I spent most of the second half pacing. Back and forth. Then sitting. Then standing again. I couldn’t focus. My mind was stuck on the same idea: three–zero was too big. Damian wasn’t coming back from that. Not today. Not with the way he looked when he left the rink earlier.
Eventually, I sat on my bed with my phone in my hand. The transfer request was already open. I had filled it earlier on my laptop but stopped myself before pressing send. I deleted that one. But here I was again, doing the same thing on my phone.
My thumb hovered over the Submit button. It felt stupid how numb I was. I wasn’t even angry. Just tired. Done with the drama. Done with being dragged into things that weren’t mine.
“You should have done this earlier,” I whispered to myself.
My chest felt tight. My breathing
