Page 18 of Drop Three

I should more, but all in good time.

King’s large frame tumbles my way, throwing an arm around my shoulder while shuffling me at his side. “Man, where you runnin’ off to? The boys and I are hitting up Delta tonight. It’s not the same without you.”

Called it.

I know he can read my body language. I hate socializing with strangers—let alone in a tight space with sweaty bodies. Claustrophobia is unavoidable at Delta. Yes, there are beautiful women, but there are also beautiful women at Target. I bet no man has ever considered visiting there for some late-night shenanigans.

I sound much older than I am. Fuck. This is why I’m single and why I have yet to try. No one has seemed worth it.

No one worth the struggle to put in the work on myself.

I let King direct us near my things and send him a side smirk when he finally lets me go. “I sit in the corner all night, King. What do you mean it’s not the same without me?”

He throws his head back and laughs. “I’m just sayin’. We miss you, man.”

Have I really been that distant?

Shit, I hate that. I never intended to seclude myself, but I’ve been struggling more than usual lately, and it’s fucking with my head.

Despite only having gone a few times, therapy seems to be helping, strangely enough. I think it’s taking me time to process what I’ve been working through with Dr. Banks.

It’s a delayed reaction to the trauma in my life.

I get where King is coming from, but summoning myself to interact with people when my mood is pissed and I have nothing valuable to say sounds like a sure way to ruin the night.

Again, I’ll pass.

“I appreciate that, King, but I’m gonna sit this one out.”

King takes the bench before me while I collect my stuff, ensuring all my gear is stored neatly. “You good, Bodhi? I’m not about to parent you, but you seem off.”

I exhale slowly. “I’m getting there. It’s been a tough week. My dad can’t make it to the game Monday night. I should be thankful he can watch online, but my head’s been out of whack since.”

For someone with parents who worship the ground he walks on, Kingston Baylor can somehow understand and empathize well with people who come from less. Less when it comes to relationships.

It’s probably why he takes meaningful friendships seriously.

King’s mom has been present for all his milestones as a child and an adult. My mom left my family with nothing but broken hearts and a scribbled note that said she “might come back if things don’t work out.”

It’s unfortunate, but that’s life, right? Life doesn’t give a fuck how much you grew up adoring your mom and how messed up her absence would leave your dad.

It doesn’t care.

King sees through my struggle and has never once asked me about it. It’s surprising. Callaway never shies away from speaking up and calling me out, but King studies me. He inspects my behavior like a fucking therapist himself and checks in on me from afar, but he’s never once interfered in that way.

Until now.

We’re equally matched on the outside but vastly different on the inside.

Kingston Baylor stands tall, towering over everyone he meets. We’re close in height and similar in build. His warm brown skin lacks imperfections, and the team likes to badger him about dropping his skincare routine because he’s as close to pretty as it gets.

King takes a deep breath. “I get it. I’m only looking out for you. You’re not alone; you know that, right?”

I do.

I’ve never once felt a lack of support from my teammates. Rooming with the guys I consider my best friends gives me much more ease than ever. Despite the differences between us, we’ve got each other’s backs, which counts a whole hell of a lot to me.

“Thanks, King.”

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