“She’s terrifying,” I say, popping the lid. The cookies give off a smell that is ninety percent sugar, ten percent guilt trip. “I don’t know how to talk to her…”
He bursts into laughter. “That’s rough, bro.”
I pick up a cookie and eye it with suspicion. It looks too perfect … and I’m certain it would never survive a Texas summer without melting into a glue trap. I bite in, expecting disappointment.
I’m wrong. It’s good. Like,unreasonablygood.
Derrick must see it on my face, because he starts laughing even harder.
I try to play it off. “Could use more salt,” I say, even as I stuff the rest of it in my mouth in one bite.
Derrick howls. “You’re so full of it. Youlikeher cookies. I bet you like—”
“I just said they were edible,” I cut him off, shaking my head.
He doesn’t let it go. “So, what’s her deal? She hot? She’s gotta be hot. You wouldn’t be unable to talk to her if she wasn’t…”
I groan. “She’sa lot—and probably spends thousands of dollars a day on things like iced matcha or something.”
“That’s LA, man, right? It’s totally normal.”
“I never claimed I wanted to be a part of their normal.”
“You’ll neverbenormal.” He laughs. “You literally called me the day you got there because you were ‘paralyzed by choice at the cereal aisle.’”
I frown. “That was a valid crisis. I’ve never seen so manyhealthychoices.”
The call goes quiet for a second. I finish the cookie and reach for another, and Derrick just watches, waiting. He’s the only person who knows how to do this—just let the silence sit, let me work up the nerve to say what’s actually on my mind.
I glance at the TV, where nothing’s playing, then at the wall, which is empty except for a stain where the last tenant probably ripped down a poster. The city outside is pure neon, the smog catching the sunset and painting the windows orange.
“I hate it here,” I admit softly. “Everyone’s so …notlike they are in the South. I don’t even know if I’m supposed to care about half the stuff they talk about. The guys on the team are cool, but they’re notfriends. Not yet, anyway. And the only people I see outside practice are just …strangers.”
Derrick nods, just listening.
“Maybe it’ll get better,” I say, but the words taste like a lie.
“It will,” Derrick insists. “You’re just not used to being the new guy. You need a project. Something to help you settle in.”
“Is this the part where you tell me to adopt a rescue dog that willalsopee on my shoes?”
He laughs. “I’m saying, stop acting like you’re allergic to fun. Go outside. Do something weird. Meet people. Or at least get on TikTok and roast your teammates. I guarantee you’ll have gone viral by morning. That’s what everyone else does.”
I shake my head. “That’s literally my worst nightmare.”
He grins. “Just saying, you never know.”
The call gets interrupted by a distant yell. I recognize the voice—my niece, shrieking about a bug in her hair. Derrick lifts the phone and shows me the chaos. My sister-in-law is on the patio, water bottle in hand, waving a shoe in the air. The bug is already dead, but my niece is climbing Derrick’s leg for safety.
I miss it.Allof it. Alabama was a lot closer to Texas than Los Angeles.
Derrick brings the phone back, voice softer. “Look, man. I know you’re homesick. Give it another week. You’ll either fall in love or figure out how to survive. Either way, you’ve got this.”
I nod, not trusting myself to say more.
He holds up a barbecue rib, mock-toasts the camera, and says, “Gotta go, it’s dinner time. But hang in there, big guy.”
“Will do.”
