41 - Wesley
Wesley
When I was sixteen, I tried to have it all.
A few girls from school had this standing tradition of going to the diner down the street between the final bell and practice. It was never anything big or complicated, just fries and milkshakes, piling into a booth and talking about whatever crossed their minds. They asked me every time.
And every time, I said no.
Usually, that hour was spoken for before it even started.
I used it to run to the grocery store, or head home to switch over the laundry, or start dinner if it was one of those days.
The kind of quiet, necessary things that kept everything moving.
The kind of things my dad never had time to get to, no matter how hard he tried.
He never asked me to do it. Not once. Hell, he never even hinted.
But by sixteen, I’d already been filling in the gaps for two years, and somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like a choice. It was routine. For all of us.
That day, though, when they asked, I said yes.
I remember how it felt, too. Sitting there in that cracked vinyl booth, laughing so hard my stomach hurt, my head tipping back like I didn’t have a single thing waiting on me. For that hour, it felt like I got to be sixteen in the way everyone else was.
It was only an hour. It wasn’t a big deal. I told myself I could do all three. I could show up for my family, keep up with soccer, and still carve out space for something as small and harmless as hanging out with friends.
It worked.
Right up until my phone buzzed halfway through my milkshake.
It was my dad asking me where I was. His voice had been tight, not angry, but stretched thin with panic.
The shift in my chest was immediate, like a switch flipping as I told him I was out with friends.
I remember him cutting me off impatiently. Emma’s field trip form was still sitting on the counter. I’d forgotten to make sure she took it to school that morning. He had work, and the school office was closing in less than half an hour.
They wouldn’t let her go if it wasn’t turned in.
Emma had been talking about that field trip for weeks.
I’ve never forgotten the frustration that bled into my dad’s voice when he reminded me that I was supposed to turn it in, and it was almost too late. Because I’d forgotten.
I pushed to my feet without a second thought, my chair scraping loudly against the tile as I bolted for home. It was a long shot, but I wanted to fix it.
The whole way home, I kept thinking about how I should’ve never gone in the first place.
When I got there, Emma was sitting at the kitchen table, her eyes red and her hands curled around the edges of the form like it might vanish if she let go. My dad kissed my forehead on his way out, already halfway out the door before I could say anything.
We made it.
I got her to the school with minutes to spare, breathless and flushed, the secretary clearly annoyed as she took the paper from my hand. But Emma would go. Back then, that was the only thing that mattered.
The relief barely had time to settle before I saw the clock and felt something entirely different take its place.
I was late for practice. Not slightly late. Really fucking late.
By the time I got to the field and got Emma settled into the stands with a juice box and a smile, practice was already in full swing. Coach didn’t say anything when I slid in, just blew the whistle and pointed for me to join the drills.
But I remember the flash of disappointment on his face.
It was quick, almost gone before it even fully landed, but it was there. It was the same tight edge I’d heard in my dad’s voice on the phone.
I ran harder than I ever had that day.
Hell, I’m still running nearly ten years later, and it never fully goes away.
I remember tucking Emma into bed that night, her hugging me like turning in that form was the difference between everything and nothing.
She told me she thought she wasn’t going to get to go.
“You will always get to go,” I told her.
And I meant it.
That was the moment everything clicked into place.
That one hour of fun hadn’t been worth what came with it. Not the panic, not the scrambling, not the feeling of almost letting more important things slip through my hands.
I couldn’t balance it the way I wanted to believe I could.
Something always gives.
So I decided, right then and there, that it wouldn’t be my family. It wouldn’t be soccer.
I stopped choosing anything that could put either of them at risk.
After that, every decision got easier.
I knew what mattered. I knew what didn’t.
And when I started to forget that in college, I was reminded just as harshly.
When I’d told Nathan about that, I’d said it wasn’t a big deal. And it wasn’t. On its own, that situation was nothing. Neither was that day when I was sixteen. But stacked together with a hundred other moments like it, there isn’t a version of my life where I get to have it all.
I’m well aware that it’s bullshit. I know it’s not fair. I even know that I could say fuck it and do what I want anyway. But what’s the point when taking what I want could cost me everything I’m on the brink of?
So, I make the hard choices. I walk away from things that matter, even when I don’t want to. I shut down feelings before they can take root and remind myself of the only two things that I will not compromise.
Family.
Soccer.
But standing on this sidewalk now, watching Nathan’s rideshare disappear into traffic, it doesn’t feel the same.
The city moves around me in a blur of headlights and noise, people passing by without a second glance, and all I can see is the back of his car driving away from me.
My arms wrap tightly around myself, fingers digging into my sleeves like I can hold everything in place if I don’t loosen my grip.
I take a step forward without meaning to, like some part of me still thinks I can stop him, as if he isn’t already gone.
His taillights vanish.
Something in my chest caves in.
Every other time I’ve made the right choice, I’ve been able to stand in it and breathe through it until it settled into something manageable.
This time, it feels like I’m carving something out of myself and leaving it behind.
I don’t even know how Nathan got under my skin like this. I tried to keep my distance, to hold my boundaries where they were safe and clear, but he slipped past every single one of them until he became one of the best parts of my day without me even realizing when it happened.
My breath comes in short, uneven bursts. My throat tightens, and I swallow hard against it, blinking quickly as the pressure builds behind my eyes.
No. Not here. Not like this.
“Wesley?”
Harper’s voice cuts through the noise behind me.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, the words out before I even think about them. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I just got here. I was heading in, but I saw you.” She pauses, her voice softening. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
The lie breaks me in two.
She doesn’t respond right away.
I feel her step closer, the warmth of her presence settling at my side while she watches me carefully. I don’t know what my face looks like, but it’s enough that she knows. She knows without me saying a word.
“Oh, Wesley.”
That’s all it takes.
Everything I’ve been holding in snaps.
I turn into her without thinking, my hands fisting in the back of her jacket as I press my face into her shoulder, and then I’m gone.
My body shakes with it, every breath is uneven and shaking like I’ve forgotten how to do it right. Harper’s steady arms come around me instantly, holding me together while I come apart.
The first sob tears out of me so hard it steals the air from my lungs, my body folding in on itself as everything I’ve been holding back crashes down all at once.
There’s nothing but her arms around me and the sound of my own breaking.
I cry for me. For Nathan. For the years that I’ve carefully set myself on the back burner, focusing only on what needs to happen for everyone else.
I cry until it burns. Until my chest aches and my throat is raw.
Only once I run out of tears do the sharp edges of it all dull into something exhausted and hollow.
Harper doesn’t rush me. She silently rubs circles on my back, like I’m a little kid.
In a way, I am because I’ve never learned how to get through something like this. My mom never got a chance to hold me while my heart broke.
After her death, I never let anyone close enough to break it.
But fuck, this isn’t breaking.
It’s shattering.
And I don’t know how to put myself back together.
Eventually, still pressed into her shoulder, my voice comes out rough and unsteady. “He said he loved me.” I let out a hollow, disbelieving laugh. “And then basically told me he wished he didn’t.”
I feel her body tense beneath my hands. Out of everyone I know, she’s the most rational, but she’s also loyal enough that she’d hunt him down without hesitation if I asked her to.
But I don’t.
Because he didn’t do this to us.
I did.
I pull back, meeting her eyes, finding nothing there but concern.
“You want him. Why won’t you let yourself have this?” She asks gently.
“You should understand,” I say, shaking my head. “You gave up soccer to be with James. I can’t do that. Not just because I love it, but because I can’t afford to let it go.”
Her expression shifts, something lingering under the surface.
“James isn’t Nathan,” she says quietly. “If anyone would understand your career choice, it’s him.” She holds my gaze. “And you’re not me.”
I blink, pulling a strand of my hair that had dried against my cheek back away from my face.
“And not all love requires that kind of sacrifice,” she continues. “Not the kind you’re talking about.”
“I didn’t know he loved me,” I admit, swiping at my face even though it doesn’t do much. “When he said it changed for him, I didn’t realize how much it had.”
“Wesley,” she says, softer now, “you know I’ve always got your back, but that man looks at you like you’re the only thing worth his attention. Did you really not know that was love?”
She pauses, just long enough for it to settle.
“Or did you just not let yourself believe it?”
My breath hitches as memories flash through my mind, one after another, right up to our last night together. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push them back before they can drag me under again.
I don’t answer because the truth hurts too much to say out loud. The truth that I knew.
I saw what it was becoming, but I ignored it, desperate to let myself have something. Desperate to hide behind our stupid, fake boundaries and benefits, even when we both knew they didn’t mean shit.
I wanted him to want me for real. And I let him want me, knowing exactly how it would end.
My skin crawls, and if I could escape myself, I would.
He should hate me.
“We were always going to end like this,” I say, trying to stomach it. “I couldn’t risk it.”
I need her to understand. I need someone to tell me I didn’t just make the biggest mistake of my life.
She doesn’t do that. Instead, she lets me keep going.
“I can’t lose everything I’ve worked for,” I say, my voice steadier now, even if it feels like I’m forcing it. “My family, my career, everything depends on me staying focused. I don’t get to choose me. Not right now.”
Harper tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, her thumb brushing under my eye in a failed attempt to fix my smudged mascara before she gives a small, resigned shrug.
“Just a few more years,” I add, pulling back slightly, nodding like I can convince both of us. “That’s all I need. A few more years of being all in, and then maybe…”
I trail off.
Maybe what?
Maybe Nathan will still love me?
The thought feels ridiculous even as it crosses my mind. I could never ask him to wait. I’d never want him to.
He deserves someone who chooses him every time and without hesitation.
Harper is quiet for a moment, letting everything settle.
“You’re sure about this?” she asks finally.
No.
I want to knock on his door and take it all back. I want to be wrapped up in his arms, to laugh with him, to eat pizza on his couch doing nothing, to run the bleachers with him until we’re both breathless and grinning.
But responsibility matters. Consistency matters. And I’ve spent more than ten years putting myself last. I don’t know how to do anything different.
“Yes,” I say.
And this time, the lie can’t break me. I’m already in pieces.