I could tell him about last night, after the game. About the look on her face. About the way she saidyou mightlike she was bracing for impact.
I could ask him what I should do.
But the truth hits me before I open my mouth.
I don’t want his opinion.
I don’t want anyone else’s voice in this.
There’s only one person I want to talk to right now.
I drag a hand down my face and force something close to a normal expression. “I’m fine.”
I can tell by his expression that Campbell doesn’t buy it.
“I’ve got some stuff running laps in my head,” I add, shrugging like it’s nothing. “You know how it is.”
He studies me for another second, weighing whether to push. I’m thankful that he doesn’t.
“Alright,” he says finally. “Text if you change your mind.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “You guys go. Have a good time. I might meet up with you later. Maybe dinner.”
That seems to satisfy him. “Okay,” he says, grabbing his keys. “Don’t spiral.”
I huff a laugh. “No promises.”
Campbell snorts and heads out, the door clicking shut behind him. I stand there for a second, staring at the door like it might open again. Like someone might come back and make this easier.
No one does.
I head down the hallway and into my room, closing the door behind me. The early afternoon light spills across the floor, soft and warm, catching on the edge of my dresser. It should feel calm. Cheerful. Promising like all of the cherry blossoms on the trees outside.
It doesn’t.
I sit on the edge of the bed and drop my elbows to my knees.
He was my blueprint. Teaching me to show up and be the man he was raising me to be. To stay, even when it’s uncomfortable. To love the game without letting it swallow the rest of your life.
Only now I’m realizing something more. The bittersweet of it all is that I never got to finish the lessons.
I reach for my phone before I can talk myself out of it. Open the thread that still sits pinned at the top of my screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard.
I look out the window, over the rooftops of Old Town, gaze across the Potomac. Spring sunlight glints off the water. The world keeps moving like nothing’s changed.
I look back down at the phone and start to type.
How do I know when something’s right and when I should push for more?
The words stare back at me. They are simple. Honest. Exactly what I would’ve asked him if I could.
My thumb lingers over the send arrow, then I stop.
Because the truth presses in, steady as his voice used to be.
You don’t chase what’s easy, you fight for what matters. If it scares you, that’s usually a sign it’s real.
My heart, the banging it’s doing? It’s fear. Fear of losing what’s in my grasp, because it’s something I didn’t realize until recently how much I wanted it.
