I roll my eyes, but I can't help but smile. The truth is, I’ve never been able to say no to her and I probably never will.
Mom hugs Madison like she doesn't want to let go, squeezing her so tight, I half expect Mads to yelp.
"Promise me you won't be a stranger, sweetheart," Mom says, pulling back just enough to cup Madison's face between her hands. "I mean it. I expect to see you here more often."
Madison smiles, but there's something softer about it, something almost hesitant. "I promise."
Mom studies her for a second longer before nodding, seemingly satisfied, and finally lets her go.
Dad claps me on the shoulder. "Proud of you, son. Keep your head straight, and don't let those scouts mess with you too much."
I nod. "Yeah. Thanks, Dad."
He gives Madison one last warm smile before stepping back onto the porch with Mom. "Drive safe, you two."
With that, we head to the car, and once we're on the road, the quiet settles between us. Not uncomfortable, not awkward—just heavy, like there's more lingering in the air than either of us wants to name.
I drum my fingers against the wheel. "You wanna make any stops before we head back?"
I don't know why I ask it, not really.
Or maybe I do.
Because the only place that would make sense for her to wantto stop is the cemetery just outside of town—the one where her mom is buried.
Madison is quiet for a long moment, her fingers playing with the hem of her cardigan. Then, softly, she shakes her head. "No."
I nod, not pushing. "Alright."
The rest of the drive back is quiet, though not in a bad way—just in that comfortable kind of silence that settles between two people who don't need to fill the space.
She fell asleep about twenty minutes ago, somewhere between flipping through my playlist and mumbling about how unfair it is that I have "objectively good taste" in music.
Now, she's curled up slightly, her face relaxed in sleep, her cardigan slipping off her shoulder just enough to reveal the strap of her tank top, the scars there picking up the light differently than the rest of the smooth skin. I shouldn't be looking. Shouldn't be thinking about how soft she looks, how different from the stubborn, sharp-tongued version of her that keeps me on my toes.
But I do.
I pull into her apartment complex and kill the engine, a thought cementing itself in my mind:
I need more of this, more time with her.
Moreofher.
I exhale, adjusting my grip on the wheel.
My schedule is insane. Between practices, film, workouts, and traveling for games, my time is already stretched too thin. But sitting here, with her beside me, I'm not sure I'll ever get enough of it. Ofher.
I reach over, brushing my knuckles lightly against her knee.
"Mads."
She stirs, her eyelashes fluttering before her gaze lifts to mine, hazy with sleep.
"We're here?" she murmurs, voice thick, still caught in the in-between.
"Yeah," I say, quieter than I mean to. I don't want to break the quiet spell around us.
"Damn, that was quick." She yawns, stretching slightly, her back arching just enough to make her shirt shift. The movement is small, unintentional, but I feel it everywhere.
