But today…
Today Cohen isn’t Cohen.
He sits rigid beside me, hands clasped tightly in his lap, knuckles white.
He won’t meet Dad’s eyes; he stares at a random spot on the floor.
Dark circles under his eyes.
Jaw clenched so tight I see the muscle twitch.
He looks tired.
He looks… guilty.
And for the first time since I’ve known him, he doesn’t have a comeback.
Dad barrels on:
“You two have LOST YOUR MINDS! The coach’s daughter and the league’s most problematic player! And now the papers think you’ll be on the reality show together! Do you understand what happens when we announce Becker has a different partner?”
“Coach Heart, I assure you—” Nate cuts in, valiantly trying to save us though he looks close to fainting.
Dad whips around and points at him.
“Nathaniel, do NOT cover for Becker. I’ve known him since he was a teenager. He’s a liability even when he’s BREATHING.”
I flinch.
Not because it’s untrue—Cohen is a walking catastrophe—but because Cohen finally comes back into my peripheral vision.
And he isn’t pretending the barb didn’t land.
I see it hit.
A shadow crosses his face.
An old wound.
A familiarity with that kind of pain.
And something I don’t want to examine unfurls inside my chest.
That sentence hangs in the room like a verdict:
A liability even when he breathes.
It’s cruel.
It’s unfair.
But the worst part is the resignation in Dad’s voice—as if he’s already failed, as if he doesn’t expect better.
Cohen’s shoulders subtly cave inward.
He absorbs the blow without flinching, like he believes he deserves it.
His amber eyes—normally sharp enough to burn the world—are dull, glued to his sneakers.
