We had come up with our own unofficial ritual over the years. Ethan would text me before he hit the field. I would send him a string of messages throughout the game, mostly of ridiculous observations. And he would read them after, which he swore helped him unwind and decompress from all the adrenalin, bringing him back down to earth. Seeing the game from the perspective of someone that didn’t exactly enjoy football apparently made my take on things hilarious.

Not anymore. After his insults I didn’t even bother watching him play. Why would I? I only ever watched it for him. Ethan didn’t deserve my sharp humour and winning personality.

However, my ignoring him pissed him right off based on his follow up texts that night. Which became increasingly demanding as time progressed.

“Are you really sulking right now?”

“God, I thought after our conversation you would get over yourself.”

“Why didn’t you watch me play?”

“You’ve never ignored me before. Where are you, Ali?”

“ALICIA!!”

And after several missed calls. “ANSWER YOUR PHONE!”

I would have laughed at his blatant desperation except I was interrupted by a different call. One that every person dreaded.

Strike two hit me with the brute force of a battering ram, dropping me to my knees.

Phil Thorne, my solid rock of a dad had a stroke.

I was still reeling from my mother’s sobs over the phone as she called her daughters back to Acacia Falls, the small town we spent most of our teenage years. I kept on zoning out in the passenger seat as my older sister, Alexis sped down the highway leading us out of the city.

It was the middle of the night. Austin, my three-year-old nephew slept in the backseat as my sister, and I talked in circles.

When we finally arrived at the hospital hours later, Dad’s condition had thankfully stabilised. He still had a long way to go but we were so relieved to know he wasn’t in immediate danger.

The Thorne family made camp in his hospital room waiting for sunrise, not wanting to leave in case he or Mum needed anything.

For the first time in hours, I was able to breathe. I settled back in an uncomfortable recliner shoved in the corner, slipped on my headphones and doom scrolled online. Looking for any distraction to calm my mind.

That’s when strike three came barrelling toward me at full speed, threatening to total me to the ground, without any fucking padding whatsoever.

The viral video was taken from an odd angle, the person behind the camera inconspicuous but in the perfect position to a get a clear shot—of Ethan.

He stood tall and proud in the middle of a crowded bar, surrounded by a couple of football buddies and countless party girls. With quite a few drinks under his belt and a raptured audience, his bolstered speech carried above them all.