Not in awe.
In guilt.
In panic.
She deserved someone softer than I was.
Someone whole.
Someone who didn’t feel like she was made of broken glass.
I told them I was ready to go home,I wasn't, but I needed to get away from the sad eyes, and I needed to give them space to heal.Space beyond worrying for me.
I avoided the ultrasound photos.
I avoided Nate’s things.
One night, I opened the drawer where I’d shoved some of Nate's belongings, forgetting they were there, and I slammed it shut so hard something on top rattled off and hit the floor.
Kenzie heard that, too.
“Tess…” she said softly from the doorway.
I didn’t look at her.“I can’t be around his things.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I should,” I whispered.“I know I can't just forget...I should...”
“Stop.”
Her voice cut through the spiral.
“You don’t owe anyone anything right now, okay?”
That should’ve comforted me.
Instead, anger flared again, irrational and red-hot.
I hated that she was right.
I hated that he wasn’t here.
I hated that he’d been planning a life we’d never get to live.
I hated that the world kept moving.
At night, when Kenzie finally fell asleep beside me, I scrolled through articles on my cracked phone.Every article about athlete exploitation.Every thread about predatory contracts.Every whisper from former players about being manipulated, cornered, threatened.
Every word poured gasoline on the fire burning in my chest.
By the end of the week, I was a raw nerve with teeth.
Eli tried to bring me a bag of Nate’s belongings from the arena.
“I thought you might…” he said, voice gentle.
I cut him off.
