As if you can carry overwhelming grief and joy in the same body but selectively choose which one will have the upper hand at any given time.
As if you can rewire your brain into thinking that every good thing your hands touch won’t be ripped away in the blink of an eye.
I try to keep moving like normal after the game—shower, food, homework, sleep. The checklist version of me that works best when she doesn’t stop long enough to feel.
But the house is quieter tonight in the way it always is when Pops laughs too hard and then pays for it later.
When I step out of my room, hair still damp, I can hear the TV in the living room is turned down low. Not because anyone is watching. Because silence feels like a threat.
Logan is on the couch with an ice pack on his knee, hoodie on, hair mussed like he’s been running his hands through it too much.
He looks up when he hears me.
And I hate the way my stomach flips like it’s a teenage girl with no survival instincts.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I answer, like I’m not still tasting him from the parking lot.
My eyes flick to Pops’s recliner.
It’s empty.
The blanket is folded neatly over the arm, like the chair is pretending nothing happened today.
My chest tightens. “Where’s Pops?”
Logan’s voice stays casual. “In his room. He fell asleep after you went to shower.”
“Okay,” I say, but the word comes out too soft.
Logan watches me for a beat—too steady, too quiet.
Then he says, “Jade texted.”
I blink. “Of course she did.”
Logan’s mouth twitches. “She wants you to come out for a bit.”
I scoff immediately. “No.”
“Mm,” Logan hums, like he expected that. “She said she’ll ‘forgive your absence’ if you show up for at least thirty minutes.”
“I’m honored,” I deadpan.
Logan shifts, setting the ice pack aside. “She also said Blakely is bringing snacks.”
That gets my attention against my will. “Blakely bringing snacks means she’s serious.”
“Exactly,” he says, like we’re discussing national security.
I cross my arms. “Still, no.”
Logan leans back, studying me. “Why not?”
“Because,” I snap, because the real answer is too big. “I don’t want to.”
Logan’s brow lifts. “That’s not a reason. That’s a shield.”
