Chapter 1: Aiden
May Junior Year of college
I don’t even knock. She told me not to.
The door is already cracked open when I nudge it wider with my shoulder, leaning heavily on my crutches. The brace locks my leg stiff, and every step sends a white-hot pulse of pain through my knee. I grunt under my breath, jaw tight as I hobble inside, empty-handed but still carrying more weight than I know what to do with.
It still doesn’t feel real, how fast everything changed. One wrong step during a stupid cone drill at Pro Day, then... pop. Pain. Torn ACL. Just like that, the future I’d built my whole damn life around blew out with it.
Now here I am. Twenty-one and moving into the one-bedroom apartment of the girl I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since high school.
Her apartment smells like vanilla and fabric softener. Her couch is a pink L-shaped sectional and has one of those soft, oversized blankets draped across the back. Same one she used to bring to my house for movie nights back when we were...
Ma steps in, carrying my duffel bag over one shoulder.
Makayla’s not in the living room, but I hear movement in the back.
“Hey, we’re here,” I call out.
“I’m coming,” she replies.
I hear a drawer shut.
“Ginger Snap, are you sure you wouldn’t rather come to LA with me? We have plenty of space,” my mother says.
It was either crash on Makayla’s couch or stay alone at a hotel. Vivek's band has really taken off so he and Ma are moving to Los Angeles tomorrow. And my dad... well, he offered to let me move in with him, but that’s not going to happen.
Most of my boys are back home for the summer, living with their parents, which means Makayla’s the only one with her own place.
She emerges from the hall with her hair in a loose bun and her hands full. She holds a few empty hangers and what looks like a spare pillow tucked under her arm.
“Makayla!” My mom goes in for a hug.
“Hi, Ms. Sullivan.”
“It's really nice of you to let Aiden stay this summer,” my mother praises.
“It’s not a problem. He’s my best friend, and I know he’d do the same for me.”
Ma smiles at that, but her eyes flick back to me, softening with something closer to worry. “Still, you don’t have to do it all on your own. If it gets to be too much, you call me, alright?”
Makayla nods, even though I catch the way her brow furrows just a little, like she’s trying not to take it personally.
“I mean it,” Ma adds. “He’s stubborn and doesn’t ask for help, but he needs it right now, even if he pretends he doesn’t.”
“Ma—” I cut in, but she’s already pressing a kiss to my cheek.
“I should get going, there's still a lot to do before the movers get here in the morning,” she says, straightening. “But you’ve got my number, Makayla. And my email.”
She reaches out, squeezes Makayla’s hand, then gives me one more look, the kind that tries to say everything without saying too much. There’s pride, concern, and love in her eyes.
Then she steps back through the door, leaving behind my duffel bag and the smell of her Tiffany perfume in the air.
The door clicks shut. And just like that, it’s real.
I’m not just visiting like I usually do. I live here now. Well, sort of.
Makayla shifts the pillow in her arms. “You want the couch set up now or later?”
I nod once, clearing my throat. “Later is fine.”
She drops the pillow onto the couch. “I moved my stuff over,” she says, brushing past me to pick up my duffle bag. “You’ve got half the closet and two drawers. There is some space in the hall closet for your shoes.”
“Mikki... you didn’t have to—”
“I know,” she says, cutting me off. “I did it because I wanted to. Besides, we both know how messy you are. If I don’t give you some place to put your stuff, you’ll have it spread all over my living room,” she teases.
My throat’s tight in a way I didn’t expect, but I smile. I mean, she’s not wrong.
“I just need a few weeks to figure out my next steps.”
“You’ve been dealing with so much over the last two weeks. Take all the time you need,” She says, calm. No judgment. “I know the sofa is not ideal.”
“It’s just temporary,” I insist.
She doesn’t push back. She just walks back toward the bedroom and pauses at the doorframe.
“I put your name on the mailbox,” she says over her shoulder. “In case anything official comes while you’re here.”
I look around the apartment, at the soft lighting and the framed photos of her and her sister and her and Ximena on the side table. I hobble back to her bedroom to help put away my stuff. She’s made space just for me.
I don’t know how I’m going to stay here without falling back into everything I spent the last two years trying to outrun. But I also don’t know where else I’d rather be.
She sets my bag on her bed, then she watches me fidget with the zipper of my duffel, hovering like she’s not sure if she should stay in the room or give me space.
“You sure this is okay?” I ask again. “Me staying here?”
She raises an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t.”
“I’ll give you some money for rent,” I say, trying to sound like I’ve got it together. “Groceries too. Utilities. Whatever you need.”
Makayla crosses her arms, leaning against the wall. “Aiden, you’re not my tenant.”
“I’m not gonna just freeload.”
“You’re not. You’re my friend, my guest,” she insists.
“I’m crashing here for more than a night, Makayla.”
She sighs, soft but firm. “And you’re going through hell right now. Plus, I don’t even pay any bills here. My dad takes care of everything. So let me do this for you, okay?”
Her tone is gentle, but it lands with a firm finality. No arguing. No guilt-tripping. No strings.
“Okay.” I glance toward the bathroom, trying to ease the tension with a crooked smile. “Just… maybe give your dad a heads-up that the water bill might spike. Tell him your emotionally wrecked houseguest is rehydrating his soul one unnecessarily long shower at a time.”
Makayla raises an eyebrow. “Just don’t use up all my good conditioner while you’re rehydrating your soul.” Her tone is dry, but her eyes soften before she turns to go. At the doorway, she pauses, glancing back just once. “Take all the showers you need, Aiden. Really.”
I can’t sleep.
The lights are off, the house still. The only sound is the low hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the walls settling. I’m lying flat on my back, my knee is in a hinged brace, and my leg is propped on a pillow.
Makayla’s cat, Empurror Pawpatine, has claimed the space between my legs like I’m some kind of human heating pad. He blinked at me once when I laid down earlier, circled twice, then curled up like this was always his plan.
I stare up at the ceiling. Try to focus on my breathing. But it doesn’t stop the thoughts. Three months ago, I was a sure thing. I left the combine a top ten wide receiver prospect. The Steelers coach said I had hands like glue and legs as fast as lightning. Now? Now, I’m undrafted because no team in the NFL will even look my way.
Now I’m here. Sleeping on someone’s couch. Someone I used to love. Someone I probably still love, in a way that’s twisted and buried too deep to say out loud.
Now I’ve got a knee that may or may not ever feel like mine again, and a dead dream.
Pawpatine shifts against my leg, letting out a tiny sigh that sounds disgustingly content.
I envy him. I really do.
Author's Note: A lot of the chapters in this book are much shorter than my normal writing. This was done so I could keep this book quick-paced with no fluff, no filler.
