“Callaway,” he says again, gentler, “you can still be useful.Don’t confuse a trade with a loss.”
I grip the phone tighter.Useful.That word scrapes.Because the truth is, the one thing I want to protect is not a Cup run or a franchise.It’s a woman who laughs like she’s daring life to try her.
It’s the camp that made us.
It’s the fragile line between helping and making things worse.
“Fine,” I say.“Get the house.And book me a flight to Portland as soon as the league clears it.Talk to Marlowe.I’m sure he’ll have all the details.And if possible, hire a jet to fly Vesper to Portland.”
He laughs.“It might be easier to have a house under contract before you’re on a plane than convince Vesper to take a private jet.”
I sigh.“True.Just ...take care of my girl.”
“You got it,” Harvey says.“Anything else?”
I hesitate.Then, because I like to keep an eye on what’s mine, I say, “Find out if Monty got moved too.”
There’s a gasp on the other side of the line.
“Harvey, what do you know?”
“Callaway ...”
“Please tell me he’s not the one that got traded to the Cobras.”That would fuck me up because they chose him instead of me.“He’s going to be closer to her too.Fuck.”
“Let it go for now,” he says, and I’m not sure if that confirms what I fear or if ...
“Listen, I’m not doing this thing where we pretend he’s not part of her life,” I say, and my voice goes tight.“Not when she’s going back there.Not when her dad’s sick and he’ll be trying to ...fuck.”I run a hand through my hair and take a few deep breaths.
It feels like that morning all over again.The rejection, the hate.As if I had been the one who pushed him to ...I try to forget like I do every time, but it’s impossible.
Harvey exhales.“I can assure you that he didn’t get traded to the Cobras.”
The way he says it, so sure of himself, is a relief for just one second, but before I can ask for more, he ends the call saying Vesper is on the other line.She’s more important than any meltdown I’m trying to avoid.
Tomorrow though, tomorrow I’ll have her in my arms, and if I play this right, she’ll choose me.This time I’m not letting her slip away—not again.
ChapterEight
Vesper
Portland smells like rain that never fully commits—everything damp, everything waiting, like the city is holding its breath just to see who breaks first.
The airport is doing what airports do: bright lights, polished floors, people moving with purpose like their lives aren’t one unexpected phone call away from imploding.
Mine is.
I shuffle off the plane and into the jet bridge, my backpack slung over one shoulder and my camera bag knocking against my hip.I’m dragging my carry-on that’s probably two flights shy from falling apart.My body is running on fumes and spite.Yesterday I packed boxes so I could ship my life back to Dad’s house, then scrubbed my apartment like cleanliness might trick the universe into thinking I’m fine.
Harvey wanted me on a “normal” flight—since I wouldn’t agree to a charter that would’ve had me comfortable for once.I took the redeye anyway—they count as normal.
Cheaper.Faster.Less time sitting alone in New York staring at my phone like it might start smoking.
I slept in fragments on the plane—dozing, waking, counting ceiling panels, pretending my thoughts weren’t sprinting.I’m here because Dad needs tests in Baker’s Creek, and the camp needs paperwork and permits and someone who can speak “county inspection” without wanting to set themselves on fire.
Mom used to handle all of it.Clipboards.Schedules.Phone calls—the county requirements.The whole machine.Dad just hired the coaches—his teammates—and trained kids and taught them how to fall without fear.
Now, apparently it’s on me.
