“I love you too,” I whisper, because it’s true. Maybe the truest thing I’ve ever said.
His breathing evens out. His grip on me stays firm even in sleep.
I stare into the dark, eyes wide open.
What if I burn everything I touch?
What if one day he looks at me and finally sees what my dad sees, a broken, exhausting project that keeps slipping backward?
Wouldn’t it be easier for him if I just… stopped needing so much? Stopped taking up space?
Maybe everyone would be better off if I disappeared.
I feel his heartbeat against my spine and his breath warm on the back of my neck.
I think of the promise I made, of the card in my wallet, of his voice saying,You’re okay, Caleb. I’ve got you.
I don’t move or speak.
I just lie there, with my eyes open, held tight in his arms while the worst parts of my brain whisper lies that feel so much like truth.
I hope loving him will be enough to keep me here.
EIGHTEEN
CALEB
Game days are seriously starting to feel like exams I didn’t study for. No matter how many times I go through the motions of class, practice, film, and walk-through, when it’s a home game and I know my family’s in the stands, my body acts like I’m walking into an execution chamber.
A few days have passed since the emergency therapy session and the night Miguel stayed in my dorm, and on paper, things look better. I’m sleeping a little more. Eating a little more. I used the stupid safety plan twice—cold water on my face, texting Miguel a dumb emoji instead of disappearing, and walking to the cliffs when my chest got too tight.
But today it’s like my nervous system forgot every skill we practiced.
UCSC vs. UCB. A home game that already has the gym buzzing when we’re in the locker room, the dull roar of the crowd bleeding through the walls like ghosts. Coach’s voice is a low rumble as he goes over matchups and sets, but I’m only half there. I keep tugging at the hem of my warm-up shirt. My heart’s racing, bouncing between my ribs like it’s looking for a way out.
Dad texted twice this morning.
Dad
Big game tonight. Mom and I will be there. Give us a show, huh?
Remember, composure. Eyes up. Don’t let your nerves get you.
No pressure.
Celeste sent a softer one a little later.
Mamá
We’re so excited to see you, mijo. I’m making you flan for after.
I should be happy. This is what normal people want.
All it does is make my stomach clench.
The only text that eases any of it is the one that came a few minutes ago.
Miguel
