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“I was meant to be getting the train,” I pointed out, when it became clear nobody else was going to speak until I did.

Jefferson glanced at me again in the mirror, but said nothing.

“I need to see my parents, to talk to them,” I added into the silence.

“About what, lil bro?” Carlos’ accent made the hard question sound like syrup.

I swallowed. “Uh... the future. My future.”

Jefferson slammed the steering wheel with the heel of his hand, loud enough to make me jump. Brayden’s arm briefly squeezed around me, silently reassuring.

“We’re your future,” Jefferson snapped, angrily. “We are, right here in this truck. We’re your fucking future.”

I looked away, out of the window. Not sure I’d ever be able to meet his eyes again.

“That’s not up to me any more,” I said, quietly.

#

The vibes in the pickup had congealed into something brittle and tense by the time we pulled up outside Jefferson’s condo. He put the truck in park and half-turned to side-eye me.

“Are you gonna walk, or do we have to carry you again?”

I bit back the sickly frustration which was threatening to escape as anger. Snapping at him wouldn’t achieve anything, and it wasn’t like Jefferson was the right target for my ire.

“I can walk.”

Brayden patted my arm as we watched our team captain climb stiffly from the driver’s seat.

“Deep breaths, lil bro,” he murmured.

I bit my tongue and slid out of the truck, following Donny.

Twice, now, that’d I’d been to Jefferson’s place. Twice, brought outside of my own volition. This time around, though, I’d have given anything not to have the memories of what’d happened.

Brayden tossed his crutch to Carlos and flopped down on the broad couch. Ignoring the rolled-eyes, as his teammate stood the aid up against the bookshelves.

Feeling awkward, I hovered a little way from the door. Unnerved by the way the mood of the room seemed to buzz with static. Jefferson stood in silence, arms folded across his chest. It did nothing to diminish the muscles threatening to rip right through the sleeves of his t-shirt.

“Sit,” he ordered, with a jerk of his chin.

Chastened, I sat down between Brayden and Carlos.

“You’re gonna give your roommate a heart attack,” Jefferson said, abruptly.

I looked up, the pieces slotting into place. “Adam shouldn’t have...”

“Adam called, which was exactly the right thing for him to do,” Jefferson interrupted. “What was the plan, go home and never come back again? Ask him to forward all your shit in a cardboard fucking box?”

“I needed to talk to my parents,” I said, sullenly.

“About what?”

“The fact that I fucked up, mainly,” I snapped, feeling that ripple of frustration twist in me again. “The fact that I’m off the team, and can’t afford school, and I fucking wasted everything that was going right in my life.”

I’d not said it out loud yet. Not heard the words, blunt and impossible to un-speak. Suddenly it all felt excruciatingly real.

His mouth tightened. “Who says you’re off the team?”