I blinked quickly to hold back the tears that were rapidly welling up in my eyes, blurring my vision. It would only be a year, I reminded myself, and then he’d be back. That was probably why he hadn’t bothered saying bye. It wouldn’t even be that long. None of those excuses did their job, for the record, and when we found out that a year would turn into four would turn into a career, the sparks of anger in my chest fanned into a blazing fire.

Three hours after the end of the school day, my phone pinged with a text message.

Hey May! Hope your senior year’s amazing. Been great playing with you all these years. Take care. Sending you strawberries from Mom’s garden. Keep in touch.

Strawberries.

I saw those damn strawberries on my front porch non-stop for the next week every time I closed my eyes.

And then, as the weeks went on, and the taste of the strawberries finally left my mouth, a new feeling wiggled its way into my body. It was a feeling I hadn’t ever anticipated having.

It was envy.

I was jealous of CJ Bradley.

He got to take off. He had options. He could leave.

Sure, we could talk about it all we wanted. Maybe we made the sorts of promises teenagers did when they were young and naïve and didn’t know that this world was a cruel one, that this was the kind of place that was out to wrench people apart instead of bring them together. We promised that one day, we’d go pro, side by side, and that in this world that tore dreams to shreds, we wouldn’t let ours die.

But all of it was doomed to fail, anyway. Because Colt didn’t realize the luxury he had. The luxury I longed for.

As our teammates trickle into practice, and I head towards my bag to lace up my cleats, that old wound Colt left me with opens up again. Every stitch is plucked out until all I feel is an emptiness in the centre of my body. Just like before.

He’s going to leave again. That much is certain. But if I don’t get myself in order, he’s going to leave without knowing why I did what I did this morning. And if I let him go like that, I’m no better than he was five years ago.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Hell or High Water

Colt

Swish!

The ball impacts the back of the net effortlessly, from just about halfway up our scaled-down backward field. The field I’d made for her. What a shit turn of events. She got me back out of my head, back on the path to playing again, only for all of this to happen.

Swish!