Page 24 of Trade It All

It wouldn’t be casual. It wouldn’t be something I could walk away from when it got complicated.It would be everything.And I don’t get to want that. Not here. Not with her. So I keep it where it is. Locked down. Controlled. Exactly where it needs to stay. But even as I sit here, even as the conversation around me shifts and the bus hums steadily beneath us, I can still feel it sitting there under everything else.

That pull. Quiet. Persistent. Not going anywhere.

My wrist shifts slightly against the armrest, the movement absentminded, more instinct than thought. My fingers brush the edge of my watch, adjusting it just enough to feel the familiar pressure underneath it.

The hair tie.

It shouldn’t matter. It’s nothing. Something small she left behind that night, something I should’ve handed back or thrown away or forgotten about entirely. Instead, it’s still there. Tuckedbeneath the weight of the watch like it belongs there. Like it’s been there longer than it has. I don’t look at it. I don’t need to. I know exactly where it sits, exactly how it feels when my wrist moves just enough to remind me it’s there.Grounding.That’s the part I don’t think about too hard. The way it settles something in me without asking permission. The way my hand finds it without me realizing it, like it’s checking something, confirming something I don’t have a name for.

I shouldn’t have kept it. That would’ve been the easier choice. Cleaner. Instead, I let my hand fall back into place, the pressure of it still there, still steady, like it’s not going anywhere either.

Chapter 9

Maddie

Twoweeksontheroad always catches up to me the second we land.

It isn’t just the travel or the games or the constant movement from one place to the next. It’s the way everything stacks without giving you space to come down from it. Early mornings, late nights, adrenaline that never fully settles before you have to build it back up again. By the time I’m walking through the airport toward my car, it feels like my body is running on something thin and stretched, like if I stop moving for too long, I might actually feel how tired I am.

All I want is my bed. A shower. Quiet. My own space, where nothing is expected of me and no one is watching. I’m already picturing it, already halfway there in my head, when my phone buzzes in my hand.

Tyler

Come to my place. I’ve got something to tell you. Big news.

I slow, my steps losing some of their momentum as I read it again, like the meaning might shift if I give it another second. There’s excitement there. I can see that. But there’s something else threaded underneath it, something sharper that doesn’t sit right in my chest.

Can it wait? I just got back.

The response comes before I even lower the phone.

No. You’re gonna want to hear this in person.

I stand there for a second longer than I should, the noise of the parking lot moving around me while I stay still in the middle of it, caught between what I want and what I already know I’m going to do.

I don’t want to go. I’m tired in a way that makes everything feel heavier than it should. My head feels too full. My body feels too slow. But I go anyway. Because that’s what I do. Because it’s easier than explaining why I don’t want to. By the time I pull into his building, the exhaustion has settled deeper into my bones, heavier now that I’m not forcing myself to keep moving. The kind of tired that makes the idea of walking upstairs feel like more effort than it should.

This won’t take long. That’s what I tell myself as I park. In and out. Then home. The elevator ride is quiet, the kind of quiet that feels too still after the constant noise of the last two weeks. I lean back against the wall for a second, closing my eyes just long enough to feel it, to let my body exist without pushing it forward. Just a minute. That’s all.

The doors open, and the second I step into the hallway, something feels wrong. It hits me before I fully register it.

The music. It's loud. Too loud. It spills out into the hallway in heavy waves, bass thudding through the walls in a way that doesn’t belong on a random weeknight. My steps slow without me meaning them to as I move toward his door, each one more deliberate than the last as the sound grows stronger.

There’s laughter too. Voices layered over each other. Too many voices. My stomach tightens, not sharp, not sudden, just enough that I feel it settle there and stay. He didn’t say anything about a party. I reach his door, my hand lifting automatically, ready to knock and then I notice it. It’s already unlocked. The handle turns easily under my fingers. And something in me sinks. I push the door open slowly.

The apartment is packed.

People everywhere. Bodies moving in tight spaces, music blaring, drinks in hands, voices raised just to be heard over everything else. It takes a second for my brain to catch up to what I’m seeing, to understand that this isn’t something small or casual. Thisis a full party. A celebration I didn’t know I was walking into. The door closes behind me, and the sound wraps around me instantly, thick and overwhelming in a way that makes it harder to think. Dread settles low in my stomach. Quiet. Heavy. I move anyway.

Through the crowd. Between people who turn when they see me, who smile, who say my name like this is normal, like I’m expected to be here.

“Hey, Maddie.”

“Glad you made it.”

I nod. I smile. I respond when I have to. I don't stop to talk because I’m not here for them. I’m looking for him. My eyes move quickly, scanning faces, bodies, movement, trying to find him in the middle of all of it. And then I see him. Center of the living room. He sees me at the same time, his entire expression shifting, lighting up in a way that should make something in me respond.

It doesn’t. Something else moves instead. Something quieter. Uneasy.