Lyla slides off the arm of his chair and adjusts her hoodie. “We’re grabbing lunch with my dad. You should come.”
Coach Harding scoffs. “He’s icing.”
Lyla smiles sweetly. “He can ice while he eats.”
Coach Harding opens his mouth.
“Do you see what I have to deal with?” Carter cuts in, grinning. “She’s scary, Coach.”
Coach Harding mutters something under his breath and waves us off. “Go. Brooks—ice. Then go home.”
Go home.
The words hit harder than they should.
Because home isn’t just a place anymore.
Home is Sloane.
Home is Pops and Cameron.
Home is the version of me that’s quietly changing whether I want it to or not.
—
When I step back out into the hallway, my phone buzzes again.
This time, I look.
Sloane: he slept through most of the morning. hospice is coming at three.
My throat tightens.
I type back with my thumbs hovering over the words I want to say.
I want to tell her Carter Hayes was just in Coach’s office talking about my future.
I want to tell her I’m scared to want things.
Scared to wanther.
I want to tell her I miss her even when she’s in the next room.
Instead, I send the truth I can afford.
sounds good. I’ll be there soon.
I stare at it for half a second.
Then I hit send before I can overthink it into silence.
Two weeks. The draft.
A conversation with an NFL team.
Pops at home, Sloane barely holding on.
And me—standing in the hallway of the place I’ve always wanted to belong, realizing that belonging isn’t a helmet and a jersey.
