“Monroe is more offensive-minded,” he continued, ignoring the internal freak-out happening before him. “He likes to jump in on the play, take chances. You’ve got a more balanced game, but your strength is your defensive positioning. Could be a good complement—you can hold things down, let him take those risks knowing you’ve got his back.”
I sat up straighter, meeting his eyes dead-on. “I’m ready for that,” I said, trying my damnedest to keep my voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking through me.
“It’s not a done deal,” he cautioned me. “This is what preseason is for—experimenting, seeing what works. You’ll get your chance to prove you’ve got what it takes. But if it doesn’t click, or if Stevens comes back at full strength, we’ll adjust. Understood?”
I nodded once. “Understood.”
“Good. We’ll run it in practice to see how it looks. If things go to plan, we’ll test it against Cleveland.” He snapped the cover on his iPad shut and stood, signaling the meeting was over.
I thanked him, my legs surprisingly steady as I headed back to my stall. The first thing I did was reach for my phone. I couldn’t wait to tell Sebastian the good news.
On the way home,I stopped at the grocery store to pick up milk and a few other necessities, checking my phone constantly as I wandered the aisles, hoping Sebastian had responded.
He hadn’t.
By the time I walked in the front door, it was just after seven, and still nothing. I put my groceries away and decided to text again.
Me
Hey, just got home.
You going to be around tonight?
I reheated some food from my weekend meal prep, eating standing at the counter, ready to snatch up my phone the second it dinged.
An hour later, I jumped in the shower, threw on some sweats, and settled on the couch with some mindless TV.
At nine, I sentanothertext.
Me
You around?
I continued watching the show without really seeing it, my phone on the cushion beside me.
By nine-thirty, I’d given up expecting a response. This was how it had been all week—Sebastian buried under a mountain of responsibility, me waiting for scraps of his attention between campaign crises and strategy sessions.
I knew he was doing important work. I also knew he was exhausted, and probably hadn’t eaten a real meal all day, running on coffee and adrenaline alone. But knowing this didn’t make the silence easier.
At quarter to eleven, my phone finally buzzed.
Sebastian
Sorry. This dinner ran long, then I had to deal with a donor crisis.
Can I call you in 30?
I stared at the message for a long moment, my blinks turning longer and slower. I was dead on my feet, but Ireallywanted to talk to him.
Thirty more minutes. I could do that, even if I had to pin my eyeballs open with toothpicks.
Me
Yeah, I’ll be up. Call whenever.
I turned off the TV and headed upstairs, figuring I might as well get ready for bed while I waited. I brushed my teeth and climbed under the quilt with my phone in hand. At this rate, it was going to fuse to my body.
Thirty minutes became forty-five.
