He told me everything.
And me? I tried to fill the space between calls. I practiced with a couple of the guys from the soccer team who’d stayed for summer training, caught a movie and dinner with my brother last weekend, and worked shifts at the rec center running drills for kids who barely listened. Most Fridays, I drove home.Helped Dad with yard work, let Mom feed me like I was seventeen again. It kept me moving. Kept me from thinking too much.
Even so, every night, I ended up here again, with Tru glowing on my phone screen, looking more like home than any of it ever did.
He told me that Jasper was “being chill now” and “honestly just a friend”. And I believed him, which was wild, because I used to believe everyone would leave.
Now I just believe in him.
So when he said, “Hey, you should come up next month. Jasper’s throwing this big end-of-summer thing. Everyone’ll be there,” I didn’t feel that old spike of jealousy or dread. Just a steady hum in my chest.
My clipboard from the rec center sat on the desk beside me, covered in scribbled practice schedules and snack lists. I was supposed to be planning drills for the kids’ tournament this weekend. Instead, I was watching him talk with his hands and trying to memorize every frame.
We were too old for curfews, too young to know what the hell we were doing—but sometimes it still felt like we were those same dumb kids sneaking into R-rated movies and pretending not to be scared.
“Hey,” I said when he paused to take a sip from his mug. “You remember that horror movie we saw when we were twelve? The one that made you hide behind the popcorn tub and then swear you weren’t scared?”
Tru laughed, eyes crinkling. “You meanThe Haunting at Hollow Creek? I had nightmares for, like, a week. Why?”
“They’re doing a reboot.” I leaned closer to the screen, smirking. “Figured I’d drag you to see it. For closure.”
“Closure,” he repeated, deadpan. “That’s what we’re calling trauma bonding now?”
I grinned. “C’mon, I’ll even buy you popcorn to hide behind again.”
He rolled his eyes, but his mouth softened into a smile. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “But you love me anyway.”
His gaze lingered on me, warm and tired and a little wistful. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I do.”
The call ended later than it should’ve, both of us pretending we weren’t fighting sleep just to stay in each other’s orbit a little longer. When the screen finally went black, I stared at my reflection for a long minute, the faint smile still tugging at my mouth.
Maybe distance didn’t have to mean gone.
The sun was brutal that afternoon. Late-day heat radiated off the blacktop like the court itself was trying to bake us alive. The kids didn’t care. They tore through the final scrimmage of the day as if it were the World Cup.
“Nice hustle, Rey!” I shouted. “Daneel, don’t ball-watch—track back!”
Daneel groaned but listened. I jogged down the sideline, clapping encouragement. My clipboard was tucked under one arm, sweat dripping down my back, and all I could think aboutwas how Tru would’ve roasted me right then. Something aboutCoach Dbeing the world’s hottest unpaid intern.
He would’ve said it with that crooked smile. The one that turned me inside out.
I glanced at my phone, where I’d left it near the bleachers. No new texts. Not that I’d expected one. Tru was probably still on the subway or zonked out from staying up all night finishing a mockup for the game development team.
Still, I missed his voice. I missed his everything.
I called for a water break and tossed the kids their bottles, letting them cool off. Sitting on the edge of the court, legs stretched out, I let the quiet settle into my bones. One of the moms had brought orange slices—which felt aggressively nostalgic—but the kids were eating them like they were gold.
Out of nowhere, I heard Coach’s voice in my head again from the phone call last week.
“Any regrets about not pursuing soccer?”
I hadn’t hesitated. “Nope. Not a single one. I only play to keep my scholarship.”
He’d laughed. “You helped us win two state championships, Carter. I’d say you’ve earned your full ride.”
I’d shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it. “I’m looking forward to what’s next.”
