Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
A few days later, the six of us pile into Levi’s Rover to bring my grand Dallas zip-lining plan to life. I should be amped, but I’m wiped.
I finally talked to Dontrell Wayne this morning.
It stings to give up the semipro league this spring—Dad’s gonna take it hard.
But I’m not chasing my spot at UT anymore.
And even before Sophie, squeezing in the practices and travel was a stretch.
Now with my life packed to the seams, it’s not even on the table.
Being with Sophie makes me feel like myself. Like I can curl up with her and just be. So I don’t get it—how being with her is a deep breath but somehow I’m still gasping for air everywhere else. Maybe that’s just what happens when you care about someone this much. When losing them isn’t an option.
Jesus time and workouts are staying priorities—in that order—so I’ve been skipping sleep, skipping meals, barely scraping by on homework.
You won’t find a bigger fan of food, but Saga’s all the way across campus and The Hive’s always got a line a mile long.
Either way a real meal costs me an hour.
Lately I wash down spoonfuls of peanut butter with coffee between Electromagnetics problems and pretend that counts.
Levi noticed and started sneaking me five slices of meat-lovers pizza at a time.
He’s such a good dude, but he’s got a full life too.
I don’t want him worrying about me. One time he brought me a plate full of salad because he’s weirdly obsessed with nutrition and felt guilty about all the pizza.
I had to eat the whole thing just to pacify him. I hate salad.
And then, get this. Sophie asked why I haven’t been at Saga for lunch, and my subject dodging got me nowhere. The next day she DoorDashed a medium-rare steak to my building at lunch. Sure wasn’t mad at it, but it’s far too much to accept. At least not again.
Obviously it’s getting complicated around here. Something’s got to give. Except, nothing seems like it can. Or should.
Okay, what do you say?
I tune out the road-trip chaos to listen for an answer and start thinking about Jesus’s life on earth. How he kept ditching people—the ones who needed him—to go up on a mountain and pray for ages.
How did you do that, Jesus? Weren’t people mad when you ran off?
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to focus. God often brings things to mind when I stop and really listen.
And then it hits me. Jesus’s Father was the one calling the shots. Not obligations.
Aw man, so disappointing people was just part of the job?
I beat against the headrest. I don’t do disappointing people.
But you’re the boss, not me. And you take care of everybody, not me. Teach me to run off and rest like you did.
Next to me, Haymitch is enjoying the relative quiet of the back row. He’s an introspective guy, and we can sit in silence without it being weird.
He clasps my shoulder. “Praying for you, Samwise.”
You told him, huh? Thanks for that.
And he’s back to staring out the window. Love that guy.
What if I just close my eyes for a hot minute? Maybe no one would notice.
Austin’s back there trying to sleep while Mia and I belt out some KB rhymes. I haven’t had girl time with her in too long.
Levi let me drive his car—the one that costs as much as a college degree—so he could claim a middle-row seat next to Kit, as if they’re not already surgically attached. This is not the time for whispering sweet nothings. It’s time for dancing and laughing and pure, chaotic road-trip energy.
Austin’s nap isn’t eye-rolly though. Actually it scrapes my conscience.
I’m worried about him. He burns the candle at both ends, playing Superman absolutely always, and I know his exhaustion is largely my fault.
I’ve tried insisting—drop coaching, cut down on friend hangouts, give up our Tuesday afternoons, even quit soccer if he doesn’t love it.
But not the incredible dates he keeps planning … I love those too much.
I would force him to slow down if it were just one thing. But, hi, yes, it’s me. I am absolutely the problem.
He grew up in a small town where life moves slower.
Where stores close on Sundays and people sip homemade lemonade on front porches.
The kind of world country songs romanticize.
Of course my pace is too fast for him. Of course I’m too much.
That front-porch life is what he wants. And I want it for him.
But I, frankly, wouldn’t survive it.
I can’t be stuck in some tiny town where you run out of things to do in two weeks and people gossip about you just to pass the time. The whole thing just screams trapped. I need freedom. I need new places, new things. I don’t want to rest—I need to go.
I knew that for sure at sixteen. My parents were still together, but barely.
The screaming never stopped. I got grounded for a party gone wrong—just two weeks, but it might as well have been a twenty-year prison sentence.
No Jeep. No escape. Just me, pacing like a caged animal, forced to listen as the walls shook.
Forced to pretend I didn’t hear my dad say the words that finally made Mom kick him out.
Forced to watch Mom continue her normal life, frizz-free and emotionless, as if her life weren’t exploding before her eyes.
Music should have saved me. I blasted it in my room, in my headphones, let it fill the silence between fights. But it didn’t work. Not when I couldn’t drive, couldn’t roll the windows down, couldn’t put miles between me and the mess. It just became background noise to the walls closing in.
So I counted down the days, the minutes, the seconds until I could run again. Until I could press my foot to the gas, feel the air rush through my Jeep—gone. I promised myself I’d never set myself up like that again. Never be trapped.
And certainly not with a bonnet and a goat.
This tornado of love I have for Austin is bigger, stronger, more all-consuming than I thought it could be, but the future beyond his graduation—just over a year away—is a gaping void I can’t see past. Only one part is clear.
We don’t make sense together. He’d spend his whole life appeasing me—until one day he’d snap.
He’d want to nap on a Sunday afternoon, and I’d want to try jet-skiing.
Or get Indian food. Or meet up with new friends. And I wouldn’t slow down for him.
I can’t.
Even for him.
He’s a door and a deadbolt, all at once.
But I squeeze the wheel, try to shove the thought away. Not now. Not today. I’ll wring every last second out of this fairy tale, even if it ruins me for anyone who’d come after him. But when I glance in the rearview mirror at my man-bear dozing fitfully, my eyes fill and my throat grows tight.
You’re all up in our business, in the best way.
You know and care about everything that happens to us.
So … I don’t get it. Back in Portside, I was going to say no.
I was going to save both of us all the heartache of it ending.
But in that moment, I really thought this was your thing.
A gift, right? And now I care about him even more, but us doesn’t make any more sense than it did then.
Did I fall in love with the wrong guy?
Am I missing something?
Show me what to do and how not to break our hearts in the process. Please. I have no idea what I’m doing.
My thumb taps a frenetic beat against the steering wheel. This is why I read my Bible before my afternoon runs. I’ll never hear back from him like this.
I turn down the music and speak just above it. “Hey, Mia.”
She doesn’t miss a beat, dark-brown eyes drilling into mine.
“I’m kind of stressed about Austin. Mind giving me some advice?”
“Yeah, girl. Shoot.”
“We’re so … different, right?”
“Yep.”
“He’s all chill and likes to fish, and I’m like ‘let’s try bungee jumping.’”
“Yep.”
“So?”
“So you compromise. He breaks his back doing your stuff, so take something off his load. Do something for him.”
Compromise sounds nice and all, but is it enough? Is it just a Band-Aid?
“Got it. Thanks, girl.”
“Yep.”
And we’re back to jams.
But as I sing along, something stirs in my chest.
Is that you?
It says that it’s time to stop doubting this relationship—this gift. That it’s time to dive fully in. To go big. Despite my brain’s terror of heartbreak and warnings of small-town-shaped prison cells, it’s time for my heart to take charge. To invest in what I’m dying to keep.