Page 75 of High Hopes

“This again?” His jaw tightens, his voice clipped. “That fellowship wasn’t the right fit for her, and I wasn’t the only one who thought so. Don’t be naive, Liam.”

“Oh, right,” I say, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “Because you’re such an excellent judge of character.”

“Enough,” my mom says, her voice shaking slightly. She’s always the referee, swooping in to stop things before they spiral too far. “This is Christmas. Can’t we just have one peaceful meal?”

I glance at her, then at James, who’s giving me a subtle shake of his head. I wish I could be the kind of person who lets it go, who can bite his tongue and play along for the sake of peace.By now, that’s the only thing that keeps the tension from boiling over.

My dad will believe whatever he wants, and nothing I say is going to change that. He’s immovable, untouchable. God forbid I act the same.

I sigh and drag a hand through my hair. “Fine. Forget it. If you want to move on and pretend it never happened, then let’s talk about something neutral, something that won’t ruffleDavid’sfeathers.” I cough to clear my throat. “Chase is leaving, which means I’m going to be roommate-less for the rest of the year.”

“You should ask your cousin,” my mom says, perking up like she’s just solved world hunger. “Your uncle mentioned Warren needs a place. Wouldn’t it be nice to be with family?”

I snort. “He’s hardly family.”

It’s not a fair argument. Warren’s mom married my uncle years ago, and by all accounts, they’re part of the Donovan dynasty. But Warren? He was already a full-grown adult by then, and it shows. He’s distant, like life handed him a bad deal, and he’s still mad about it. Not exactly my idea of an ideal roommate.

My dad sighs. “If you’re so particular, find someone else. But don’t expect us to cover the difference if you’re living alone.”

I stab a piece of ham and chew it like it personally offended me. Warren’s not ideal, but the thought starts to settle. He’s grumpy, sure, but maybe that’ll work. I’m not looking for a best friend—just someone to split costs with, someone who won’t care if I come and go without small talk or forced bonding over video games.

“Fine,” I say finally, my voice low. “I’ll think about it.”

My mom smiles like I’ve just saved Christmas, and James gives me a small, sympathetic smirk. I tune out the rest of dinner, retreating into my own thoughts about the tournament,about Birdie, and the looming reality of another semester filled with more questions than answers.

All I know is peace might be what my mom wants, but it’s the last thing I’m feeling right now.

27

LIAM

Winter break is nearly over,and my place feels twice as empty now that Chase is packing up to leave. Even with his shoes scattered near the door and the faint smell of whatever protein-heavy monstrosity he cooked this morning still lingering in the air, the space is hollow.

Maybe it’s because I know he’s leaving for good this time. Or maybe it’s because I’ve been left on read by Birdie for what feels like an eternity, and my brain won’t shut up about it.

I shake my head and shove another stack of red plastic cups onto the counter. It’s New Year’s Eve, and Chase’s goodbye party slash New Year’s bash is happening here. My contribution? Cleaning up the mess that Chase didn’t bother with and preparing to host a hundred soccer players and their assorted hangers-on without losing my sanity.

“Liam!” Chase’s voice booms from somewhere down the hall. “Where’s the tape?”

I glance at the rolls of duct tape and masking tape sitting on the counter, then yell back, “Which one?”

“Any! Both! Doesn’t matter!”

I grab the masking tape and walk to his room, where he’s half-buried in a pile of boxes, a roll of bubble wrap dangling offhis desk like some kind of sad streamer. He looks up, grinning from ear to ear.

“You’re supposed to be helping,” he says.

“I am helping,” I say, tossing him the tape. “This is me helping you not look like a total slob when your guests show up tonight.”

He laughs and rips a piece off with his teeth. “Fair. But let’s be real—you’re only doing this so you don’t have to think about Birdie.”

“First of all, you don’t need to point it out. Second of all, shut up.”

“Uh-huh.” He smirks, taping a box closed with the kind of enthusiasm only Chase can muster. “You’re quite testy tonight.” Before I can come up with a response, someone pounds on the front door, and Chase grins. “Better get that. Party’s starting early.”

As I head over to answer, I remind myself to breathe. Tonight is supposed to be easy—no overthinking, no spiraling, just a bunch of teammates and friends celebrating the start of a new year. I open the door to a crowd of familiar faces, and within minutes, the apartment is packed.

The music’s blasting, people are laughing, and the smell of pizza mixes with beer and cologne in the air. Chase is in his element, moving through the crowd like a politician at a rally, shaking hands and clapping people on the back.

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