#tk.

Getting the call to come back to Palmetto was a relief.

He hadn't necessarily expected to end up in Minnesota over the break—sure, he visited his dad over breaks in high school, but that was part of the deal they struck to keep TK in California the rest of the year, and he wasn't a minor anymore. He thought that maybe that would change things. That his dad would finally give up on trying—or pretending—to be a father to him.

His father hadn't come for Parents Weekend, hadn't come to any other games last semester even when he said, offhandedly, on the phone that he might. So, when it came to winter break, TK had said Buy me a ticket and I'll come not really expecting one to show up. This time, though, it had.

Christmases in Minnesota weren't bad. Nothing about Minnesota was bad. It's not like anyone mistreated him, he just felt so—unwanted. His father bought him a plane ticket but it felt like he hadn't really mentioned it to anyone else and they were all a little surprised that he was there. They put sheets on the guest bed he always slept on, but there was a family photo on a Christmas card that he wasn't a part of, matching pajamas to open presents that he didn't have.

They weren't his family.

And so it's better to be back at Palmetto, to be playing Exy, to be practicing for a chance to play in the Championships. And, after even an aborted break playing happy family in Minnesota it's a relief to have a drink in his hand in the Vixen Den, like the shots he's knocked back already are rinsing that old familiar bitterness out of his mouth: his father left TK and his mother behind for a newer, better family a long time ago, but TK's left him behind, too. He has Mateo, and now he has the Foxes, too.

"Has anyone done a toast yet?" He says with a grin, feeling a little lazy and a little loose from the alcohol. "Maybe we should be drinking to the Terrapins. For once, we're not the biggest fuck-ups in Class I."

@troyekoning: i have no words. the pictures say itself.

There's a text on his phone on Monday. Good game! it says, days after the fact, which means that his dad probably didn't even watch the game from home in Minnesota, probably just saw a clip on TV or something online that reminded him to act like he cared about TK when he wasn't around, like he remembered he existed.

TK scored his second goal in Class I Exy and all he gets is Good game! He's not sure if his dad even knows he scored at all.

It's not like TK thought that he'd come, no matter what he said over the summer about visiting TK in Palmetto. That was his dad—all talk, no follow-through. At least not when it came to anything to do with TK: he tries not to pay attention to his step-sisters on social media, but it's hard not to notice the way they feel like a real family. The way that TK's family used to be.

But everyone's gone back home and Parents Weekend is over now. It's just the Foxes, 2-1 on their season, staring down another week of practices. The way it's supposed to be.

He puts his phone back in his pocket without replying to the text for now. He knows he probably will at some point, even if it's just a half-hearted thanks! to say that he did, even though he's not sure why it matters to him. For now, at least, he can pretend that it doesn't.

He hikes his gear bag up his shoulder as he heads into the court for practice, holding the door from the parking lot open for the Fox behind him. "Ready for another week? At least things are back to normal now."

He didn’t get a lot of practicing in over the summer. Not with—everything. 

He’s maybe wishing that he did, somehow. You only get one chance to make a first impression, and he doesn’t know what kind of one he’s making. The gym’s pretty easy, but on the court he feels a step behind, trying to shake off the rust from a summer spent worrying about things so much bigger and realer than Exy, trying to learn a new system and new drills on a new court in a new league. 

It just another thing that never seems quite fair. Like he’s never been able to give as much of himself to Exy as he wants, because life keeps getting in the way. Like he’ll never know how good he could have been.

But it’s not like Wymack’s going to send him back to California now, so he’s being hard on himself. Whatever happened, whatever choices he made or had life made for him, he’s here now. He’s going to play Class I, he’s going to make plays and score goals and do it all with Mateo at his side. 

He just has to get through summer training first.

The court feels huge, bigger than anything he’s ever played on before. It’s hard to believe that in just a few weeks there will be fans in the stands—whether they’re fans of the Foxes or not—camera crews broadcasting them for people to watch. It buoys him as he sucks down water, bracing himself through the burn in his muscles, the shaky feeling in his legs like they’re not quite sure if they want to hold him upright after yet another session on the court. If he were any less proud, he’d be on the floor.

“This is brutal,” he says, like saying it out loud is owning it, making it into something self-deprecating instead of something that’s just embarrassing. “Tell me it isn’t always like this.”

It's been weeks. Weeks of practicing. Weeks of adjusting. And now it's finally here—TK's first real game as a Fox.

This time last year, he couldn't have imagined it. He didn't think about the future that much at all, then. When he did, it seemed to collapse too quickly under the weight of all the unknowns. And, even if he could get past that, it was hard for him to imagine anything outside of California, especially when he'd fought so hard to stay there. And, even when he saw the end coming, it always seemed like tempting fate to imagine his future without his mother in it.

He knew he'd have to face it eventually, so what was the point of imagining it? Of inviting that pain in sooner?

She isn't here now. She won't be watching this game, or any of the rest TK will play in his life, no matter how many more of them there are. And although he wishes he didn't, he wonders if his father will watch. If Eduardo Montes will, for Mateo. Somehow, he doubts it—for both of them.

That's fine, though. They don't need them to. When gametime comes, he'll be caught up in the lights and the crowd and the adrenaline—and maybe the nerves, too—and TK won't be thinking about his father at all.

The adrenaline hasn't set in yet—the game's still hours away. But the nerves already have. The scrimmage might have been a practice run, but tonight will be real.

"And we've still got a whole day of classes after this?" He asks, wry and rhetorical. "I don't think I'm gonna make it."