Colby leans his elbows on his knees. “You were way off today.”
“Just a bit,” Eli adds. “If ‘just a bit’ means you hit everything but the net.”
Bobby nods. “You whiffed that first drill so hard I felt it in my soul.”
“Thank you for that insight,” I say. “Very helpful.”
Dex nudges my shoulder. “You want to talk about it? Or are you going to keep pretending everything is fine while you clearly compose sad poetry in your head?”
“I don’t write poetry.”
“Everyone writes poetry in their head when they’re in love,” Gabe says. “Comes with the territory.”
Colby points at me. “He didn’t deny thein lovepart.”
I sigh and drop my head back against the locker. “Her fucking ex-fiancé wrote some dramatic-ass song about her and now it’s everywhere. Media, socials, interviews. I can’t escape it, and neither can she.”
Mark Cummings. The shithead ex-fiancé. The one who cheated and somehow still managed to act wounded when she left. His face has been all over gossip sites ever since that story broke. I have seen his smirk more times than I care to.
Gabe stretches his legs out. “My guess? She'll handle this mess without dragging you into it. Then she will come to you when she has a plan and a color-coded spreadsheet.”
I huff a laugh. “She does love a spreadsheet.”
“Exactly,” Gabe says. “You just have to survive until then without building a conspiracy board in your head.”
Dex claps my shoulder. “And lucky for you, your very supportive teammates are taking you to lunch so you can forget about that dumb fuck for at least thirty minutes.”
“I should probably watch some film,” I say.
“Nope,” Dex answers immediately.
“Hard pass,” Colby agrees.
Gabe points at me. “We are not leaving you unsupervised with your phone.”
“Lunch,” Dex repeats. “Non-negotiable. Gregory already picked a place.”
Gregory lifts a hand. “There is a spot down the street with good sandwiches. And fries. And sanity.”
I look around at them. They are all watching me with some mix of concern and the kind of anticipation people get when they know the drama is juicy but they are trying to be good friends about it.
“Fine,” I say. “Lunch.”
“Atta boy,” Dex says.
By the time I shower and pull on jeans and a hoodie, I feel a little more like myself. The buzzing under my skin is still there, but duller. I check my phone once. No new messages. I lock it and shove it in my pocket before I can start looking for some form of communication from her.
We spill out of the arena into bright afternoon light, walking in a loose pack. Dex is already arguing with Colby about fries versus onion rings like it is a matter of national security.
“Onion rings are elite,” Dex says. “They have layers. They tell a story.”
“They tell the story of heartburn,” Colby counters.
Gabe laughs. “You two fight about food more than I fought with my ex-wife about custody.”
“Yeah, but our relationship is stronger,” Dex says. He slings an arm around Colby’s shoulders. “He would never cheat on me with curly fries.”
Bobby walks ahead with Gregory, debating some defensive scheme. Eli strolls behind us, humming along to whatever is playing in his earbuds.
