“Things back home are shit. It was stupid, I know. I made a mistake. You gonna hold it over me for the rest of the season? Because if so, I need to invest in earplugs to tune you out.”

“I know all about shitty parent situations. That shit’s not your fault. The rest… well, that’s on you.”

Anger rises faster than I can control and my tone is hard. “I don’t have shitty parents. My parents are awesome.” But as quick as it came, it falls with the realization I’m living in the past. “Well, they were. Ever since my dad died, my mom is…” I choose my words carefully. “Having a hard time. And my brother is still there dealing with it.”

“Your dad died?” Genuine shock shows on Wes’ face and the reality that yeah, my dad is gone smacks me hard. It’s one thing to say the words, but every once in a while, the full weight of it hits me all over. He’s gone… really gone.

I nod. “Month before my freshman year.”

“Fuck.” He takes another drink from his beer. “I had no idea. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“My parents don’t give a fuck most the time, but at least they’re alive.”

I’d sort of gathered that from his grumblings in the past and the fact I’ve never met them, but it breaks down something between us to admit our shit to one another. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Talk to Coach Daniels. If there’s anything he can do to help, he will. And if not, you know the guys and I got your back.”

I hate asking for help, but in this instance, I think Wes might be right. It might be time to admit I can’t figure this out on my own. “Alright.”

He gives me a wry smile. “Okay, can we stop having a heart to heart now and play some 2K20?”

“Whatever you want, Couch Dubya.”

23

CHLOE

Our team dinner is at an Italian place with a large outdoor seating area and views of the mountains. We have the entire patio, and they’ve pulled the tables together into one long table for us.

Coach gave us a two-drink max, but Emily waves me over to the opposite side of the patio where a firepit is lit. It’s unseasonably cool tonight so I’m thankful for the warmth.

“Shots?”

“What?”

“At the bar. Come on, Coach is so busy talking she’ll never notice.”

I look through the open French doors to the restaurant. She’s right. With the angle of the bar, it’s unlikely she’ll see us.

Emily smiles, clearly seeing my hesitation waver, and grabs my hand. We shuffle quickly to the corner of the bar and erupt into giggles.

“Think she saw us?” I ask.

“Nah. We’re good.”