The locker room is empty now. I can hear a shower running somewhere and the echo of the building settling around me. Bree’s voice on the phone is steady and reasonable, and I hate it because she’s not wrong.
“I hear you,” I say.
“I’m not telling you not to date her. I wouldn’t do that, and honestly, it wouldn’t matter if I tried, because I think you’ve been heading here since you were teens. But I need you to be sure, Archer. Not hopeful. Not excited about how good it feels right now. Sure. Because my children can’t afford another loss.”
“They won’t lose her.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“Bree—”
“You can’t. Nobody can promise that about a relationship. But I need you to understand the stakes. This isn’t just about you and Sydney figuring out your feelings. This is about Luke and Lily’s stability, and I need to know that you’ve thought about that.”
“I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought about nothing else.”
“Good.” She’s quiet for a moment. “I’d also like us to formalize some things: custody schedule, expectations, boundaries. I think we should sit down, maybe with our lawyers, and make sure everything is clear. Not because I’m trying to take anything from you, but because I want the kids to have structure, no matter what happens between you and Sydney.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah. I think that’s fair.”
“Thank you.” Her voice softens slightly. “Archer, I want you to be happy. I do. I just want the kids to be safe.”
“I know.”
She hangs up. I sit there holding the phone against my thigh, staring at the floor, and the high from practice, the date, and the morning drains out of me like someone pulled a plug.
She’s right. About all of it. The kids, the stakes, the risk. I’ve been floating on the feeling of kissing Sydney, holding her hand under the table, and driving home with her fingers laced through mine, without letting myself think about what comes next. Apparently, what comes next is a custody conversation. More lawyers. The reality that my four-year-old daughter told her mother about my date like it was a fairy tale, and her mother heard it and thought about what happens when the fairy tale ends.
Ollie appears from the showers, towel around his waist, and sits down at his stall without asking what happened. He just sits there, waiting, because Ollie knows when to talk and when to shut up, and right now is a shut-up moment.
“Bree called,” I say.
“I figured.”
“She wants to revisit custody. Sit down with lawyers. Formalize things.”
“Because of Sydney?”
“Apparently. And because of what happens to the kids if Sydney and I don’t work.”
Ollie nods slowly. “That’s, uh—that’s a fair concern.”
“I know it is. That’s the problem.”
“Is it going to change anything? Between you and Sydney?”
I think about Sydney in the restaurant last night, telling me about the moment she knew. I think about her kissing me on the couch, her hand on my chest, and the way she looked at me in the hallway and said goodnight like the word had a different meaning than it used to.
“No,” I say. “It’s not going to change anything. But it makes everything harder.”
“Good things usually are.” He pulls on his shirt. “For what it’s worth, Bree’s not wrong. But she’s also not the one who gets to decide this. You and Sydney are.”
“I know.”
“So go home, talk to her about it, and figure it out together. That’s what people in relationships do, Arch. They figure it out together.”
