Chapter 9
I wake up slowly, like I’m being dragged back into my body against my will.
First thing I notice: I’m not dead.
Second thing: I’m in a bed.
Third thing: not my bed.
I blink up at the ceiling, which is familiar in that vague, déjà vu kind of way.
There’s a faint crack in the corner near the light fixture.
I turn my head to see soccer posters, old, faded ones with the same familiar heroes I grew up with.
There’s a shelf with a couple of trophies that I remember teasing Colten about the last time I came over.
Oh.
I’m in Colten’s room, the one he grew up in.
I push myself up on my elbows, feeling vaguely more human, but then squint at my lap. Are those—? No way.
Power Scouts bedsheets. A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, not that I would bother to. I need to laugh in his face about this.
"He’s never used these when I visited before," I mumble, brushing my hand across the colorful duvet.
Footsteps approach from the hallway, and I look up as Colten steps into the room. He pauses when he sees me awake, surprise flickering across his face.
Then he's moving, closing the distance in seconds. He sets a glass of water on the nightstand before sinking into the chair by the bed and leaning toward me.
“How do you feel?” he asks, voice tight, his eyes scanning my face like he’s marking everything wrong with me. “Dizzy? Nauseous? We can still go to the hospital, I just—my mom said it was probably exhaustion, but you passed out, and the combine is coming up, so if you want to go—”
“Wait, wait,” I interrupt, gesturing at the bed. “More importantly, explain this.”
His gaze follows my hand. He blinks. “What?”
I sigh dramatically, picking up an edge of the blanket to show off the faded, colorful cartoon characters. “These, the Power Scouts. I don’t know how to tell you this, but this is deeply embarrassing for you.”
There’s a pause. Then he exhales through his nose, dragging a hand down his face like he’s reconsidering every life choice that led him here.
“Patrick, you literally just passed out,” he says, his words dripping with disapproval.
“Yeah, but—”
“You look like you’ve been living behind a gas station.”
I raise my eyebrows, giving him my own disapproving look. “Rude.”
“And your primary concern is my bedding?” he asks, dangerously calm.
I nod, tapping the bedsheet. “As your best friend, I need to make sure you keep up with the cool kids, Colten.”
He holds his annoyance for another second before the tension dissipates. He lets out a heavy sigh as he rolls his eyes.
“Why are you like this?” he asks.
“Because I’m your best friend?” I offer, with a small grin.
“You’re an asshole,” he says, but there’s no heat in it. Just relief, softening his edges.
“But I’m your asshole,” I tell him, fluttering my lashes. He gives me a very, very unimpressed look.
“I can’t believe you,” he adds, shaking his head. “Three days, Patrick. It’s a forty-five minute drive.”
“Only when traffic is good,” I remind him. “Besides, it’s three hours with public transit.”
He rolls his eyes so hard I’m worried they might get stuck. “Oh my god.”
I smile, happy despite what it took to get here, because he’s talking to me like normal.
He’s not ignoring me, he’s not leaving. He’s right here, right beside me, like he should be.
“You should be training,” he says after a second, the edge creeping back into his voice. “The combine is coming up. What are you doing, wasting time like this?”
I tilt my head, watching him. He looks…tired. Not like me—lost in the transit system for three days tired—but something deeper. Like he hasn’t been sleeping either.
“I need my physical therapist,” I tell him while trying to think of some dumb joke to lighten the mood.
I can't.
I don't want to joke about this.
Taking in a deep, shaky breath, I continue, “You promised me you wouldn’t leave again.”
My voice cracks as I add, “I can’t do this without you.”
His body goes still. It’s small, most people probably wouldn’t even notice.
His fingers tighten against his knee before he leans back, putting space between us.
“I won't let you do this alone,” he says quietly, staring at his fingers as they tap against his knee. “I just...I need some time to figure this out.”
“And you couldn’t let me know before you left?” I ask, swallowing hard. “How long were you going to let me think you were just ignoring me again? What if I hadn't picked your lock?”
Colten sighs, dropping his face into his hands. He drags his fingers through his hair, accidentally pulling pieces loose from his ponytail.
“Look, I'll drive you back, but I need more time—”
“No.” The word leaves my mouth before I even think about it.
Colten looks up, frowning at me. “That’s not your call to make.”
I take a deep breath and remind myself that Colten is my favorite person in the world, even if I want to smack him sometimes. Like right now.
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but I’m not leaving, so get over it,” I tell him.
“You don’t understand,” Colten insists, shaking his head. “It’s better this way, for both of us.”
Now that makes me angry. “You don’t get to decide that I’m better off without you.”
His shoulders curl inward. It’s a rare look for him, one full of vulnerability. I sit up straighter, wanting to pull him back up and remind him who he is. Maybe shake him a little to get him to stop overthinking.
“What if…” His voice catches, and I stay where I am. “What if what I want…isn’t what you want?”
I don’t hesitate. “Then we’ll figure it out.”
His eyes flick back to mine.
I add, a bit dryly, “It’s called being an adult.”
Colten stares at me, blinking. “Just like that?”
I nod. “Just like that.”
Colten’s head falls into his hands again. “Patrick, why are you so…”
He trails off, but that doesn’t matter, because I can tell he’s coming around.
“We’ve been friends for three years,” I push. “If you don’t want to talk about whatever is bugging you, fine, but does our friendship matter so little that you will run away without even trying to work it out with me?”
“Of course not, but…”
“But nothing,” I say, letting out a loud sigh. “We’ve seen each other at our worst—you don’t get to run away and not even try, not when I’ve seen you accidentally pass to the opposing team, and you’ve seen me hit my head with a ball more than is probably healthy.”
Colten looks back up, watching me quietly.
I turn down my volume a bit, taking one of his hands in my own, easing the death grip he has on his hair. “Please stay by my side, Colten. You don’t have to talk about it, but you can’t keep shutting me out.”
Squeezing his hand, Colten looks down at where our hands are connected before dipping his head and nodding. “You…you’re right. I’m sorry, Patrick.”
“Of course I am,” I say, grinning, though it’s not as wide as usual. “You overthink, I underthink—we work perfectly.”
Colten snorts at that before standing up, clearing his throat and getting back to business. He sheds off any idea of insecurity like it never happened.
“Fine, then,” he says, sniffing. “If we’re doing this, you need to take a shower. You smell like a biohazard.”
I grin wider, glad he’s back to his usual self. “Or like determination,” I suggest.
“Determination usually doesn’t smell like something crawled up your ass and died,” he replies.
I choke on my laugh, slapping the Power Scouts’ blanket. “Rude!”
“Yet accurate,” he says dryly, but his lips twitch with a smile.
Shaking my head, I say, “Fine. I won’t say no to a shower or food, but only because I respect your professional opinion.”
“You don’t respect anything,” he mutters, walking out of the room.
“I respect you.”
That almost makes him trip. Almost.
I bite back a laugh as warmth settles in my chest. I’m so glad I found him.
***
Debby watches me like I’m a science experiment while I eat, which is fair. I am putting away an alarming amount of food for someone who passed out less than an hour ago.
But I am also a 6’4” athlete and can eat a decent amount even on days I haven’t been getting my calories solely from a Temo protein powder.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” she asks for the third time.
“I’m great,” I say around a mouthful of something homemade and incredible. It’s my fifth plate so far.
She hums, but doesn’t stop watching me.
Colten leans against the counter, arms crossed, also watching me. It’s not in a judgmental way, but with a focus that feels…raw.
Like he’s cataloging every bite, every movement, and making sure I’m actually okay.
It makes my chest feel weird, and there’s a restless feeling buzzing under my skin despite still feeling exhausted.
I eat faster. I’m sure it’s just from the Temo protein powder chemicals that Colten warned me about when I first accepted it from Brian. I did drink a lot of it over the last three days.
After eating another two plates, I’m forced into the bathroom with a clean towel and change of clothes.
Stepping under the hot spray of the shower is likely the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Hot water, soap, and Colten’s fancy bergamot shampoo. All of these help finally wash away the three days of travel.
I stand there longer than I should, letting it hit the back of my neck and shoulders, simply enjoying the water and breathing in the scent I’m so familiar with.
It helps a lot. I feel much more like a person after I step out of the shower. The smell of Colten’s shampoo continues to surround me, comforting.
Colten also left me clothes, like the wonderful friend he is.
Unfortunately, our size difference is very, very apparent.
“I look like a slut,” I say, staring at myself in the mirror with horror.
The sweatpants technically fit if by “fit” you mean clinging to my thighs and dick like those spandex outfits girls wear all the time. It doesn’t help that his underwear didn’t fit, so there’s no barrier beyond the suffocating hug of his sweatpants.
Not to mention the shirt. It’s tight, like, really tight. And short, which I know it isn’t on Colten. On me, it’s basically a crop top.
I turn sideways, where it’s even worse.