Dad stiffens. “This is between Caleb and me.”
Miguel nods once. “I get that. But if you’re going to imply I’m dragging him down, I’m gonna have something to say about it.”
“Ashton,” Celeste calls softly from the bench, sensing the tension. She stands, worry etched all over her face.
Dad ignores her. His jaw works as he looks at Miguel. “I didn’t say you were dragging him down. I said this level of dependency isn’t healthy.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Miguel’s laugh is humorless. “You think I want him panicking on the phone with me because his brain is trying to kill him? You think I enjoy watching him not eat for twelve hours until I show up with food?” His voice doesn’t rise, but every word hits like a punch. “I’m not his crutch,Dad.I’m the one making sure he doesn’t break.”
Dad’s face flushes. “He has a therapist for that.”
“He sees her once a week,” Miguel shoots back. “The rest of the time? It’s me talking him through breathing exercises at two in the morning. Me picking him up when he uses every ounce of courage he has to text, ‘I need you.’ Me reminding him that the shit in his head are thoughts, not fucking facts. You know what he says about you?”
“Miguel,” I hiss, panic spiking. The room spins, and it takes everything in me not to pass out.
He glances at me, eyes softening for a second, then back at my dad. “He thinks he’s a project you’re failing at. A checklist you keep throwing more bullet points on: play better, be tougher, meet girls, and bond with the team. You want him to be okay? Start by not making him feel like being in therapy is a moral flaw.”
Dad’s whole posture goes cold. “I have done everything for that boy,” he says, voice low and shaking now. “When his mother left, I searched for years. When I finally found him, I took him in.I gave him a home, a family, therapy, and opportunities. I have sacrificed more than you know, Miguel. So don’t you fucking dare stand there and lecture me about what he needs.”
“I know what you’ve done,” Miguel says, and there’s no mockery, no denial. “I’ve seen the way you love him. But love isn’t a pass on the harm you don’t mean to cause. You can give someone the world and still make them feel like they’re failing you just by breathing wrong.”
Silence stretches.
I feel like I’m standing between a live wire and a gas leak.
“Stop,” I choke out.“Please.”
They both look at me.
My chest is tight, eyes burning, and throat closing around words.
“I can’t… do this,” I say, shaking my head. “Not like this. Not with you fighting over who gets to ‘fix’ me.” I look at Dad first. “I know you’ve done a lot for me and I could never thank you enough for getting me away from where I grew up. I know you love me. But I am not a performance review. I can’t keep sprinting after your approval and still have anything left to stay alive.”
His face crumples, just a little. “Caleb, that’s not?—”
“And you,” I say, turning to Miguel, heart hammering for an entirely different reason now. “You can’t go to war with him every time he says something shitty. I need you both, and I can’t keep being the battlefield.”
Miguel’s mouth presses into a thin line. He nods once. “Okay,” he says quietly. “You’re right.”
Dad exhales, shoulders dropping a fraction. “I… didn’t realize you felt that way,” he says.
Because I never tell you. Because every time I try, you talk over it with advice and plans.
“I’m trying to be okay,” I say, my voice raw. “I’m doing the therapy. I’m considering meds. The fucking safety plan. I’m still here. Isn’t that enough for today? Can you—both of you—let it be enough for one night?”
Celeste reaches us then, eyes shiny, hands wringing. “Ashton,” she says softly. “Ya.That’s enough. Let’s go get food, talk later. Not here.”
Too late.
Dad looks at me for a long time, something like regret flickering in his eyes. Finally, he nods stiffly. “You played well,” he says again, quieter this time. “We’ll… talk another day, have dinner another day. You probably have schoolwork or something that needs to be done, right?”
All I can do is nod.
He turns and walks toward the exit. Celeste squeezes my arm on the way by, whispering, “Te quiero, mijo,” before hurrying after him.
The lobby feels bigger once they’re gone.
It’s just me and Miguel, the echo of their footsteps, and the thud of my heart in my ears.
