Page 125 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

I didn’t respond. The words tangled, heavy, caught in the web of everything that had gone unspoken. But I didn’t retreat. I couldn’t.

And in that moment, everything I thought I knew about him—about us—shifted. It felt fragile, like glass on the verge of shattering. But it was there. A moment that should never have existed, but one I knew I could never erase.

When he turned to leave, there was a finality in his eyes.

"I'm going. I won't come back."

I nodded, my throat aching. "I know."

He said nothing else. Just turned for the door. But before crossing that final threshold, he glanced back. His eyes—dark, hollow, cupped with something nearly forgotten—held the last flicker of what might have been affection. Almost.

"You're gonna be okay, Ethan," he said. "Maybe better than I ever was."

And with that, he vanished into the shadows, leaving me alone with the weight of all that had passed.

The door closed behind him.

And just like that, he was gone.

I didn’t know how to process it. Couldn’t. But somehow, I felt the shift. Things were different now. Maybe better. Maybe worse. I couldn’t tell.

But as the silence filled the room, I knew only this: something had changed.

And for the first time in my life, I had no idea what came next.

Chapter 38: Beneath The Flood Lights

ETHAN'S POV

Two weeks passed since the trip and my father's departure, and life settled into something resembling normal. If normal meant early morning drills, late-night workouts, and bruises that painted my arms like battle scars. The big game was closing in fast, and every muscle in my body screamed at me to rest, but Max wouldn’t let me slack.

“Again,” he barked, tossing the football back at me. The sun dipped lower, casting giant shadows over the field. Most of the team had left, but Max and I stayed. He always stayed.

I rolled my shoulders and exhaled. “You trying to kill me before the game?”

“Just making sure you don’t embarrass yourself,” he shot back, grinning. “Now throw.”

I adjusted my grip and focused on the target, a tattered red cone at the far end of the field. My fingers burned from gripping the ball for hours, but I threw anyway. The ball cut through the air, spiraling cleanly before landing dead center.

Max let out a low whistle. “That’s more like it.”

I smirked and wiped sweat from my forehead. “You doubted me?”

“Nah, but I like to remind you that you’re a demon.” He cracked his knuckles. “Unlike me.”

I laughed, shaking my head. The floodlights flickered on, casting a dull yellow glow over the empty bleachers. It was just us now, the stadium silent except for our breathing.

I stretched my arms and glanced toward the school. “You think Clark is still in detention?”

Max scoffed. “That nerd lives there now. Not that you’d know, since you haven’t talked to him.”

I rolled my eyes. “He’s the one avoiding me.”

“Can you blame him?” Max arched an eyebrow. “He doesn’t trust jocks. And considering your history, I wouldn’t be surprised if he thinks you’re just like your old man.”

Something twisted in my gut. I clenched my jaw, my fingers tightening around the football. And for a moment there was a flash of my father's cold eyes.

“I’m not,” I said, my voice sharper than I meant.

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