Her breath comes out shaky, like she’s trying to keep it together. “He said we couldn’t get married without either of our kids there. Said... we have to be in a good place as a family first. His words, not mine.”
I blink at the phone, stunned. Gideon always struck me as more concerned with appearances than relationships. Him calling off the wedding because Matthew and I weren’t there? That’s... unexpected.
Mom makes this soft, frustrated sound. “I know you and Matthew are just being stubborn and immature about all this.”
My jaw tightens. “Right. Of course, it’s our fault. Everything’s always our fault.”
“Dylan.” She’s exasperated now.
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Mom, I gotta go.”
“Dylan—”
“I really do.” My voice is tight, final, and I end the call before she can guilt me further.
For a moment, I just sit there, gripping the phone, my head spinning. My mother’s version of trying has always been more likeforcing. She wants things on her terms, in her timeline, no room for negotiation.
Before I can second-guess myself, I hit Matthew’s number. He picks up after the second ring.
“Dylan,” he answers, sounding as if he’s been waiting for my call.
“I just got off the phone with my mom,” I say, shifting the phone to my other ear. “Guess what? Wedding’s off.”
He hums, not surprised. “Yeah, I just got off the phone with my dad. Same story. He’s on this whole ‘let’s fix the family’ kick.”
I snort. “Since when does Gideon care about ‘fixing’ anything?”
“Since now, apparently.” Matthew sounds as skeptical as I feel. “Told him nothing’s gonna get fixed if Holly keeps acting like she’s the star of her own reality show.”
I let out a long breath, letting the humor soften the sting of everything. “Your dad really thinks this whole ‘family unity’ thing is going to work?”
Matthew sighs. “I told him not to hold his breath. But he said he’s gonna try to rein Holly in.” There’s a beat of silence before he adds, “I think he knows it won’t change much.”
“Yeah.” I shake my head. “My mom’s not been the same since the divorce. She’s different now. And not in a good way.”
“So,” Matthew says, shifting gears, “how about I steal you away after the donor dinner? Just you and me.”
A warmth spreads through my chest. “Steal me, huh?”
“Yeah,” he says, and I can hear the grin in his voice. “I was thinking tacos. I’ll even get you churros.”
I laugh, the tension easing out of my body. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
We fall into easy conversation after that, talking about practice and little things that don’t really matter but still make me feel better. It’s like... no matter how messy everything else gets, I know I’ve got this.Us. Them.
When we finally hang up, I feel lighter. Not fixed—nothing’s ever that simple—but lighter.
I stare at my laptop again, the cursor still blinking like it’s daring me to find the right words. I crack my knuckles, roll my shoulders, and take a deep breath.
Screw it. The speech doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be real.
I start typing.
Resilience isn’t about being unbreakable. It’s about knowing you’re cracked and showing up anyway. It’s about choosing to play the game, even when everything feels like it’s working against you. It’s not a victory lap—it’s the struggle. The fight. The moment you decide that, even though everything hurts, you’re going to keep going.
The words come faster now, pouring out of me like I’ve been holding them back for too long. I write about the team, about pushing through injuries and bad calls, about how we have to lean on each other—even when it’s hard, especially when it’s hard.
And somewhere in the middle of it all, I realize I’m writing about more than just lacrosse.
