Silence.
It’s thick and heavy. I feel the weight of it, just as I feel the satisfaction of Rick’s face scrunched up in outrage.
Colten looks horrified, pale where Rick is bright red.
Rick stares at me for a long second, mouth opening and closing as if he wants to argue, before finally scoffing and walking away. As he leaves, I can hear him muttering under his breath about banning me from the club.
Whoopsies.
Colten whirls on me.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” he snaps. “Do you have any idea what you just did?”
“He was being a dick,” I explain, holding my hands out in front of me as if that will contain his rage.
“He’s a scout!” Colten says, just barely keeping himself from yelling.“Thescout! Do you know how much money his parents have donated? You just destroyed your chance with this club!”
He’s pacing now, already spiraling and muttering to himself, “Okay, okay, we can fix this. There are other teams that could work. We just need to relocate, maybe? Build new connections—”
Colten continues, and I can’t help but notice José, who’s a few yards away and in a somewhat similar position.
An older man—his coach? Dad?—is talking to him, voice low but with an edge to it that carries. José’s shoulders are hunched up as he nods along. Every few seconds, he apologizes for something.
He looks smaller every time he does it.
“You’re better than this,” the man says, no room for argument. “We’re not here to make friends, you’re here for your future.”
José nods again. He doesn’t argue. He just accepts it.
The future.
The words settle heavily in my throat.
Suddenly, I can see it all, like I did on that date with the girl who chewed with her mouth open.
Every future meet, every interview, every mistake. Colten will be there for all of it, slicking his hair back and taking out his earrings because it looks more professional, all while worrying himself sick about anything and everything I do.
Every conversation will be about performance, every game measured only by the score, and he’ll force himself to swallow any discomfort from assholes like Rick Ashton.
The realization hits so hard it almost steals my breath.
For the first time, I can see the exact future everyone wants for me, that I’ve worked so hard for.
And even though I know I’ll disappoint people, even though I know I’m practically spitting in the face of all the support I’ve gotten for years…
I don’t want it.
“Colten.”
He’s still talking, his mind working a hundred miles an hour on how to fix this.
“The East Coast has some decent programs,” he mutters. “If we ask Coach for references and apply to a university within the same network, maybe—”
“I don’t want to go pro.”
He stops, freezing right in the middle of his rant.
“What?” His stare is blank, looking at me as if he doesn’t know who I am.
