“Well,” Mom started, but then she thought better of it, letting a long pause linger before she said. “Just stay focused on football. Everything else will work itself out.”

“Love you, Mom,” I managed.

“Love you. Oh, and—”

Before she could ask anything else, I ended the call, pausing for a brief moment of silence and relief outside the front door of the coffee shop. The evening breeze was warm and pleasant, the last bit of summer clinging to the still-green trees.

I took a deep breath, hating how anything more than a sip of oxygen anymore made my chest burn. It had ever since Maliyah walked away from me, after I’d realized that this was my new reality.

It had already been a long day. The absolute last thing I wanted to do was get an ass chewing for not being Mr. Sunshine on camera.

But if it was ordered by Coach Sanders? I didn’t have the option to bail — not without endangering my starting position.

So, with a final sigh, I pushed through the glass door, a small bell above it chiming my entry.

Rum & Roasters was one of the only bars on campus, likely because it was civil and low key in comparison to the bars off campus. It was never crawling with wasted, underage college students toting their ridiculous fake IDs, but rather comfortably full of upperclassmen who were old enough to drink and preferred to have a quiet evening of conversation or live music rather than grind on the dance floor.

Their loss.

Still, there was something comforting about it as I pushed inside the dark space, the smell of old books and candles and coffee overpowering any alcohol being served. It was a lot more pleasant than the stench of the bars I preferred to frequent, and I had to admit it had a vibe.

Some guy played acoustic guitar on a small stage in the corner, singing softly along with the sound, but he kept the volume low enough that everyone seated at the dark booths and candle-lit tables could have conversation around it.

I stopped at the bar, scanning the tables in search of Giana. Something in my gut churned at the sight of a couple making out in one of the corner booths, but I skimmed past them quickly, eyes darting around until I found the person I was looking for.

Candlelight and shadows battled for territory on Giana’s serene face, her eyes wide and soft, lips turned up into a crescent smile. She had a comically large mug of some sort of foamy coffee drink cupped between her small hands, and she sipped it from time to time as she listened to the music.

And she was really listening.