The words crack a little, doubt curling around them like vines, but I say them again.
Again.
Until they don't feel like lies.
Until they don't feel like an impossible wish.
I take one last deep breath, then turn away, grabbing my clothes from the counter. I tug on a pair of leggings and another oversized sweatshirt, the fabric swallowing me, shielding me the way I always need it to.
But as I pull my damp hair over one shoulder, a thought creeps in, quiet but persistent.
Maybe it's time to call Dr. Martha again.
It's been months since my last session. I'd told myself I was doing fine, that I didn't need to go anymore. As long as I kept moving forward, kept functioning, I'd be okay, right?
But maybe functioning isn't enough. Maybe I want more than just getting by.
I grab my phone from my nightstand, staring down at the screen, at the number I haven't dialed in too long.
Instead of calling, I settle for a text.
Hey, Dr. Martha. I think I'd like to schedule an appointment.
But before I can hit send, I get a text from Lyla, and I swipe out of the thread.
16
JAXON
I'm running late. Coach Lackey, our Offensive Coordinator, kept me in film review longer than expected, breaking down every single missed route from Saturday's game like we hadn't crushed our opponents by three touchdowns.
Gotta love Monday mornings.
By the time I finally escape, I have exactly four minutes to get across campus to class.
I make it with seconds to spare, slightly out of breath as I push through the door. The classroom is already packed, students settling into their seats as the professor sorts through papers at the front. My eyes scan the room automatically, landing on the seat always open next to her.
And then, I see her.
Madison already has her notebook open, a pen twirling between her fingers, her eyes focused downward. As if she can sense me, she looks up, and our gazes lock. Her lips curve into a small, tentative smile—the kind that makes my chest tighten and my pulse quicken. It's nothing dramatic, just a slight upturn of her lips, a softening around her eyes, but it hits me like a tackle I didn't see coming.
For that brief moment, I forget everything else—the game, the team, the fact that I'm still standing in the doorway like an idiot.
I make my way to the empty seat beside her, my heart still racing from that smile, from the way her eyes followed me as I moved through the rows of desks. I drop into my seat, stretching my legs out in front of me, trying to appear casual despite the drumming in my chest.
"Hey," I murmur, voice lower than I intended.
Her lips twitch slightly, almost like she wasn't expecting me to speak first. "Hi."
It's simple, easy, but for the first time in days, I feel like we're on steady ground again. That small smile was the first real one she's given me since that night, and I want to hold onto it, to keep it safe like something precious.
She hesitates, shifting in her seat. "How was your game this weekend?"
I blink, caught off guard. "You didn't watch?"
The second the words leave my mouth, her face flushes, her hand instantly moving to tuck her hair out of her face. "I—" She clears her throat, suddenly fascinated by her notebook. "I was…busy."
I raise an eyebrow, smirking. "Busy, huh?"
