36 southbound
By six in the morning, the football facility already feels alive in the most aggressively miserable way possible.
The locker room smells like coffee, sweat, and too many energy drinks cracked open too early. Somebody's speaker is blasting rap from across the room while equipment managers yell over the noise and players drag duffel bags through the aisles half-asleep.
Scott looks completely awake somehow, which honestly feels unnatural.
"You look like death," he informs me the second I walk in.
"Morning to you too."
"That was my morning to you."
I shove my hoodie into my bag while he keeps talking anyway. "You know what your problem is? Your vibes are horrific lately."
"My vibes?"
"Catastrophic."
I snort despite myself, slamming my locker shut.
Outside, the sky's still dark when we load the buses. Cold November air bites through my hoodie while coaches count heads and yell reminders about curfew like we're twelve years old instead of college athletes.
Seven-hour drive to Bowling Green.
Game tomorrow.
Back late Sunday.
Normally I like away games.
Road trips mean football becomes the only thing anybody thinks about for a while. No classes, no campus drama, no awkward dorm room silences where Everly barely looks at me anymore.
That thought hits harder than it should.
Because even with everything being weird between us lately, leaving campus still feels wrong somehow.
I climb onto the bus and immediately get hit with noise.
Music blasting.
Somebody arguing over aux privileges.
Scott trying to steal food out of Logan's hands and almost getting punched for it.
Typical.
Logan's sitting near the front with headphones around his neck and his hood pulled up slightly. He glances at me for maybe half a second before looking away again.
Still colder than usual.
Not openly hostile, just distant.
And honestly?
I can't blame him.
Not after the way things have been with Everly.
I slide into the seat beside Scott while he tears open a pack of sour candy like he hasn't eaten in weeks.
"You've looked miserable for like a month," he says casually.
"Thanks."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
Scott studies me for another second before leaning back dramatically in his seat. "You know, one day you're gonna voluntarily communicate your emotions and it's gonna change lives."
"Shut up."
He grins like that's the exact response he wanted.
The bus finally pulls onto the highway while campus disappears behind us slowly through foggy windows.
At first the atmosphere stays loud.
Guys yelling across rows.
Music changing every thirty seconds because nobody agrees on anything.
Coaches eventually forcing film review onto the overhead screens while half the team ignores it completely.
Scott spends almost an hour arguing with one of the linebackers about which fast food place could survive the apocalypse longest.
Apparently this is a real conversation.
I try focusing on game prep.
I really do.
But every quiet second turns into Everly anyway.
The way she barely stays in the dorm anymore.
How careful she acts around me now, like she's constantly trying not to get too close again.
That text she sent after Halloween still randomly punches me in the throat sometimes.
Making room for Sarah or Hannah or Olivia.
Jesus.
I rub a hand over my face and stare harder out the window.
Rain starts somewhere around Indiana, tapping softly against the glass while the bus gradually gets quieter. Eventually even Scott knocks out beside me with his mouth hanging open.
The highway stretches endlessly outside under gray skies.
Most of the team's asleep now.
And with the noise finally gone, my brain gets worse.
I keep replaying conversations with Everly like they're game film.
Her laughing at something stupid I said during the first week of classes.
Her sitting on her bed playing guitar quietly at night.
Her yelling at me at the Halloween party because honestly, I deserved every second of it.
The dorm feels weird lately.
Too quiet.
Not home anymore.
I miss talking to her normally more than anything.
Not even flirting.
Just existing around her without feeling like everything's broken.
By the time we finally roll into Bowling Green early Friday night, everybody looks exhausted and irritated from being trapped together all day.
The hotel lobby smells like coffee and chlorine.
Coaches immediately start barking schedules at us.
Team meeting in forty-five.
Breakfast at seven.
Curfew at eleven.
The usual.
Still, the atmosphere shifts the second we get there. It always does before games. Everybody gets quieter without meaning to. More focused.
Even Scott tones it down slightly.
Slightly.
I grab my room key while he attempts to steal extra cookies from the front desk.
"Allen," Coach warns immediately.
Scott looks genuinely offended. "I'm carb-loading."
"You're standing still."
"Mentally I'm sprinting."
Coach points toward the elevators before Scott can keep arguing.
When I pass Logan near the hallway afterward, he barely acknowledges me again.
Just that same distant look.
And I understand it.
Because if somebody treated Jenny the way I've treated Everly lately, I'd hate him too.
The realization sits ugly in my chest all the way upstairs.
Later that night, after meetings finally end and the hotel quiets down, Scott immediately collapses onto one of the beds with the TV remote already in his hand.
"You think Kentucky people get offended if you call Kentucky Fried Chicken just chicken?"
I throw a pillow at his face.
He catches it one-handed. "Hostile environment."
By midnight, the room finally goes dark.
Scott falls asleep almost instantly because apparently nothing bothers him ever.
I lay awake staring at the ceiling instead.
The air conditioner hums softly in the background while passing headlights slide across the curtains every few minutes.
And somewhere in the middle of the dark hotel room, one thought keeps repeating itself over and over again:
I should've fixed this sooner.