I swallowed hard, my hands fisting into hoodies, the weight of them holding me upright when my knees threatened to fold again.
“They canceled training,” Micah said, unapologetic. “Don’t argue.”
“I wasn’t going to.” My voice came out watery. “I swear.”
“Good,” Lola replied. “Because you’re more important.”
I stood there in the middle of them, letting them hold me up, letting them comfort me. Their arms stayed around me, not rushing to let go, not afraid of the mess I still was. I knew that this was what it meant to belong to something bigger than yourself. It wasn’t about the wins or the titles or the grind that everyone saw from the outside, but being caught when you faltered, being surrounded without having to ask, being known well enough that people showed up before you could even decide whether you wanted them to.
I’d spent so much of my life believing strength meant standing alone, carrying things privately, proving I could handle whatever came next without leaning too hard on anyone else. But this wasn’t weakness. This was the opposite. This was trust made visible, arms and bodies and familiar voices closing in, saying you don’t have to do this part by yourself.
“Thank you,” I croaked. “Just… thank you.”
Lola shifted slightly, her chin pressing into my shoulder. “You’re stuck with us,” she murmured.
Evie nodded. “That’s the deal. You lead us on the pitch. We’ve got you everywhere else.”
Being part of a team wasn’t just about shared goals or synchronized effort. It was about being seen in the moments you couldn’t perform and being claimed anyway.
And right there, held upright by people who knew exactly who I was and chose me regardless, I accepted that I wasn’t facing the next stretch alone.
It took them a while to let me go, and I didn’t complain. Eventually, Evie’s stomach growled, and Lola insisted on ordering pizza for us.
It was just me and Micah in the kitchen now, and it was obvious my best friend wanted some answers.
She leaned back against the counter, arms folded, watching me with the kind of patience that came from years of friendship.
“So…” she said, and waited until I met her eyes. “Connor.”
I exhaled, resting my palms flat on the counter, knowing this was so overdue.
“You already know more than anyone else.”
“I know he stayed,” she said evenly. “I know he left this morning. And I know you didn’t fight him when he took you home.”
I glanced toward the living room, the sound of my team filling the space, then back at her, fighting to find the words I didn’t even have for myself.
“Plus, I saw him sneak out of your place more than once,” Micah said with no judgement in her voice. “I was waiting for you to tell me, if you wanted to.”
I couldn’t help but let out a short laugh. “I never meant to keep it from you for so long.”
She didn’t say anything, just let me continue.
“It’s a lot to think about.”
Micah nodded once, like that answer made sense. “I like him for you.”
“You do?” I asked, my voice raising an octave.
“Don’t look so surprised. You guys had this weird chemistry in college. I always thought it would happen then, but I guess you both needed to grow up a little.”
A gargled noise flew out of my throat without my permission. “We hated each other then.”
She stifled a laugh behind her hand. “Sorry, it’s just… No, you didn’t. Like I said, there was something there, even if you won’t admit it.”
I wouldn’t because all I remember is plotting his academic demise on multiple occasions. Wondering if he’d make a mistake so I could ensure he’d remember it for the entire four years we were there. I wasn’t so lucky; he was a perfect student.
Micah’s smile widened, the kind that said she’d clocked every thought I wasn’t saying out loud. “Thinking about him?”
