I should be with her. Not sitting here, partying.
I shoot my sister a text.
ME
Everything ok? You comin' to Cody's birthday?
Before I can overthink it, the backyard erupts with screaming.
I glance toward the pool and—yeah, chaos. Absolute chaos.
Liam is on Reese's shoulders, wobbling around like a drunk skyscraper while Luke is perched on Jasper's shoulders across from them. They're smacking each other with pool noodles, shouting battle cries like eight-year-olds on a sugar high. People are chanting, yelling, splashing. Music is blasting. Someone does a cannonball so big it soaks half the patio.
My phone buzzes. I tear my eyes from the aquatic stupidity and check the screen.
SAM
All good, big bro. Just hanging out with some friends.
Another bubble pops in.
SAM
Can you tell Cody happy birthday for me? And sorry I couldn't make it
I exhale, tension loosening from my shoulders.
She's out. With people. Not holed up alone somewhere replaying Elijah-shaped heartbreak in her head.
Thank God.
I type back a quick reply.
ME
Have fun. text me if you need anything.
I tuck my phone into my pocket, feeling lighter—not completely calm, but at least not on the verge of storming across town to track her down.
While I wait for Caroline, I drift toward the pool where a couple of the rookies are hanging around near the edge—beer in hand, shirts damp from getting splashed, eyes glued to Liam and Reese trying to murder Luke and Jasper in their shoulder-war death match.
Jasper's yelling something about illegal reach. Liam's cackling like a gremlin. Someone's definitely about to crack their skull, but honestly? That's a tomorrow problem.
One of the rookies—Mason—spots me and straightens up. "Uh, Westbrook... can I ask you something?"
I take a sip of my beer. "What's up?"
He glances at the pool, then lowers his voice a little. "I keep replaying the last game in my head. I feel like I blew three transitions. I don't know what I'm doing wrong."
Another rookie, Ben, nods beside him. "Yeah, and my forecheck timing was off. I keep jumping too early or too late."
I shake my head. "You guys didn't blow anything. And forecheck timing? That's reps, not instinct—yet."
They're listening, really listening, and it hits me again how young they are. How much pressure they put on themselves.
"Tomorrow," I say, tapping Mason's beer bottle with mine, "we'll rewatch the full game film. All of us. Not to roast you—don't tense up—just to break it down. See what angles you were taking, where you hesitated, what we can calibrate."
Ben looks a little embarrassed. "But won't that slow everyone down?"
