I would never turn my back on my mom.

That was a given, something I’d felt strongly ever since she didn’t turn her back on me when my father did. She wasn’t perfect, but she’d always been there, and for that alone I’d give her the last penny in my bank and the shirt off my back, too.

But it didn’t mean it didn’t sting, that I didn’t realize especially as I got older how much her cycle had fucked me up, too.

“Chart Day is just around the corner,” I finished after filling her in on how camp had been going so far. “So, we’ll see.”

“You’ll make the team, baby,” she said without hesitation. “And you’ll start, and before you know it, you’ll be signing a multi-million-dollar NFL deal and buying your mom a big mansion on the beach.”

I smiled, the vision she’d had for me one I’d heard a thousand times. It was born when I was young, from the time we realized I actually had some pretty decent talent in football. I could still remember her sitting me down after a game when I was twelve, still wearing my dirty uniform and cleats. She made me look in the mirror and she stood behind me, her hands on my shoulders and eyes locked on mine in the reflection as she said, “You’re never going to have the struggles I’ve had, Clay. You’re going to be rich.”

“Speaking of football, did I tell you Brandon used to play?” Mom asked, jolting me from the memory. “He was the starting quarterback of his high school team.”

My smile was flat, the sign for the coffee shop coming into view as I rounded the university courtyard where students were spread out on blankets, smoking vapes, laughing, and enjoying the evening.

I wondered what that felt like, to actually have time as a college student instead of having every waking moment consumed by a sport.

“I’m sure we’ll talk all about it at Christmas,” I said. “I gotta run, Mom. Another meeting.”

“At this time of night? They keep you busy, don’t they?” She chuckled. “Well, I love you, baby. Call me later this week to catch up.” She paused. “Are you… have you seen Maliyah?”

Ice thickened in my veins at the sound of her name. “No.”

It was salt in the wound, the reminder that it wasn’t just me hurting from our breakup — but our families, too. We had been together so long, through so much, that I knew my mom viewed Maliyah like a daughter.

They were closer than we were sometimes, bonding over things I knew I’d never be able to because I wasn’t a woman.