Marco’s eyes narrow. “You think?—”
“I don’t know,” I cut in, because if I say it out loud, it becomes real. It becomes hope. And hope is dangerous.
Maria watches my face like she’s trying to read the story behind it. “Ollie… are you all right?”
“No,” I say honestly, then force a breath. “Yes. I don’t know.” My hands shake as I rub my palms on my shorts, because it doesn’t make sense.
The show hasn’t aired. The public doesn’t know I talked about it. There’s no viral clip. No donation drive sparked by a talk-show moment.
This wasn’t influenced by the audience, which means it was already in motion, or it was personal.
I hear Rafe’s voice in my head, surprised, raw:“You did that?”I swallow hard.
Maria touches my arm, grounding me. “Whatever this is,” she says softly, “it changes everything.”
She’s right.
Ten million means stability. It means expansion. It means more lawyers on retainer, more programs, more staff. It means kids like Luca don’t fall through the cracks because the system was built to swallow them whole.
It means… it means someone just threw their weight behind something that matters. And all I can think is:Was it him?
I help Maria finish packing, but my mind is elsewhere. Marco keeps glancing at me like he’s worried I’ll dissolve into pieces right here on the court.
When we’re done, Maria walks me to the front doors. “Training camp soon, right?” she asks.
“Three days,” I confirm.
Her face falls. “While I knew that, I kinda hoped you weren’t. You’re flying out tonight?”
“Yeah. The red-eye.”
“You already stayed longer than you planned,” she says, and it’s not guilt—it’s understanding. They always need more time than you can give.
“I know,” I say. “But I’m not gone. I’m just… on the other end of the line. You call, I answer.”
Maria’s eyes soften. “We’ll hold you to that.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I promise, and I mean it.
Marco drives me straight to the airport. The goodbye at his car feels heavier than it should.
He pulls into the drop-off lane and kills the engine, turning to face me. “You’re okay,” he says, voice firm.
I bark out a humorless laugh. “Sure.”
We hug, quick and hard. The kind of hug you give someone when you don’t know how to fix their pain, but you refuse to let them face it alone.
“Text me when you land,” he orders.
“I will,” I promise. I grab my bag and step out into the chaos of the airport.
By the time I’m through security, my adrenaline has crashed into exhaustion. My body feels hollow, like I’ve been running for days.
I find a seat near my gate and stare at my phone. I shouldn’t. It’s late. It’s emotional. It’s impulsive. And I don’t even know if his number still works.
But I think about Medina. I think about the way Rafe looked when I spoke about the program, and about his ring. I think about the way he said“I can’t”like he was bleeding.
And I do the thing I’ve been too afraid to do for years.
