Amin gives me one of those slow, older-brother, disappointed-coach looks.
“Do you think I’m not trying? You think I don’t like her or something?” I ask, heat rising in my chest.
Amin doesn’t flinch. “Nah. I think you like her a lot.”
Oh.
I fold my arms and hush as he can go on.
“But,” Amin continues, “I also think you’re using her as an emotional crutch.”
My jaw tightens.
“Crotch?” Sol jumps in, grinning. “He said crotch?—”
“CRUTCH, Solace,” Amin snaps. “Crutch.”
“How the hell am I using her as a crutch?”
Amin tucks his chin, thoughtful. “Because she doesn’t treat you like the rest of the world does. You’re adored by fans, family, friends, and even the team.”
I shrug. “Not my fault.”
“No one said it was,” Amin replies calmly. “What I’m saying is she’s not moved by all that. She sees you as… human.Regular. A man. Not Jabari, the Titan.”
Regular?
“And in what way am I using her?” I push.
Amin meets my eyes dead-on. “You think if you can get the woman who isn’t impressed by you to fall for you, then it means something about who you are. It’s like you tryna prove to yourself that you’re exceptional beyond the fame.”
My throat goes tight.
I have to look away.
Sol whistles low. “Damn. That one cut deep.”
Amin sits back. “I’m not saying you don’t genuinely like her. I’m saying… don’t make her your yardstick for self-worth. That’s not fair to her.”
Silence spreads between us.
Finally, I mutter, “I know enough about Francine to like her for other reasons.”
Amin raises one brow. “Do you?”
I swallow hard.
“Yes,” I lie.
“Like what? What do you know about her?”
Before I can make something up, Coach O’Shea’s voice cuts through the changing room.
“Alright, lads! On your feet!”
The room shifts instantly. Laughter dies. Conversations drop.
Boots scrape against the floor as everyone stands, pulling on jerseys, fixing shin guards and grabbing water bottles. Coach steps into the center, clipboard tucked under his arm.
