The drive back to the Rhodes’ house is slow. Traffic lights feel longer. My knee stiffens the longer I sit, swelling until it feels too big for my skin. I don’t acknowledge it until I pull into the driveway.
The porch light is on.
It shouldn’t be. It’s mid-morning.
I sit there for a second, hand on the door handle, something tight winding in my chest. Pops must’ve forgotten to turn it off. That’s odd. He never forgets?—
I stop myself.
Inside, the house is quiet. The TV murmurs softly from the living room. It smells like coffee and toast. No decorations. No holiday noise. Just winter light filtering through the windows and the kind of silence that settles when everyone’s pretending it’s a fresh start.
Pops is on the couch, blanket over his legs, watching an old game. He looks smaller like this. More tired.
“You’re back early,” he says.
“First real day,” I reply. “They didn’t go easy.”
He smiles faintly. “Good.”
I lower myself into the chair across from him, leg stretched out. He glances at the brace, then looks away.
“How’d it go?”
“Hard,” I say. “But I did more than I thought I’d be able to.”
He nods. “That’s what matters.”
We sit in silence, watching players who don’t know their bodies are still intact. Pops rubs his temple absently, then stops when he realizes I noticed.
“You hungry?” he asks.
“Always.”
“Grilled cheese?” he offers.
“Sounds great.” I can’t help the grin that tugs at the side of my mouth. That was the first thing he ever made for me the day Cameron brought me home like a stray kitten. After I devoured four sandwiches, Pops knew my story about forgetting my lunch at home was bullshit.
In the kitchen, Pops moves slower than he used to. Careful. Deliberate. I hover without meaning to.
“You don’t have to watch me,” he says gently.
“I’m not.”
He hums, unconvinced.
Later, in my room, I lie back with an ice pack balanced on my knee, staring at the ceiling.
January is supposed to be about the playoffs. About sharpening routes. About knowing the end is coming and deciding to make it count.
Mine is already over.
Now I’m measuring progress by whether I can stand without shaking.
My phone buzzes.
Cam: first day kick your ass?
understatement of the century
