Chapter 18 Caleb #2
“Actually,” Dad cuts in, polite but firm, “I need to talk to him for a bit first.”
“About what?”
He gives me that look, one that’s half concern and half disappointment. “About the game. About some things I noticed.”
Of course.
“Here?” I glance around at the emptying lobby, where a couple of my teammates are still milling about. “Can this wait until we—”
“Just a few minutes.” He steps slightly away, clearly expecting me to follow.
My eyes flick to Miguel, and his jaw tightens.
Celeste squeezes my arm and lets go. “We’ll be right over there,” she says softly, gesturing to a bench.
I follow Dad a few paces away, just out of earshot. Miguel stays where he is.
“You played well,” Dad starts, voice low. “Better than I’ve seen you in a while.”
“Thanks,” I say, waiting.
He doesn’t make me wait long. “But you’re still inconsistent. You hesitate when you don’t need to. You let your emotions bleed into your focus. I saw it—you’d miss a shot, and your whole energy changed.”
“I recovered,” I argue, heat prickling under my skin. “We won. I hustled. I—”
“You let that one missed three in the first half live in your head for three possessions,” he says. “You can’t do that if you want to be taken seriously. The pros aren’t looking for someone who hesitates.”
“I’m trying,” I say, more sharply than I mean to.
“I know you’re trying,” he replies. “I just need you to understand that this matters. Your future opportunities rely on these games. You can’t afford to have off nights because your personal life is messy or because you haven’t slept.”
My chest constricts. “I’m working on it. I’m in therapy and I’m doing everything everyone’s told me to do.”
He sighs that disappointed lawyer sigh. “I’m not saying you’re not. I’m saying you need to push harder. Be tougher. You can’t lean on Miguel every time something gets hard. He’s not a solution, Caleb. He’s…” He waves a hand, searching for the word. “…a distraction.”
The word hits me like a slap.
Behind my ribs, something sharp snaps.
“What?” I ask quietly.
“You heard me,” Dad says, dropping his voice even lower. “I saw him here, front and center. I’m glad you’re close, I am, but there’s a line. You’re tethering yourself to him like a lifeline, and it’s making you soft.”
Soft.
Blood rushes in my ears… the lobby tilts.
“Don’t talk about him like that,” I say, voice shaking.
“I’m not talking about him,” he lies. “I’m talking about you. About what’s best for your future. You need to broaden your circle. Bond with your teammates. Meet people your own age who aren’t—” He glances subtly at Miguel, then back at me. “—who doesn’t encourage this level of dependency.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides. “He’s the reason I’m even still here,” I snap before I can stop myself. “You have no idea what he does for me.”
Dad’s eyes harden. “He enables you. That’s not the same as helping.”
That’s when Miguel moves.
He doesn’t storm over, doesn’t make a scene. He just walks up, quiet and steady, stopping at my side so our shoulders almost touch.
“Everything okay?” he asks, looking between us. His tone is mild, but there’s steel under it.
“We’re having a private conversation,” Dad says.
“With your son, who texted me a few days ago because he couldn’t breathe,” Miguel replies, calm but sharp. “Because you bombarded him after his away game. So forgive me if I’m a little invested in how you talk to him right now.”
My heart lurches. “Miggy—”
Dad stiffens. “This is between Caleb and me.”
Miguel nods once. “I get that. But if you’re going to imply I’m dragging him down, I’m gonna have something to say about it.”
“Ashton,” Celeste calls softly from the bench, sensing the tension. She stands, worry etched all over her face.
Dad ignores her. His jaw works as he looks at Miguel. “I didn’t say you were dragging him down. I said this level of dependency isn’t healthy.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Miguel’s laugh is humorless.
“You think I want him panicking on the phone with me because his brain is trying to kill him? You think I enjoy watching him not eat for twelve hours until I show up with food?” His voice doesn’t rise, but every word hits like a punch.
“I’m not his crutch, Dad. I’m the one making sure he doesn’t break. ”
Dad’s face flushes. “He has a therapist for that.”
“He sees her once a week,” Miguel shoots back.
“The rest of the time? It’s me talking him through breathing exercises at two in the morning.
Me picking him up when he uses every ounce of courage he has to text, ‘I need you.’ Me reminding him that the shit in his head are thoughts, not fucking facts. You know what he says about you?”
“Miguel,” I hiss, panic spiking. The room spins, and it takes everything in me not to pass out.
He glances at me, eyes softening for a second, then back at my dad.
“He thinks he’s a project you’re failing at.
A checklist you keep throwing more bullet points on: play better, be tougher, meet girls, and bond with the team.
You want him to be okay? Start by not making him feel like being in therapy is a moral flaw. ”
Dad’s whole posture goes cold. “I have done everything for that boy,” he says, voice low and shaking now.
“When his mother left, I searched for years. When I finally found him, I took him in. I gave him a home, a family, therapy, and opportunities. I have sacrificed more than you know, Miguel. So don’t you fucking dare stand there and lecture me about what he needs. ”
“I know what you’ve done,” Miguel says, and there’s no mockery, no denial. “I’ve seen the way you love him. But love isn’t a pass on the harm you don’t mean to cause. You can give someone the world and still make them feel like they’re failing you just by breathing wrong.”
Silence stretches.
I feel like I’m standing between a live wire and a gas leak.
“Stop,” I choke out. “Please.”
They both look at me.
My chest is tight, eyes burning, and throat closing around words.
“I can’t… do this,” I say, shaking my head.
“Not like this. Not with you fighting over who gets to ‘fix’ me.” I look at Dad first. “I know you’ve done a lot for me and I could never thank you enough for getting me away from where I grew up.
I know you love me. But I am not a performance review.
I can’t keep sprinting after your approval and still have anything left to stay alive. ”
His face crumples, just a little. “Caleb, that’s not—”
“And you,” I say, turning to Miguel, heart hammering for an entirely different reason now. “You can’t go to war with him every time he says something shitty. I need you both, and I can’t keep being the battlefield.”
Miguel’s mouth presses into a thin line. He nods once. “Okay,” he says quietly. “You’re right.”
Dad exhales, shoulders dropping a fraction. “I… didn’t realize you felt that way,” he says.
Because I never tell you. Because every time I try, you talk over it with advice and plans.
“I’m trying to be okay,” I say, my voice raw. “I’m doing the therapy. I’m considering meds. The fucking safety plan. I’m still here. Isn’t that enough for today? Can you—both of you—let it be enough for one night?”
Celeste reaches us then, eyes shiny, hands wringing. “Ashton,” she says softly. “Ya. That’s enough. Let’s go get food, talk later. Not here.”
Too late.
Dad looks at me for a long time, something like regret flickering in his eyes. Finally, he nods stiffly. “You played well,” he says again, quieter this time. “We’ll… talk another day, have dinner another day. You probably have schoolwork or something that needs to be done, right?”
All I can do is nod.
He turns and walks toward the exit. Celeste squeezes my arm on the way by, whispering, “Te quiero, mijo,” before hurrying after him.
The lobby feels bigger once they’re gone.
It’s just me and Miguel, the echo of their footsteps, and the thud of my heart in my ears.
“I’m sorry,” Miguel says first, rubbing a hand over his face. “I shouldn’t have—”
“No,” I cut in, shaking my head. “Don’t. Don’t apologize for defending me.”
He exhales, eyes closing briefly. When he opens them again, they’re softer. Tired. “You okay?”
No. I feel like I’ve been flayed open.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I don’t know how I feel anymore.”
He nods, stepping closer, close enough that the heat of him starts to thaw the cold under my skin. He can’t pull me in with the whole gym still half watching, but he hovers.
“Come home with me,” he says quietly. “We’ll grab your stuff from the dorm. You don’t need to sit in that room alone tonight.”
My body answers before my brain can. I nod. “Yeah. Okay.”