The idea hits me all at once, sharp and weird and way worse than it should be. I feel off-kilter, like I was just tackled on the field by someone who thinks we’re playing American football.
Why does he keep trying to leave me?
“You’re not coming,” I say, my breathing speeding up. The idea of losing sight of him now, after finally having him back, is, well, it’s. Not good.
My throat is tight, squeezing hard enough to hurt, as a responding pain travels down my arms. I grab a glass of waterColten already had out and take a sip, my hand shaking slightly. What’s wrong with me?
Is this a medical condition? Maybe I shouldn’t go to the combine if I’m having a medical episode.
I should stay here with Colten, where it’s safe.
But…Colten wouldn’t like that. He’s given up so much to help me go pro, how could I give up one of my few chances at it?
He watches me for a second, something flickering in his expression, before sighing.
“God, you’re impossible,” he mutters, more to himself than to me as he drops his face into his hands. All the tension from before is back, but even worse. His shoulders are up to his ears, and I can see his forearms flexing in frustration.
“I’ve been told that,” I say, but it comes out a little softer than usual. I’m not up for our usual teasing, not when my throat won’t stop painfully squeezing itself.
I look down at the half-eaten toast on my plate, suddenly not hungry.
“I’ll just buy my own tickets, then,” I say, reaching over to grab Colten’s phone, putting in his password, and looking up flights. My stomach quickly drops as I scroll through the options.
“…Oh. These are—” I refresh the page, like the prices might change. They do not. “These are a lot of dollars.”
“Yes, they would be a lot of dollars,” Colten says, his hands pulling at his hair. “Given that it’s last minute.”
“Well, there’s always the bus,” I say, trying to sound cheerful as I look up those tickets.
“Patrick,” he starts, finally looking up, his eyes wide and half-panicked, “you got lost taking the bus to my house, which is in the same state.”
“That was different,” I argue. “I didn’t have your address memorized yet, but I have the hotel address, and my cleats, and I can buy more protein powder, so.”
He stares at me, one eye twitching, and bits of his hair still sticking up. Then he drags a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath that I’m pretty sure is a swear.
“I cannot, in good conscience, let you travel across state lines alone,” he says finally, a tone of resignation in his voice as he plucks his phone back from me. “We’re taking my car.”
I blink. “We are?”
“Yes, we are,” he says, with a heavy sigh. “There’s still enough time if we leave today.”
My entire mood flips in an instant.
“The road trip is back on!” I say, lighting up. The tightness in my throat is still there, but it immediately eases up at the thought of Colten staying with me. There are only echoes of the pain in my arms.
“Do not make this a thing,” he warns, pointing a finger at me. “This is strictly for your career.”
“Too late, it’s already a thing,” I say, grinning. “You said car, car implies road trip, and road trip implies—”
“Patrick, your career—”
“—snacks,” I continue, almost bouncing with energy. “And music, and—oh my god, I’ll need to make a playlist that’ll work for both of us—”
He groans, but there’s no real heat in it.
And when I look at him, really look at him, he’s trying not to smile.
Which, honestly? I don’t care if we never kiss again, just as long as he’s still here, with me.
