Coach steps forward.
“You’re thinking too much.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“No,” he says flatly. “You’re drifting.”
I don’t answer because there’s nothing clean to say.
Practice restarts slower after that, but it doesn’t fix anything.
My body knows the movements.
My head doesn’t sync.
And I hate that I know why.
Because every time I look up—
that seat is still empty.
Jace jogs past mid-drill, low voice cutting just for me.
“You good?”
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t believe it.
Of course he doesn’t.
Neither do I.
After practice, locker room noise fills the space like usual.
Too loud. Too normal.
I sit on the bench tying my shoes slower than I should.
Niko drops beside me. “You’ve been off all day.”
“I’m tired.”
“Liar.”
Jace leans over from across the room. “He’s been like this since warmups.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“Like you’re waiting on something that didn’t show.”
My hands pause.
Just for a second.
Then I continue tying my shoe.
“Shut up,” I say.
