“You know, he used to drag me out of bed before dawn, toss a ball at me before I could blink.Had me running drills until my legs gave out.Told me boys don’t cry, boys don’t give up, boys fucking win.And I did it, all of it, every bruised rib and bloodied knuckle, simply to get two words out of him.One fucking “well done.””
I shake my head, my eyes fixed on the grease-stained table.
“But none of that ever stuck.The moment I wasn’t his football star anymore, I was just a disappointment again.Some loser who didn’t live up to the family name.”
The server arrives, plates hitting the table, the smell of grease and salt cutting through the heat between us.I blink down at the food, as if I forgot we even ordered.
I grab a fry but don’t bother eating it.Simply hold it in my fingers until the salt sticks to my skin.
“I never told him I was back on the team.”My voice is low, as if saying it out loud might make it real.“Didn’t wanna give him the chance to fuck it up again.”I shrug, but it’s a fake one.Heavy as hell.“I still love the game.Last year, when I was playing… damn, I wanted to go all the way.”
Sam lifts her shake, straw near her mouth, but she doesn’t take a sip.She’s watching me instead, not trying to fix anything or fill the silence—just sitting with me in it.
“You still could,” she says, and it’s so damn simple.Three words.That’s it.No pep talk.No pity.Only belief.“You walked away from playing for him.Not from the game.”
It hits hard.Too fucking hard.Knocks something loose I didn’t realize I was still holding onto.
I don’t say shit.Instead, I shove a fry in my mouth to keep it from running.
She bites into her burger, chews, swallows, and doesn’t rush it before hitting me with,
“I’m going to Mayfair next year.”
My eyebrows shoot up.“That’s where Noah and Aubrey are going, right?”
She nods.“Yeah.Lola too.I got a full scholarship.Double major.Psychology and neuroscience.”
I blink slowly.“You’re fucking with me.”
She smirks.“Told you I was smart.”
And fuck, everything clicks into place.
That smug little look she gave when I half-assed the assessment.The way she kept pushing me to get my act together while I was clowning around, running my mouth just to see her lose it.And I didn’t even notice.I was too distracted by the way her lips moved when she talked and how satisfying it was to get under her skin.
She takes a slow sip of her shake, keeping her eyes on mine.
“Mayfair has a team, you know,” she says, voice low, not pushing, only putting down the notion.“Maybe you should see about that.For yourself this time.”
I don’t answer.Just stare at her, and for once I really see her— not the girl who drove me crazy in chem, not the one who talks back when I push too hard.Only Sam.The girl who sees things in me I’ve never taken the time to look for.
And it guts me a little because last year I dreamed about college ball.The ideal version.The one where scouts compete for me, and I get to step onto that field knowing I truly belong.
Still.
Tonight was the first time in way too long that it felt right.Not for him or the crowd.Not to prove some bullshit point about being good enough.
For me.
To push myself until my legs give out.To throw my body into every hit and keep getting back up.So that the sweat really means something.To experience the bruises and know I earned every one.
But the idea of playing college ball...that’s a dream I let go of long ago.I already wrote it off before I even got the chance.Scouts have already zeroed in on the big names.Their golden boys.Perfect stats.Clean records.Smiles for the cameras.Polished players with highlight reels and parents who care.
Sam goes back to her burger.
We sit in silence for a moment.As she eats, I mostly stare at my food and pretend I’m not spiraling.
She’s leaving next year to pursue the future she worked her ass off for.
