Page 118 of The Tryout

Try not to forget about me, okay?

Suddenly, my eyes are filling again, my lungs burning as though they can’t get enough air. I feel…I don’t even know what I feel. But it’s bad and it’s raw and I just want it to stop.

Fumbling with my phone, I pull up Dad’s contact, hoping he doesn’t have work. Sure enough he answers on the first ring.

“Hey kiddo, what’s up? I’m driving home from a photoshoot at the Laguna house.”

I search for words, but can’t find the right ones.

“Avery, you there?”

His voice is concerned, and I know I need to say something.

“Here,” I croak.

I don’t know what he hears in my voice, or whether it’s his parenting sixth sense, but he seems to know something’s wrong.

“Hey, I’m gonna pull over, okay? Just stay with me. Are you safe?”

Shit. I didn’t mean to scare him.

“I’m fine.”

“Mm-hm. Just stick with me, kiddo, okay?”

In the background, I can hear his blinker. I imagine him driving North on Highway 1. He probably thinks it’s too cold right now to have the windows down, even though I’d kill for weather in the sixties. I focus on breathing, on slowing down. I know once he’s stopped, he won’t let me not talk.

After just a few minutes, I hear the car turn off, the phone clicking over from the the car system.

“You still there, Avery?”

“I’m here, Dad. Sorry if I scared you.”

“Hey, no apologies necessary. What’s up?”

I lean back against the seat, not sure where to start. Worse yet, I’m not sure what I can say that won’t trigger the tears again.

“Finn’s gone.”

“He’s…gone? Like you had a fight?”

It’s then that I realize that Dad has probably been away from his phone for the morning, dealing with camera angles and lighting to make sure the place looks just right.

“No, there was a trade.”

Already, I can feel my throat tightening, the words hard to push out.

“Hold on, let me look.”

If history is anything to go by, Dad probably has a Google alert set for the team. Hell, I’d be surprised if he doesn’t have one for Finn, come to think of it.

“...future considerations? Shit, Avery, I’m sorry.”

Part of me wants to laugh at the fact that he honed in on the same two words I did. But for some reason, the laugh comes out as a sob.

“Did they…already call?”

I sniff, trying to get it together.