I pause. Then shrug. “I am now.”
He doesn’t believe me. I don’t really believe me. But we don’t say anything else about it.
He slings an arm around my shoulders, tugging me toward the dining hall like we’ve got all the time in the world and none of the secrets.
And I let him. Because maybe if I keep walking, keep moving, keep pretending—I’ll believe it too.
The dining hall is too bright. Too loud.
Too… normal.
Daniel peels off to grab food, but I spot Ty and Will first—along with Colton and Micah—already halfway through a tray of fries and what looks like three varieties of sports drinks because none of them understand balance.
“Look who survived morning drills,” Will calls, grinning like he wasn’t just bitching about sled pushes two hours ago.
“Survived is generous,” Ty mutters, eyeing me. “You look like you got hit by a bus.”
“Thanks, sunshine,” I deadpan, dropping into the seat across from them. “Always nice to be welcomed with kindness.”
Micah slides over his fry tray. I steal a couple without shame.
Daniel returns with a bowl of something suspiciously healthy and sits beside me, nudging his knee against mine as though we’re in a romcom montage. The others barely blink. None of them notice that I’m quieter than usual. That I don’t flirt. Don’t toss back anything more than one-liners. They’re used to me being loud, but notemotional.
Good. Let’s keep it that way.
I’m halfway through picking apart my sandwich when my phone vibrates.Momflashes across the screen.
I freeze.
“Everything okay?” Daniel murmurs, only loud enough for me to hear.
“Yeah,” I lie. “Just... need a minute.”
I slide out of the booth and walk toward the back patioexit. It’s quieter outside, still buzzing with noise, but less watchful. I swipe to answer, voice clipped.
“Hi.”
“Lucas,” my mom says, voice warm in that practiced, polished way that grates like sandpaper. “I wanted to remind you that we’re having family dinner this weekend. You’ll be home.”
It’s not a question.
“I’ve got practice,” I say.
“Not on Sunday.”
“Travel,” I lie.
“Your father wants to see you.”
Right. So he can stare over his wine glass and ask if I’ve “thought about coming back to church.” Again.
“I don’t know if I can?—”
“Lucas.”
The weight in her voice is familiar. Final.
I clench my jaw. “Fine.”
