27 empty room
By the time I get back to the dorm, I feel like somebody shoved glass under my shoulder pads and left it there for three straight hours.
Practice was brutal.
Not because Coach was in a bad mood.
Not because conditioning sucked.
Not even because Logan practically tried taking my head off during drills.
Mostly because I deserved it.
I push the dorm door open expecting silence.
Instead, soft guitar chords drift through the room.
I stop immediately.
Everly's sitting cross-legged on her bed with her guitar resting against her thigh, head slightly bowed while her fingers move lazily over the strings. The lamp beside her bed throws warm light across the room, turning everything softer somehow. Calmer.
For a second, I just stand there.
Watching her.
And Christ, the guilt hits all over again.
Because she looks comfortable here.
Like this room actually became hers at some point without me noticing.
Then I ruined it.
The door clicks shut behind me quietly.
Everly's fingers falter for half a second before continuing again.
She knows I'm here.
I should say something.
Sorry.
I'm an asshole.
I didn't mean it.
I panicked.
Anything.
Literally anything.
Instead I just stand there like an idiot with my practice bag hanging off one shoulder while my brain completely short-circuits.
The music keeps filling the silence between us.
Not tense exactly.
Which somehow makes it worse.
Because she's not angry enough to yell anymore.
She's just... done.
After maybe thirty seconds, Everly stops playing.
The last chord fades quietly through the room.
Then she sets the guitar carefully against the wall beside her bed and reaches for her hoodie without looking at me once.
My chest tightens immediately. "Coleman-"
Nothing.
She pulls the hoodie over her head, grabs her phone, then walks straight toward the door.
Still without looking at me.
And for some reason that hurts worse than the yelling did.
"Everly."
She pauses for maybe half a second with her hand on the doorknob.
I think maybe she's gonna say something.
Instead she just opens the door and leaves.
The room falls completely silent after it closes behind her.
I stare at the door for a long second before dropping my bag onto the floor harder than necessary.
Nice job, Bennett.
I sit down on the edge of my bed and scrub both hands over my face.
Everything feels wrong lately.
Practice.
The dorm.
Sleeping.
Hell, even walking back here every night feels different now because some part of me automatically expects her to be here.
Talking.
Studying.
Making sarcastic comments every five seconds.
And now every time I walk in, she leaves.
My phone's already in my hand before I fully think about it.
The typing bubble appears almost immediately.
That somehow makes my stomach twist harder.
Jesus Christ.
I physically wince reading it.
Because fair enough.
Because she has every right to say it.
Because I know exactly what she's referring to.
I stare at the screen for a second too long before typing back.
Read, then nothing.
No typing bubble.
No response.
Just silence.
I lean back against the wall behind my bed and let my head fall against it with a dull thud.
Across the room, Everly's bed sits empty.
Blanket half folded.
Guitar still leaning against the wall.
One of her hoodies tossed over the corner of her desk chair.
Usually the room feels smaller when she's here.
Louder.
Warmer.
Now it just feels empty in a way I can't stop noticing.
And the worst part is realizing she's stopped treating it like home too.