“I mean that,” he added.
I nodded once, because I didn’t know what else to do with that kind of honesty. “Appreciate it,” I said, already halfway out the door before he could turn it into something sentimental.
In the hallway, the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, too bright and too honest. I shoved my hands into my pockets and let the thought settle, heavy and inevitable.
By this time next week, I’d be “back in good standing.” Free.
So why did it already feel like loss?
The locker room was half-empty by the time I got back. I shoved the folder into the top shelf of my locker and sat down hard, elbows on my knees.
Adam and Derek were still arguing a few rows over—something about which playlist got gym privileges. Their voices bounced off the concrete, familiar, normal.
But all of it felt far away.
I stared at the edge of the folder sticking out from the locker, the foundation’s logo catching the light.
I should be happy. No more PR babysitting. No more early mornings at the foundation. No more late-night event calls. No more her.
It was supposed to feel like winning.
Instead, it landed like grief.
Because the truth was, I’d gotten used to the chaos—the way Ellery would snap her fingers when she was thinking, the constant buzzing energy of her office, the way she’d hand me a clipboard like she was daring me to care.
And I had. Against all logic, I’d started to care.
The foundation was supposed to be a temporary fix. A box to tick. Serve your hours, smile for the cameras, get cleared.
But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about the league or Cam or saving face. It became about her laugh echoing through the office. Her late-night emails with way too many exclamation marks. Her relentless belief that people could be better if someone just showed up.
Now, I was done. Free.
And it felt hollow.
Adam said something about losing aux privileges; Derek threw a towel at him. Normally, I’d have jumped in just to stir the pot. But I couldn’t bring myself to move.
I leaned back against the locker, staring at the ceiling.
You can’t miss something you never had.
But I did. God, I did.
I grabbed my duffel and stood, forcing my body into motion because if I stayed still, I’d start thinking too much.
Cam’s words replayed in my head: You’ve done good work.
Yeah. Maybe I had.
But it didn’t feel like an ending. It felt like the quiet before something I wasn’t ready to name.
I stayed after practice long after everyone else had cleared out. The sun was dropping low, turning the turf gold, the air thick with the smell of sweat and cut grass.
There was a kind of silence that only hit once the drills ended—no shouting, no whistles, no thud of cleats against the ground. Just me, the ball, and the echo that came every time it slammed into the net.
Thud.
Again.
