Putting on the Tate University jersey ran a thrill down my spine. Another shot of adrenaline hit me when I stood on the field, facing the opposing team in their jerseys too. My game play hadn't been what it used to be. I was too afraid to go after the ball when a collision was possible, too afraid to get down and dirty. During the game, I still felt some of that hesitancy, but it was the closest to my old self that I'd felt in a while.

I scored within the first five minutes of the game and I could hear familiar voices cheering from the bleachers. All four roommates and my sister, hollering my name as I celebrated with the team.

Chris jogged passed me as the ball got reset and gave me a hard pat on the shoulder. "Nice one, Howard! That was sick."

It felt like my entire body was lit on fire in the best way imaginable. I wasn't playing as good as I had when I was on top of my game, but I hadn't felt this much like myself in so long. I'd get better. I'd get stronger and faster. My footwork would come back to me. I just had to keep at it, keep trying.

Our team won 3-1 and the energy was electric in the early November chill. I was dizzy with adrenaline, unbelieving of the game I just played. After having a panic attack at the touch of a ball a couple of months ago, I worked through that barrier and I got here.

"Don't forget! After party at my place," Chris announced in our post-game team huddle. "Invite everybody you know."

After that, we parted ways and I found Quinn by the bleachers with my friends.

"That was incredible!" she gushed, nudging my shoulder. "You had me all worried that you were going to be a benchwarmer or something but you led the motherfucking team."

"No, I didn't."

"You did," she insisted. "Dad is going to be so proud."

I didn't believe that either, but I also couldn't stomach saying it out loud. Of course, I wanted him to be proud of me and in other ways he was. But when it came to soccer? How could he be proud that I scored a goal on a club soccer team when just a couple of years ago, I was scouted for one of the best college teams in the country? It didn't even compare.

"I'm serious," she said when she read the disbelief on my face. "Call and tell him yourself tomorrow, you'll see."

"Thanks, Quinn." I forced a sweaty smile. "We should get going, there's a party at the captain's house and I need to run home and shower first. Thanks for coming out."

"Of course," she said, flashing a smile to my roommates who were standing nearby. "See you later, kiddos."

They, of course, didn't love the nickname, but she was already walking away too fast to be called out on it.

The party was loud and chaotic and excited when we got there. Every other time I was on the field, my anxiety got really bad afterward. During practices with the team and by myself, I needed some quiet cool down time after to catch my breath.

This time, I was still on my high from the win and eagerly threw myself into the throngs of the party. The team convinced me to shotgun a beer with them, everybody crowded into the kitchen with their beer cans pressed to their lips. Of course, I sucked at it but managed to finish the entire thing without spilling on my hoodie.

We shouted school chants throughout the house, dancing to whatever song that was playing through the loud speakers. Acting like we just won the world cup instead of a club soccer game.

I didn't even drink that much, sticking to a couple of beers and one shot of Fireball with the team. I wanted to enjoy this moment, to try to remember how good it felt the next time I was on the field. It wouldn't always feel this good and I needed to hold on to it.

A few hours into the party, I caught a glimpse of Banks's red bomber jacket in the corner of my eye as he ducked out the back door.

Without thinking too much about it, I excused myself from a conversation with Juan and Allen to follow him outside. The air was frigid now that it was dark and there were only two people against the house smoking and Banks, who had made his way into the yard to lean against a thick tree.

"Hey," I said as I approached, my cold hands stuffed tight into my hoodie pouch. "You okay?"

"MacGyver. Yeah, I'm good," he assured me with a little nod. "Just needed some air. You seem like you're having a good time."

"I am," I confirmed as I swung my body onto the closest branch, enjoying the cold breeze on my face. It was a welcome change from the sweat-soaked air that hot boxed in the house. "I haven't felt like this in years. God, I forgot how good it felt. Are you having a good time?"

"Sure. Yeah, I am." He didn't look very convincing. His hands were clenching and releasing at his sides, the moonlight reflecting heavy on his frown lines.

Absently swinging my legs in the breeze, I said, "Well, I'm really glad that you came. To the game, at least. I know this sounds dumb, but you're like, my zen." Saying something so stupid would usually embarrass me but this time, I just laughed and then said, "That sounded so much worse than it did in my head. I just meant, because nobody really gets how it feels, the anxiety of it all. But you understand more than everybody else, at least in some ways. It helps me get through it."

"I'm your zen," he repeated with a chuckle.

"You can make fun of me for that one, I deserve it," I assured him. "I think it's been made very clear that I suck with my words sometimes. I used to be better at it, before the injury. Now I feel like I'm always second guessing everything about myself. Except for tonight. I feel like I got a little bit of myself back."

"That's so good, Liam." His voice was still tight and it was obvious something was wrong with him.

"You sure everything is okay?" I asked slowly. "You can talk to me about it. Or I can go find Ollie, if you want to talk to him instead."

"No," he said quickly as he slid down the tree until he was sitting along the roots, his back pressed against the bark. I could barely see the top of his head now, tilted back to watch the stars. "No, it's fine."

"Okay." I wasn't sure what to say now. I wanted to help him, but how could I if he wouldn't even admit that something was wrong? "You think we should go bowling again?"

"Like... now?"

"I didn't mean right now, but I guess we could, if you wanted to," I said with a shrug. If he wasn't going to tell me anything, then the only way I could try to cheer him up was to talk about something else in hopes of distracting him from whatever was bothering him. "I was just thinking, because I did so bad the first time but I think around the ninth frame, I was starting to get the hang of it. So if we went again, maybe I could actually beat you."

"I need to tell you something, Liam," Banks blurted out. I peered over the branch I was sitting on to see his forearms resting on his knees and his hands wringing together nervously.

My stomach was starting to twist into knots. He was acting like he was about to tell me that he was dying or something. "Sure, what is it?" I tried not to sound as worried as I felt.

"The thing is, I don't want it to change anything but I know that it-" he stopped talking.

A second later, I heard Sam's voice as she stepped into the yard. "There you are. What are you doing in a tree?"

"Just hanging out," I said easily. "Can you give us a minute? I'll come find you in a little bit."

"Are you serious?" she asked with her thin penciled eyebrows raised into her forehead. "I've been looking for you for twenty minutes. Some guy told me you were upstairs and then I got locked in a stranger's bedroom and you haven't been answering your phone. I want to get out of here."

I looked down at Banks. "I need five minutes and then we can go."

"It's fine," Banks said quickly, standing to his feet and brushing the dirt off the back of his jeans. "You two go ahead."

"Wait, hold on," I leaped out off the branch as he started toward the house. "What's going on?"

"It's no big deal," he promised me without turning around. "I should go find Jordan."

I opened my mouth to ask him to stay and talk to me, but Banks was already disappearing into the house before I could stop him.

"What was that all about?" Sam asked from behind me.

"I don't know."

"So, can we go?" She didn't even try to hide her exasperation.

I turned back toward her, awkwardly scratching at the back of my neck. "I kind of want to stay actually."

I prepared for her face to get red and impatient like it did when I told her I wasn't in the mood to go to bed with her. I wasn't even saying that it wouldn't happen that night, just that I wasn't ready to leave the party yet. Still, I knew she wouldn't take it well.

"Well, I want to go. And you're my ride." She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at me with a sense of finality.

"I didn't drive you here."

"Beth did, and she already left with Walker."

She smelled like liquor, obviously too drunk to fend for herself this late at night and so far from her own apartment or my house. It wasn't safe for her to drive or walk.

"Alright. Let's go," I said with a long sigh and she started to smile at me like she'd won. The change in Sam had been gradual in the last couple of months, but what used to be a flirty hookup had become more of a burden.

In the car, she huffed about how she was having the worst night and then started on a tangent about how I was completely apathetic toward her struggles of somehow getting locked in a bedroom? I just listened to her ranting, not really fighting back because I didn't care enough to shout like she was.

I was confused and tired and mostly worried about Banks, even though I texted Ollie to check on him. I wished Sam hadn't interrupted so I knew what he wanted to tell me.

It was going to drive me insane not knowing.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked when she realized I wasn't driving us toward the house.

"To your apartment," I said.

"You can't come to my place, my roommate is a light sleeper and has work in the morning," she complained, her annoyance growing at a rapid pace.

I clenched my jaw. "I'm not coming inside."

She opened her mouth to yell, probably, but I stopped her.

"I don't think this is working anymore. We have different ideas of what this is and it's just... yeah, it's not working," I said to her, trying to sound as calm and polite as I possibly could after getting berated for the last ten minutes.

"You can't be serious," she gaped at me.

"I'm sorry if I misled you or anything, Sam, really. Clearly, you're not very happy with me either, so it's just better if you save your shouting and we call it quits."

I parked in front of her building and held my breath, hoping she would leave easy.

"Fine," she said with tight lips. "Bet you'll change your mind next time you're horny."

Bet I won't.

I didn't say that out loud, only letting out an exhale of breath when the car door slammed behind her. I waited until she made it safely into her apartment before driving off.

I hadn't planned on ending things with Sam, but I was suddenly so relieved that I had, which made me even more sure that it was the right decision.

It was still somewhat early and I knew the party would last for a while longer, so I circled back around to find Banks and make sure that he was okay, and also to hear what he wanted to tell me.

When I stepped inside though, I found Ollie who informed me that Banks had already left with Jordan and that I'd just missed him.