, that she'll move on without me, and I'll be left more trapped than I am now.
But she sees that. She sees me. And this song is proof. It has to be. This girl, with her curated confidence and strategic silences, mademea goddamn playlist. And she knew exactly what she was doing—this is her way of opening up.
The thought sends a heat both to my chest and further south. I thought Brooke was sexy as my mystery girl, but that was before I got this side of her. The vulnerable side—even if it takes some reading between the lines.
Eventually, I take my headphones out, kill the engine, and swing my leg over my seat, setting my helmet on the cushion like I always do. It's time to lock in—to gather myself for the game and put on the face I need to wear in an hour. But right now, the only thing on my mind is showing Brooke how much I loved her gesture. And how much it fucking turns me on that she's finally comfortable giving me a little more.
Walking toward the locker room, I pull up our text chain. I consider telling her exactly how I'd like to repay her for the playlist, but I decide I'd rathershowher after the game instead. I begin typing out my message, a cheesy smile on my face, when a familiar voice catches me off guard.
"Son."
My head flies up, my eyes landing on a set of blue eyes that perfectly mirror my own. My dad's standing there, his silver hair perfectly gelled away from his face, his beard trimmed and sculpted as always. He pushes off the wall he's leaning on, his hands tucked into the front pocket of his Flames hoodie, his fresh Nikes brushing against the pebbles on the pavement as he walks toward me.
"Dad, not now," I say, trying to save any residual buzz from my ride over while attempting to finish my text to Brooke.
"Did you hear about Cam Rourke?"
"Nope," I answer bluntly, my fingers hovering over the letters I can't seem to focus on.
"He just called a press conference."
I fumble through a word or two before losing my train of thought. "Okay."
"Drew..."
I sigh, stopping next to him in front of the door and surrendering, shoving my phone back into my pocket—text unsent. I know Dad's dancing around the real reason he brought up Washington's star forward. And rather than waste anymore time with this conversation, I decide to get it over with.
"So, he's retiring."
Dad tucks his lips in and nods. "Looks like it."
"And what does that have to do with me?"
He tilts his head, questioning me. "You know the shoes the Titans will have to fill. They'll need a new goal scorer. A new personality. Someone to lead their team and bring the recognition to their organization that Cam did."
I hike my backpack up on my shoulders and tuck my hands into my suit pants, my jacket suddenly warmer than it was before. "And you think that should be me?"
"Don't you? Scott sure does. He said—"
"What the fuck?" I yell. "Why are you talking to my agent?"
He waves me off as his eyes flutter toward the sky. "It was just casual, relax." I scoff as if that's the point, but he continues. "Think of what they'll be willing to give you, son. How much of an impact you could make there. They've got a good team, but they need fresh eyes—new skates. You could make huge moves over there."
"In Washington? Dad, why would I want to leave Golden City?"
He exhales, dropping his head briefly before meeting my gaze again. "You've made your mark here. Got your Cup. You don't want to stay stagnant."
"Stagnant? What? It's called foundation. Roots. Loyalty."
"Loyalty? What about that test they never let you forget?"
My eyes grow wide in disbelief. He can't possibly mean the same test I failed trying to avoid his judgement. "Are you serious? These guys are theonlyones who have let that go."
He opens his mouth to speak, but then closes it again, keeping his initial response to himself. "Just keep it in mind like we talked about, okay? This could be your shot to move on from here. To start somewhere fresh and still be that big fish." He steps forward, placing his hand on my shoulder. "Think about it, son. Change might be good."
