HAYDEN
I stared at my phone for a long time before hitting call. The screen reflected my own tense expression back at me, eyes shadowed, jaw clenched. My hands weren’t steady. It wasn’t a game-day kind of adrenaline, sharp and focused.
This was heavier, pressing down on my chest, the kind of pressure that didn’t let up even when I tried to breathe it away.
The call rang twice before Dad answered.
“Hayden,” he said, brisk as always, like we were already mid-conversation. “I’m glad you called. We need to go over the scouts’ interest from last week...”
“Dad,” I cut in quickly, before I lost my nerve. My voice came out rough. “Before you start, I need to say something.”
There was a pause before he said, “Alright. Go ahead.”
I started pacing my apartment, fingers raking through my hair.
