“Indie.” I motion for her to come sit with me. Mom and Mama are holding hands on my right and when Indie comes over, I pull her down to sit at my left.

  Rusty and Deacon are pacing in front of me, hands in their hair, looking more stressed than I am. Hutton is sitting in a chair by the living room window, holding a beer between both of his hands, and Hartley? Well, he’s sitting on the stairs, one leg bouncing up and down. Me? I’ve surrounded myself by those I trust—my people, my tribe. I’ve done the work. Followed the rulebook to success. A draft spot should be mine, so I don’t doubt that. What I’m not sure about is what that will look like without these people by my side. But I can’t think about that. Not now. Onwards and upwards. Working toward the goal. That’s what my parents have taught me. I take a deep breath. You can do this, Castle. You’ve got this.

  The phone rings and a collective silence falls over the room. I glance at my phone, a Chicago number lighting it up.

  Mama squeezes my shoulder and Indie grips my thigh in encouragement.

  I pick up the phone, as all the boys gather around the coffee table. Clearing my throat, I answer, “This is Lincoln Castle.”

  “Lincoln, this is Harold with the Chicago Rebels. Congratulations, son, you’re going to play for the black and red.”

  Tears well in my eyes, my skin prickles with excitement, relief, and nerves, which makes me want to puke and cheer. Simultaneously. Shit.

  “Wow, thank you so much. This . . . this means the world to me.”

  “Well, we’re very excited to have you as part of our organization. Congratulations. We’ll be in touch.”

  I hang up and everyone waits in anticipation. “The Rebels. I’m going to be a Rebel.”

  The room erupts in cheers. My moms pull me into a hug, both crying into my shoulders while the boys all fist-bump and chant my name. It’s ridiculous and obnoxious, but it also feels good.

  Really fucking good.

  I did it.

  All that hard work, the extra time, the special events I missed because of training. It all came down to this moment—where it paid off.

  A Rebel. I never expected to be picked up by a Chicago organization, but I couldn’t be happier.

  My moms release me from their loving embrace and then hug each other. I turn to Indie, who has tears in her eyes. She clasps me by the cheeks and brings her lips softly to mine where she presses a gentle kiss, only to pull away and caress her thumbs over my cheeks. “I’m so proud of you, Castle,” she whispers. “So freaking proud.”

  Tears spill over my eyes.

  “Thank you,” I say, choked up.

  Champagne pops in the distance and I hear Rusty gathering glasses for everyone, but I ignore it all and stare at Indie, excitement pouring through me . . . as well as dread.

  Because this means it’s coming to an end.

  And from the tears falling onto her face and the tremble in her lips, I think she’s seeing the same thing. Yet . . . she’s kept herself hidden emotionally. And sometimes, I wonder if she ever became as invested as I have. Was I wrong? Was this year’s success possibly due to being in a relationship with Indie, and not despite it?

  And if that’s true, what happens next?

  Chapter Nineteen

  INDIE

  JUNE

  Knock. Knock.

  “Who is it?” I ask, mumbling into my pillow.

  “Who do you think it is?” Scarlett says, opening my door.

  “Not in the mood,” I say, not bothering to look back at her.

  She shuts the door behind her. “If you lifted your head right now, would your face be covered in mascara?”

  “Maybe,” I answer.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Too bad.” She flops on my bed and drapes her legs over the back of mine. “So, Lincoln is with the Rebels. That’s pretty badass.”

  “It is. He’s really excited to have a chance to play in Chicago still.”

  “Must be exciting for you too. Means he’ll be here still.”

  I shake my head. “Scarlett, you’re smarter than that. You know their Triple-A and Double-A teams aren’t located here. Double-A, I think, is in Massachusetts for God knows what reason, and Triple-A is in Kansas. I think Lincoln is amazing, but it will be a few years before he’s actually playing in Chicago, and that’s if they even keep him in the organization. Minor league players are used as bargaining chips for trades constantly.”

  “So what you’re saying is that his future is full of uncertainty.”

  “Yup.”

  “And that makes you sad because . . .”

  “I’m not sad,” I mutter.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that. Can you lift your face off your pillow and repeat that?”

  “No.”

  “Indie, lift your head or I’m going to do it myself.”

  Sighing, I roll to face her and give her a top-notch view of my drenched eyes and black-stained cheeks.

  “Jesus Mother,” she says, moving back, hand to her heart. “Your face is what nightmares are made of.”

  A snot bubble pops out of my nose as I snort. “It’s not that bad.”

  “Have you looked in a mirror?”

  “No—”

  “Then your opinion has no legs to stand on. Bury your face back in that pillow. You’re going to terrify the children.”

  “Scarlett, stop making me laugh.”

  “Oh that’s right. Sorry. We’re pretending that you’re not sad when in fact you really are sad.”

  “Yeah. Keep it straight,” I say, staring at the ceiling.

  “Okay, so even though we’re pretending you’re not sad, when you really are sad, let’s talk about why you’re sad even though you’re not sad.”

  “I barely followed that.”

  “I’m surprised it made sense at all,” she says, her smile easing my tattered soul.

  I don’t answer right away, but try to catch my breath as I think about the goodbye. The one I’ve been dreading ever since he came barging into my room before Christmas break demanding I tell him what was going on. In that moment, I knew . . . I knew deep in my bones that he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me and life without him is going to be impossible.

  It’s going to be painful.

  It’s going to be tangible pain I won’t be able to get over for a long time, and that thought sent me into a deep depression.

  A debilitating depression.

  One that I’m still fighting.

  I spent the entire winter break seeing a therapist—learning to identify my true fears and pain—and using the library as my place of healing, desperately trying to gain control of the downward spiral that was my life. It was so bad, I almost called up Coach Wilson and told her I was quitting. I couldn’t even conceive of playing soccer, not when nothing felt right.

  The only thing that felt right, Lincoln, would leave me at the end of the school year.

  And now that we’re here, I can feel the darkness creeping in on me again.

  Finally, on a deep breath, I say, “I’m going to miss him, Scar. I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do when he’s gone. I’ve relied on him so much this year that I can’t imagine going through another year at school and not seeing him bright and early Monday morning, showering together in the locker room, spending Sundays together lounging, or catching him around campus for a spontaneous coffee date. I don’t know how to be here without him. I don’t know how to play without him in the stands, screaming like a fool. It’s all too painful.” Nothing has ever torn me apart like this. Not my father’s absence. Nor my mother’s negligence. Lincoln has provided the much-needed salve for the damage my parents’ decisions and actions caused in my heart.

  And soon he’ll be gone. Forever.

  And just like I did to my mom last December, I’ll pretend I’m dauntless and unbreakable . . . even though the truth is, I’m cowardly and weak.

  Scarlett presses her hand to my leg. “Is he why you’re not going pro? Because I still don’t get that.”

  I shake my head. “No, he’s not the entire reason. I mean, he’s not a reason, because it’s a combo of everything.”

  “Did your mom say something to you over winter break about it?” I look away and Scarlett nudges my leg. “I freaking knew it. What did she say?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I know she didn’t mean it to crush my dreams, but to gain perspective.”

  “Perspective? What’s that bullshit? Listen, your mom is a nice lady and all, but she wouldn’t know what a goal was if it slapped her big old boob around. She’s never understood you, and I’m not sure she ever will. So yeah, she might say things in a nice tone, and it might seem like she cares about your future, but she doesn’t see your future the way we do. Soccer is life. Soccer is everything and so much more. You and I live and breathe the sport. So why are you going to give it up because of someone else?”

  “I don’t know.” I drape my arm over my eyes. “I don’t know anything anymore. I feel lost.”

  She quiets, and although that’s rare for Scarlett, this is one of the things I’ve valued most in our friendship. Even in silence, I know she’s present. I don’t even want to think about the end of next year when we possibly go our separate ways. More denial.

  “When does he leave?”

  And there it is. The question I hate. “Five days,” I say, nearly choking on my own words.

  “What are you going to do during those five days?”

  “Avoid breaking down when he’s around.”

  “Or, you can tell him you love him,” she says with such confidence that it makes me feel even sicker.

  “I don’t love him.”

  “Uh, I beg to differ,” Scarlett says with a hint of cockiness.

  “I don’t even know what love is, Scarlett. I thought I did. I thought I had a general idea, but then my parents blew up that concept this past year. It’s a clusterfuck and to be honest, even if I told Lincoln I want to keep in touch, or try to make this fuck buddies thing last, I honestly don’t think I’m mentally there. I would be more of a burden than anything.”

  “You wouldn’t be a burden to him and you know that. He’d never consider you a burden.”

  “And that right there is the problem. He would be blind to it and the last thing he needs is for me to drag him down.” I shake my head. “We said it was friends with benefits, and that’s how we’re going to keep it. We’ll stay in touch, but that’s as far as it goes. Nothing more. He’ll move on. I know he will.”

  “But what does that mean for you?”

  “It means I’ll have a lot of lonely nights to think about what the hell I want to do with my life.”

  “You’ll have me.” Scarlett pats my leg. “I’m not going anywhere. I can play Mario Kart with you and share calzones.”

  I chuckle. “Yeah, and how are you when it comes to oral?”

  She winces. “Vaginas aren’t my thing. But, I’ll get you a play toy, how does that sound? I can even make it the size and girth of Lincoln.”

  “Wow, then all my worries would be gone.”

  “See?” Scarlett chuckles. “Told you I’d be here for you.”

  * * *

  Deep breaths.

  You’ve got this.

  Smiles and fun. That’s all this is going to be. Smiles and fun.

  Lincoln comes bounding up the stairs and throws the door open to his packed-up room. He’s here for two more nights. His moms are picking up his car and belongings, and he’ll be headed to Massachusetts where he’s going to be thrown right into the minor league season. I can tell he’s excited. He’s been bouncing off the walls ever since he got the call. We spent a few more days working on his strength and conditioning. I even watched him practice with one of the catchers he knows that lives locally, and all I kept thinking about was how I was going to miss everything about him. Watching his strong form perform physically daunting workouts. How I’m going to miss his heartwarming smile, and the way he winks at me when he’s teasing.

  I’m going to miss his voice, how it gets sultry and deep when he’s turned on and means naughty business.

  I’m going to miss his cuddles, the way he stays wrapped against my back, solid, so I never feel alone.

  I’m going to miss his heart, how he can read me so well, and how he doesn’t let me get away with shutting down on him.

  I’m going to miss his friendship, the freedom to rely on him for pretty much anything at any time of the day.

  I’m going to miss my rock.

  “Calzones, babe,” he says, holding up a box of our signature calzones—that we split in half—two drinks, and a cannoli, a post-season treat we’ve partaken in lately.

  “I should have known,” I say, not feeling very hungry.

  He sets the box on the bed and asks, “Should we watch a movie while we eat or do you want to talk deep and dark secrets?”

  God, no talking. Talking will make me lose it.

  “I’m too scared to dive deep and dark into your unknown. Might get scary. Let’s stick to a movie.”

  A flash of disappointment crosses his face before he says, “Sure thing. How about we watch an animated movie?”

  Neutral—probably won’t make me cry—so it’s definitely a good idea.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  He flips on Disney Plus, because his moms—although they work on porn websites—love themselves a good Pixar movie, at least that’s what they told me.

  “Oh, Let’s watch Coco. Mama said it was really good.”

  “Okay, yeah. Haven’t seen that one yet.”

  “Perfect.” He turns on the movie and then sits back against the headboard with me. He hands me my plate and then leans over and presses a kiss to my lips. “Glad you’re here, babe.”

  “Me too,” I say as a lump forms in my throat. With a shaky hand, I cut into my calzone and try to act as normal as possible, but as the movie plays, my emotions get the best of me and I start crying.

  When I see Lincoln wipe at his eyes, he says, “I forgot they said it was sad. Damn you, Disney. Why do they always have to pull at our heartstrings? Give us movies like The Emperor’s New Groove. Funny, clever, no heartbreak. It’s like they’re trying to break all adults around the world.”

  Our plates were set aside long ago, and that’s when Lincoln pulled me up against his chest. When he hears me sniffle, he asks, “It’s the grandma that gets you, right?”

  “Yeah,” I say, thankful for the horrendous “children’s” movie that was formed to rip you apart in the movie theater so you can embarrass yourself in front of strangers.

  He doesn’t say anything, just keeps his arm around me and kisses the side of my cheek. More tears spill over and I try to contain my pain, not wanting to turn into full-on sobs because yes, the movie hits you in the feels, but not sobbing feels.

  By the time the movie is over, I’ve pulled it together enough to not seem like I’m completely losing it. Just in time for Lincoln to peel off my clothes slowly, to lay me on his bed, and touch every part of my body with his tongue. It’s languid, intimate, and he’s slowly arousing me to a point where all I can think about is the pleasure pumping through me rather than the misery clogging my throat.

  But once we’re both tucked in bed, naked, holding each other, Lincoln fast asleep, I allow myself to feel again, to suffer the heartbreak bubbling up inside. Because after tonight, I only have one more night with him, and one more night is definitely not enough.

  Because only forever would be.

  And I know love . . . forever . . . doesn’t exist.

  * * *

  Indie: Scar, I can’t do this. I can’t go there.

  Scarlett: Where are you?”

  Indie: A street away from his house.

  Scarlett: Indie, I know it’s going to be painful, but you have to go. You don’t have a choice.

  Indie: I can’t say goodbye. I just . . . can’t.

  Scarlett: Then don’t let it be a goodbye. Let it be a see you later.

  Indie: I think we both know it’s not going to be a see you later. This is it.

  Scarlett: Well if you’re not going to allow yourself to continue whatever this is with Lincoln, then you at least owe it to him to say goodbye. After everything you two have been through. If you don’t say bye, I don’t think he’ll ever forgive you.

  Indie: Maybe that’s for the best. Leaving angry is better than leaving sad.

  Scarlett: Where the hell did you hear that from? That’s not true. Indie, listen to me, you have to say goodbye. He’s counting on it.

  Scarlett: Indie . . .

  Scarlett: Indie, I swear to God, do not run on him. Not today, not now.

  Scarlett: Indie!

  Chapter Twenty

  LINCOLN

  Lincoln: Hey babe, just wondering where you are. I need to head out soon.

  I stare at my phone, my stomach twisting in knots, wondering where the hell Indie is. She’s ten minutes late. My moms have already gone, after saying a tear-filled goodbye. I gave them each a hug, promised to call at least once a week, and then thanked them for everything they’ve done for me. It was hard to say goodbye to them, especially since they’ve been a little over two hours away whenever I’ve needed them, but I know this is the next step in my life.

  Now saying goodbye to Indie? This is what I’ve been dreading, what I’ve been trying to prepare myself for all week. And even though I’ve mentally prepped, the fact that she’s late and not responding has me thinking she’s going to skip out on the goodbye, which would be fucking shitty.

  Last night, when I was deep inside her, pulsing in and out, I swear I heard her gasp in sorrow, and when I looked into her eyes, in the moonlight, I think I saw a tear. Before I could decipher it, she turned her head away and pulled on my backside to move quicker.

  I wanted to ask her about it but by the time I came back from the bathroom, she was curled into the pillow, eyes closed. And when I woke up this morning, there was a note on the nightstand from her claiming she had some things to do and she’d catch me later.