By the timethe team boarded the plane and me along with them, my head was still full and somehow completely empty at the same time. I ended up in the seat next to Noah, which felt deliberate even if it probably wasn’t. It wasn’t a long flight from Harrisburg down to Raleigh—barely enough time to get comfortable before the descent—but Noah seemed determined that I wouldn’t spend it alone with my thoughts.
Noah glanced at me more than once as we settled in, his expression open but assessing. “You okay, Jari?” he asked quietly, as if he didn’t want to make a thing of it. “You look tired.”
“I’m good,” I said. The answer was automatic and rehearsed. I even managed a smile, small but convincing enough. The truth stayed locked down where it belonged. I couldn’t afford to let myworry for my mom bleed out here, not on a team flight, not with eyes on me. This was my job. My chance. I swallowed it all and leaned back, letting the noise fill the space where my thoughts wanted to spiral.
Noah talked easily, about the road trip, about Florida, about nothing and everything at once, as if he’d decided it was his job to make sure the new guy was okay. Halfway through, Trick wandered over, leaning across the aisle to say something about the team in North Carolina, then Mules appeared, then Becks. It turned into a loose knot of conversation over the seats, jokes tossed back and forth, the kind of casual inclusion that made it hard to retreat even if I wanted to.
At some point, when the noise dipped just enough and everyone was taking seats for landing, I glanced at Noah. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” he said with a smile.
“Um… who’s your agent?” I asked.
“Oh. Mike Wells,” he said easily. “He's a good guy, friends with my dads. Had to deal with me being with Brody and all that fallout, and yeah, he was pissed at first, but he's got a solid roster of queer players.”
Something inside me deflated. Of course, that was how it worked when you had dads surrounded by people who cared. And the queer thing? I wasn't going to be a good fit, given I wasn't out.
“Why?” Noah asked, lowering his voice instinctively. “You thinking of moving on from yours?” I hesitated. “I don’t hear good things about Hughes,” he added quietly, naming my agent without me having to say it. “And Mike's always looking for new talent.”
I let out a short breath. “He just takes on queer clients?” I asked just as quietly.
Noah shrugged and didn’t seem offended. “Nah, he has the whole spectrum of clients. You should contact him.”
“He won't want me.”
Noah didn’t argue. He just pulled out his phone, already typing. “I’ll ask him.”
“No, I?—”
“Too late,” he grinned at me, then leaned in. “He won't say anything to anyone, I promise.”
The landing was quick, wheels hitting the tarmac with a jolt that rattled through my bones. Raleigh blurred past in buses and bags and routine, the kind of travel muscle memory that carried me all the way back to the hotel before I realized how tired I was.
Back in the room, the quietness hit hard. Noah’s bed was empty, his things gone—he’d said something about stepping out to make a call, and I knew exactly who it might be to. His partner, Brody. His dads. Siblings. Friends. Conversations I didn’t have.
I sat on my bed and stared at my phone. Should I message Cam?
We couldn’t video call as he’d asked. Not tonight. Not with my head like this. But the distance pressed in anyway, heavy and insistent, and I found myself opening the thread before I could overthink it.
Jari: I'm in the hotel. Sharing with Noah, so no video call.
The reply came fast.
Cam: Hey, you! Are you okay? And no worries about the video.
I hesitated, thumb hovering. Honesty felt dangerous. Silence felt worse.
Jari: Long day.
Cam: I wish I could see you.
That did it. A tight ache settled behind my ribs.
Jari: I miss you.
Three words. Too much and not enough all at once.
There was a pause—short, but noticeable.
