Page 29 of That Moment
I pick at the corner of a maple bar and don’t taste a thing.
“Good?” Scotty asks, nodding at the donut.
“It’s fine,” I say, then hear how fake that sounds and huff out a breath. “No. I don’t know.”
His eyes flick over me, not prying, just… present. He takes a sip of coffee and waits.
It spills out faster than I plan. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”
He goes still, his coffee paused halfway to his lips.
“I always thought it was obvious,” I push on. “The plan. Get the degree, dominate law school, crush the internships, work twice as hard as the guy who thinks it’s adorable I showed up to the meeting with better notes. Come home, make Slade Enterprises bulletproof. Be the triplet who keeps the wheels on while Axel plays hero and Aiden sends thumbs-up from Texas.” I laugh, but it’s hollow. “And I did it. I’m doing it. It’s just—” I stare at the donut like it’ll finish the sentence for me.
“Just?” he says, quietly.
“Just that lately, I sit at my desk and stare at these deals and contracts I used to love and… nothing.” The admission tastes like defeat and relief at the same time. It’s cathartic to finally admit it all. “I keep telling myself it’s a phase, that I’m tired, that I just need another big deal like the MLB, once we pinpoint our next big acquisition… it’ll click again. But it doesn’t. And I hate that it scares me.”
He doesn’t rush to fix it. He doesn’t tell me I’m being dramatic. He just lets the fan and the ticking clock and my own breath fill the space.
“I keep hearing everyone’s voices,” I say, softer. “My dad’s gruff approval when I knock something out of the park. Mom’s quiet pride when she gushes about me to friends. Aunt Celeste’s whole… thing.” I motion vaguely, meaning her power, her polish, her legacy that I strive to live up to. “The cousins are teasing about me being the bossy triplet in charge. And I thought I liked being that person. Maybe I still do. But I don’t know if that’s what I want forever, or if it’s just what I’m good at.”
He watches me for a beat more. “Who’s been putting the pressure on you?”
“Everyone,” I say immediately, then falter. “I mean… Dad has opinions. The family always has opinions. People in town do too. But—” I close my eyes, then open them, owning it. “Me. It’s me. Ninety percent of it is me.”
He nods once.“Uh-huh.”
I stare down at the maple bar, now mangled beyond recognition. “I made a list in my head when I was sixteen,” I admit. “School. Career. Be indispensable. Don’t need anyone. Don’t slow down. Don’t… want things that aren’t useful.” My throat gets tight. “I think I started confusing what I could carry with what I actually wanted to carry.”
There’s a beat where I expect him to reach out and touch me. He doesn’t. He just slides a clean shop towel across the cart toward me. I take it because my hands need something after that sugary mess.
“It sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”
“It doesn’t,” he says.
“I built this whole machine, ya know? This version of me that runs hot twenty-four-seven and never breaks, and I’m scared if I stop to change a part, the whole thing’s going to fall apart.” I swallow. “And I don’t even know what part to change.”
“What is it that needs to change?”
“I dunno,” I shrug. “A new job? Different expectations? Maybe I don’t even want different. Maybe I just want… permission to want something at all.”
His mouth tips. “From who?”
I look at him, the question landing exactly where it should. “Me,” I say, and it feels like stepping off a ledge I was never meant to stand on in the first place.
He shifts closer, his forearm brushing the edge of the cart near my hand. “Sounds like you just gave it to yourself.”
A laugh slips out, shaky. “Maybe. God, listen to me. I’m a mess.”
“You’re honest with yourself,” he says. “That’s not a mess. Most people are too scared to be honest with themselves.”.
“I thought you’d tease me,” I admit. “Or tell me to go take a run and sweat it out. Something simple.”
He shrugs, half a smile. “I’m sorry if I’ve not been enough of a friend in the past to make you feel like you could be honest with me.”
I look at him for a minute. He holds my gaze, steady, and the safe quiet of him does more than any pep talk ever has. I can breathe. I didn’t realize how little I’d been doing that.
“Thank you,” I say, and mean it.
