Page 71 of Older

Scotty and I dried off with our respective towels, and then he sauntered over to Halley while I rummaged through my bag for a protein bar.

“You were awesome out there,” Scotty said, collapsing beside her with the towel draped around his neck.

“Thanks.” She sent him a half-smile, attention shared between Scotty and her pencil tapping against a half-scribbled notebook page. “How long have you been training?”

“Almost a year, now. Changed my life.” He looked my way. “Coach is incredible. You should stick with it as long as you can.”

“You look so confident.”

“Took a while to get to this point. You have to really want it. Believe in yourself. You can’t fake it, you know?”

She nodded absently, glancing up at me as I watched from a few feet away.

I cleared my throat. “I’ll walk you home,” I said to Halley, slinging the strap of my bag over my shoulder. My studio was only a mile away from Whit and Tara’s house, and it was a mild November evening. Perfect for walking.

She nibbled on the pencil eraser. “You don’t have to. I’m still finishing up this thesis.”

“I’ll wait.”

Scotty said his goodbyes and slipped out the main doors, leaving Halley with her nose in the notebook. I chewed on my cheek for a moment before strolling forward and taking a seat beside her against the wall. She stiffened at my presence, her grip on the pencil tightening while she stared down at the lead-smudged paragraph.

“How’s it going?” I asked, nodding at the schoolwork in her lap.

Blinking down at her handwriting, she flattened her lips as if to tell me that, obviously, it sucked. “Repeating senior year is so much fun. I’m honestly loving it.”

My head fell back against the wall as I twisted toward her. “It’ll be worth it. You’re working hard. You’re focused.”

“I’m desperate.” She made a face. “If I don’t pass this year, I don’t know what I’m going to do. It’s mortifying.”

“It’s not. Nobody has the right to judge you unless they’ve been in your shoes.”

Sighing miserably, she slammed the notebook shut and turned to meet my eyes. “Did you ever struggle in school?”

“I did,” I admitted. “I never graduated. Whitney got pregnant on the tail end of my senior year and I dropped out and got my GED.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Pursing my lips, I studied her, my mind flickering with buried memories of those difficult years. “My dad passed away from liver cancer when I was thirteen, and then my mom died four years later in a motorcycle accident with her boyfriend. Fucked me up. I got into fights, skipped a lot of school, and didn’t think there was much hope for my future.”

Her eyes flared, twinkling with sentiment. “That’s awful. I’m sorry.”

I drew my legs up and folded my hands, pressing farther against the wall. “My brother had it worse. Drugs, petty thefts, even jail time. The only thing that pulled me from a similar fate was having my daughter. She forced me to grow up quick, gave me something to live for. I wanted to be better. For her. For her future.”

Halley pressed the pencil to her chin, stewing in my words as her eyes glassed over. “Was it easy? Turning your life around?”

I huffed a laugh. “Fuck no. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. But it was worth it. When something bigger than you—something more significant than your own bullshit—comes into play, it sobers you, and you see things through different eyes. It’s like a storm clearing. Suddenly, every obstacle, every easy way out, paled in comparison to the responsibility I had to be a good dad. There were setbacks, moments of doubt, battles with my own demons. But you find a newfound sense of purpose to get you through it.” We stared at each other, and I watched a myriad of emotions splay across her face. “So, no, it wasn’t easy. But it was necessary. And in the end, it transformed me into the person I needed to be for her…which was a stepping stone for who I needed to be for myself.”

Inhaling softly, Halley settled back against the wall and lowered her chin. “That’s inspiring. Gives me hope.”

“Good. Sometimes that’s all we need.” I smiled at her. “Sometimes it’s all we have.”

She nodded, taking it all in, letting my words fill her empty pockets. “My father always used to tell me that I wasn’t good at doing hard things.” Her voice cracked as she chomped down on her bottom lip. “Every time I fail at something, it feels like a testament to that. Like he was right all along. Repeating school, these stupid panic attacks. Even little things, like dropping a plate, or forgetting an appointment, or stumbling through training.”

My brows gathered, my chest heavy. “He lied to you, Halley. You’ve already accomplished the hardest thing.”

Cautiously, her chin tipped back up, her eyes rounding with curiosity as she glanced at me. “What’s that?”

“You got back up.”

---