None of it added up to anything I could understand.
None of it made a bit of sense.
I dragged myself out of the car and hobbled up to my apartment. The space was dark and quiet, the way it always was when I came home. I flipped on a few lights, tossed my keys on the counter, and stood in the middle of my living room feeling oddly displaced.
My eyes landed on the FSU jersey hanging on the wall—the one I’d told my team was somewhere in my parents’ house, discarded and forgotten—the one I’d told Jacks wasn’t framed.
It was.
Number 52.
Jackson Armstrong.
I’d bought that jersey years ago, back when he was a name on a screen and a highlight reel I couldn’t stop watching. He’d been my favorite player, myidol, the guy I’d wanted to meet more than anyone.
Now I knew him.
Iactuallyknew him.
I knew that he made terrible jokes and fought with ice machines and got emotional talking about his lost football career. I knew the way his face scrunched up when he was trying not to laugh and that his eyes were this warm brown color that caught the light in ways I couldn’t help but notice.
That I kept noticing.
Why did I keep noticing?
I pulled out my phone and stared at our text conversation. The last message was from two days ago. It was a stupid meme I’d sent about hockey players and their superstitions. He’d responded with three laughing emojis and a story about a college teammate who’d refused to wash his socks for an entire season.
It was normal friend stuff, easy banter. There was nothing weird about it.
So why was I standing there after midnight, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, wanting to text him again?
I pecked out a message.
Me: Thanks again for tonight. I needed that more than youknow.
Then I deleted it. Too sincere. Too much.
I tried again.
Me: Made it home safe. Thanks for the therapy session, Dr. Jacks.
Delete. Too jokey. Didn’t capture what I actually felt. One more attempt.
Me: Hey.
I stared at that single word, the same word I’d sent him from the plane, the message that had started all of this. It felt insufficient now, like trying to describe the ocean with a single drop of water.
I deleted it and shoved my phone in my pocket.
This was ridiculous.
I was being ridiculous.
Jacks was a friend.
A new friend, but a friend.
People made friends all the time.
