He doesn’t buy it, not for a second.
"You know why," he says, bracing his arms on the counter. "And before you start feeding me some bullshit about being fine, let me just remind you, I’ve seen you when you’re actually fine. And this? This ain’t it."
I exhale slowly, gripping the edge of the counter as I stare down at the granite. I should’ve known Carter would push this, that he wouldn’t just let it slide.
He never does.
"It’s nothing," I mutter.
"Bullfuckingshit."
I rub a hand over my face, sighing. "What do you want me to say, Carter? That I feel like I’m losing my mind? That every single day feels like I’m playing a game I already lost?" I shake my head. "I told her I wouldn’t chase her anymore, and I meant it, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t fucking hurt."
Carter watches me carefully, then nods, like he was waiting for me to finally admit it.
"Look," he says, his voice calmer now. "I get it. Losing someone you love—that shit sucks. But you gotta get your head straight, man. You should be hyped about Pro Day, about the draft, about everything coming up. Instead, you’re walking around like you don’t even care anymore."
I clench my jaw. "I do care."
"Then start acting like it."
His words hit me like a punch to the gut.
Because he’s right. I should be thinking about my future—about Pro Day, about the teams watching me, about the life I’ve been working for since I was a kid.
But all I can think about is her.
I press the water bottle against my forehead, letting the coolness ground me before I speak again.
"I think I’m gonna head home for a few days," I say finally, lowering the bottle. "Clear my head before pro day and all that."
Carter nods slowly, considering. "Probably a good idea. You could use the reset."
"Yeah."
A reset.
I don’t know if it’ll actually help, if anything will really help at this point. But maybe, just maybe, getting away for a few days will remind me who the hell I was before I let myself fall so hard for someone who won’t let herself love me back.
And if that doesn’t work? Then I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do next.
I push off the counter, barely acknowledging Carter’s knowing look as I head upstairs.
That’s what I need. Just a few days back home, away from campus, away from everything that reminds me of her. Maybe then, I’ll be able to think again. Maybe then, I won’t feel like I’m coming apart at the seams every time I close my eyes.
I step into my room, the familiar scent of my detergent and the lingering hint of Madison’s lavender shampoo—shit, how does it still smell like her in here?—hitting me as I move to grab my duffel from the closet.
The second I yank it down, something slips free and lands on the floor with a quiet thud.
My stomach tightens. I don’t even have to look to know what it is.
I bend down slowly, fingers brushing against the worn edges of the photograph, and flip it over.
It’s us.
It’s a picture I thought I had taken down, one that must have been shoved in the back of my closet, only to find its way back to me now, like some cruel joke.
Madison is smiling up at me, her nose scrunched slightly, her eyes shining with something I hadn’t let myself see before, something I’d convinced myself wasn’t there. It’s right fucking there—the way she looks at me, like I’m everything, like I’m the one thing in the world she’s sure about.
