He exhales through his nose. “Man. Just don’t make the mistake of thinking silence is neutral. It never is.”
I grab my bag and head for the exit before he can say anything else.
The drive home is a blur of red lights and radio static I don’t remember turning on. My phone stays face-down in the console.
I don’t text.
I don’t call.
By the time I pull into the garage, my chest feels hollowed out.
Inside the penthouse, voices drift from the living room. Manny’s. Lila’s. Low. Serious.
I stop short.
When I step in, Manny looks up first. His expression tight.
Lila’s on the couch. Her knees are tucked under her. She looks smaller than she did on the field. Pale around the edges.
“Someone tried to get past the security gates,” Manny continues. “About an hour ago, while we were at the game.”
My stomach drops.
I wasn’t here.
Lila meets my eyes. "Cam. You were at work. This wasn't on you."
There’s no accusation there.
“I’m fine,” she says quickly. Too quickly.
I nod like that fixes anything.
Like I didn’t just prove I can’t be what she needs.
Manny clears his throat. “My guys had it handled.”
I stand there, useless, while the realization settles heavy in my chest.
I was stupid to think I could protect her.
Stupider to think she wouldn’t eventually see that.
***
I expect to be dismissed after practice with everyone else.
Pads off. Showers. Music. The slow unwind.
Instead, Coach Stenson jerks his chin toward the film room. “Drake. Sit.”
The room is dim, blue light washing over the walls. The screen is already paused. My name sits in the corner next to the timestamp.
I take a seat and brace.
The clicker snaps.
“Watch,” Coach says.
