Later that night, the celebration went on longer than I expected. Everyone was loud, talking over each other, replaying moments from the match like they had personally coached every move I made.
Jason hit my shoulder about a dozen times, telling me I scared him at first but “redeemed myself like a psycho.” The other guys kept yelling my name every time someone new walked in. It should’ve felt good. It usually did.
Tonight, it didn’t settle the way it used to.
Every time someone congratulated me, all I could think about was Jane.
The look she gave me earlier. The way she talked to me. She was actually so calm as steady, as though she knew exactly what I needed to hear after the game. Even when she said it was all fake, the words didn’t land the way she probably wanted.
And that small s
