Shaking his head, he pushes back with, “I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“I know you didn’t. But I couldn’t leave you here.”
“Why?” He asks like he already knows the answer. Like I’m not the only person who knows the pain of being left behind, in a way much deeper than this beach visit.
“Because I just couldn’t. I can’t really explain it.”
He nods and finally wipes his tears with his sleeve, eyes facing out to the depths of the lake. I try to see what he’s watching and the push and pull of the lake soothes me. I get why he’s out here–I’ve done similar things when everything has felt impossible.
We sit for a few more minutes and then Colson stands. He offers me a hand, which I take, both our hands chilled from the lake. He helps me up and without another word, we walk back.
The beach is empty besides the two of us. Colson keeps my hand for a beat longer than he needs to, thumb brushing once against my knuckles before he lets go. It sends a surprising flicker of warmth through me, cutting through the lake’s chill.
I pretend I don’t notice the way my hand misses his the second it’s gone.
eleven
Colson
I’minthecar,travel mug full of coffee and nowhere to actually go. But I’m driving. This is something I used to do when I was struggling and I lived in the city—just slip behind the wheel and disappear for a bit. Change the scenery, change the story in my head. No reason I can’t do it now.
I have no plan. Drive until I want to stop. Pull over when it makes sense. Try to get space. Maybe find some clarity. Lick my wounds of embarrassment from yesterday.
Last night roars to the front of my mind—the perfect storm of Sadie being there and seeing me. There was no going back from that. Once she saw me like that, we were in it and there was no way I could walk it back.
My phone is connected to the car, playing some of my favorite music. The windows are down and the air whips through. It’s early morning—the kind where Michigan feels like it’s stretching awake right alongside me. Morning mist clings low over the trees, and the lake looks like brushed glass as I pass it, sunlight skimming across the surface. The air smells like dew and holds the promise of a fresh day.
I wish that feeling reached me.
Instead, something in my chest is tight. Basketball used to be the answer. The one thing that kept me pointed somewhere. Now I don’t know if I’m holding onto it out of love or out of fear. What does it meanif I walk away? What does it mean if I don’t? Either choice feels like losing a part of myself.
I take another sip of coffee, grateful for the caffeine even though I slept for basically twelve hours after my time at the lake. I was spent. Emotionally and physically The road curls around a line of tall pines, their shadows flickering over the dashboard as if they’re counting the seconds I’ve been avoiding the truth.
And then there’s Sadie.
She sat with me on the beach last night—sat in the cold water, let the waves soak her until she was pretending not to shiver, didn’t flinch when I fell apart right next to her. She could’ve walked away. Most people would have. But she stayed, and the way she looked at me… like she wasn’t scared of the mess I am.
The way she stayed… It knocked something loose in me, leaving me open in a way I’m not used to.
It’s not just last night. She’s always like that. Selfless in a way she doesn’t even notice. The kids at the rec center adore her because she pours everything she has into them—energy, time, patience. She remembers the little details like the stories they tell, their favorite snacks, and what they need to work on. She lifts them up without expecting anything in return. Seems like that’s who she is. Kind for no reason. Kind even when no one’s watching.
And for some reason, she’s been that way with me, too.
I think about her tall frame beside mine last night. How we worked out at the gym. Her long dark-blonde hair fell down over her shoulders before she pulled it up and away from her face. Golden. I noticed that more than I should’ve. I notice a lot more than I should. Like how she lights up when the kids are in full force or how she laughs when something is actually funny.
The road opens up again, sunlight flooding the car. I breathe in slowly, and it still feels like something big is shifting. Fuck. I need it. It’s like I’m desperate to figure out what to do next.
I’m a thirty year old basketball player. I’ve made more money than I could ever spend. Honestly, I could walk away from a financial standpoint. That’s always been the loudest one. When you grow up with nothing, it’s a different type of security.
My shoulder will fully heal. My reputation? I’m not so sure.
The thing I know I’d have to share is the truth about what happened. That day. My recovery. Everything is messy and intertwined and would honestly be people taking my word for it—though I’m not sure how much value that has at this moment.
Do I want to go to that effort? Or do I let everyone think I’m the asshole the team is making me out to be and start over? Move on?
Fuck. I don’t know.
But right now, as I’m driving along the lake shore, it feels like I can finally start thinking through some of these questions. Maybe start getting to the bottom of it.
