I didn’t move at first.
Didn’t want company. Didn’t want a lecture. Didn’t want to pretend like I was fine.
Another knock. Then a voice—quiet but familiar.
“It’s me.”
Daphne.
I exhaled slowly, some part of me unraveling just from that voice alone. My fingers twitched, halfway to running through my hair.
For a second, I debated ignoring it. Letting her assume I was asleep or not in the mood or whatever excuse would keep her away from this mess I’d made.
But I couldn’t.
Not when she was the only thing that still felt solid.
I got up, crossed the room, and opened the door.
She stood there, hoodie on, hands in the pocket, eyes searching mine like she already knew what kind of night I’d had.
“Didn’t think you’d still be up,” she said softly.
I stepped aside. “Didn’t think you’d come.”
She walked in like she belonged there.
Like maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t ruined everything yet.
Leggings. Oversized hoodie. Bare face. No makeup, no filters, no armor. Just Daphne. Hair up in a messy twist, like she’d thrown it together before slipping down the hall. Her eyes locked on mine, wide and searching, like she was trying to figure out which version of me she’d get tonight.
The storm or the wreckage.
For a second, neither of us spoke. Just stood there in that charged silence like the hallway air had thickened. I stepped aside. She didn’t wait for permission. She walked in like she always did—quiet, confident, necessary.
She turned back to me once the door clicked shut.
“I saw the footage,” she said, her voice low but steady. “Are you okay?”
I let out a breath that felt like gravel scraping my throat. “Do I look okay?”
She didn’t flinch. Just gave me that look. The one that didn’t pity or panic. Just… saw me.
She walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, hands tucked between her knees. I didn’t move. I leaned back against the dresser, arms crossed, trying to hold the pressure in—but it had nowhere to go.
“Troy’s a fucking joke. Lazy passes, zero hustle, and then he has the nerve to laugh about it like it’s no big deal. This isn’t high school rec league. This is everything. My future. My name. My career.”
She didn’t interrupt. Just sat there, eyes on mine, letting me unravel.
“I’m tired of carrying this team,” I snapped, pacing now. “Tired of giving 110% while other guys are just coasting. Of coaches saying, ‘Be a leader, Kieren,’ but not doing shit when half the squad checks out mid-game.” My voice cracked, sharp at the edges. My hands were fists. “I’m sick of pretending I’m not furious every damn day.”
I stopped.
She tilted her head slightly. “You done?”
I barked a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “I don’t know.”
She nodded. Then said, so calmly it made my chest ache, “I get that. I do. But you can’t burn the whole place down just because you’re tired of holding it up.”
