The familiar anger rose in my chest—hot, sharp, the same feeling I’d been swallowing for twenty-two years. I made myself take a breath.
“It’s what I want to do.”
“What you want.” Dad laughed, bitter. “When are you going to grow up and realize what you want doesn’t matter? It’s about what’s practical. What provides security.”
“I’ll have security. Athletic trainers make good money.”
“Compared to who? Other people who settled?” He shook his head. “You had potential, Seth. You were smart enough to do something real. Instead, you’re throwing it away on this…hobby.”
“It’s not a hobby. It’s my career.”
“And when that falls through? When you realize you’ve wasted your twenties chasing some dream that doesn’t pay the bills?” Dad’s voice had gone cold. “Don’t come crying to us for help. You made your choice. I know you have these wild dreams of working with a pro team, but do you know how unrealistic that is?”
“Yeah, I do.” I was seething by this point. Not once had he asked what I’d done to secure a position. Hell, I was surprised he knew my major at all. “And I’ll have you know I’ve already been networking. I’m going to Wilmington for grad school because I’ll be able to do my internship with the Breakers. They already know who I am, respect the path that I’m on, and love the idea of having someone who understands the game working on their medical staff.”
That, at least, seemed to shut him up. The rest of dinner passed in silence. Mom tried a few times to change the subject—asked about my classes, my plans for the holidays, and whether I’d narrowed down my grad school options. I gave one-word answers and focused on not throwing my plate across the room.
After, I helped Mom with the dishes while Dad retreated to his study. The kitchen felt smaller with just the two of us, the clink of plates against the sink too loud.
“He doesn’t mean it,” Mom said quietly. “He’s just worried about you.”
“He has a funny way of showing it.”
“You know how he is. He wants the best for you.”
“No.” I set down the dish I’d been drying. “He wants me to be the person he thinks I should be. That’s not the same thing.”
Mom's hands stilled in the soapy water. "Your father only wants what's best for you. We both do."
"What's best for me, or what's least embarrassing for you?"
Her mouth thinned. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" I grabbed another dish, scrubbed harder than necessary. "Every conversation is about what I'm doing wrong. Football's a waste. My degree won't matter if I get brain damage. I should be networking, building a real career?—"
"Because we can see what you can't." She turned to face me, water dripping from her hands. "You're throwing away your potential on a game that will chew you up and spit you out."
"It's my life to throw away."
"And we're your parents. We're allowed to have opinions."
"Opinions, sure. But that's not what this is." I set the dish down too hard. "This is control disguised as concern."
She stared at me for a long moment, something flickering behind her eyes. Then she turned back to the sink. "I think you should apologize to your father before dessert."
That night,I lay in the too-small bed staring at the ceiling and hating myself.
“I hope you know that you can talk to me, Seth. About anything. Nothing will change the fact that you’re my baby boy and I love you.”
My mother had handed me an opening, and I’d thrown it away. Could have told her about Tanner, about the person who actually made me feel like my choices mattered. Could have said the words that had been building in my chest for months.
Instead, I’d said nothing. Again.
My phone vibrated its way toward the edge of the nightstand.
Tanner
How’s it going?
