learn to forgive yourself

“Different kind of prison,” Jack shrugged, though they couldn’t fully disagree with River. They knew exactly where they’d be if Wymack hadn’t signed them– working as an EMT in small town Montana, the same job they’d been doing when the coach had showed up at their work. Afraid to leave, sticking around even when no one actually wanted them to stay. “Did you actually choose to be here?”

Not that Jack had any idea where they’d go now, if they had to leave. Their grades wouldn’t be good enough to get a job with their degree, not that they wanted to work in that field to begin with. They’d sign with another team probably, take the jump into pro and pray to any god out there that some coach would want them. 

“You probably saved us both from the crowd anyways,” they joked, half of a smile on their face. Not that the stragglers would actually have filtered all the way out by now, but hopefully there would be few enough that the truck could get through. They picked up their duffel bag, heading out toward the parking lot. “Are ya feeling alright?”

“I did.”

An automatic answer. A willing confession. It was one of few truths they so freely give. They chose the Foxes; their list of reasons could be surmised into two points: the first, they’ve seen the team throughout the years and admired the drive. And for the second, they understood that the team was built on second chances, and that mattered more to them than a lacking number of championships. They saw the Foxes as a way to better their life, and throughout the school year, they’ve been proven right. 

All until they saw their father.

“Yeah, I chose here. Did --- did you?” They did their best not to sound judgmental; nobody on the team deserved that.

“Well, I guess it’s good I stayed here for a bit if it means less crowds.” Swallowing, they tried to reciprocate a half-smile. They hoped it didn’t appear as forced as it felt. “Admittedly --- not feeling the best. But I will be fine soon.”

         Usually Henry was a more talkative person. He was good at holding up conversations with people as long as he wasn’t too in his own mind. Unfortunately, that seemed to be happening more and more lately; rarely did he seem to be able to focus on anything other than his own problems and emotions. He honestly felt sort isolated lately, like everything he did was on the other side of a glass wall from everyone. He could interact and talk to them, but no one could ever quite reach him. Something needed to be the bridge between himself and the rest of the world—and he’d yet to find that yet.

         Henry had no idea what he was supposed to do or say. Maybe the loss was slightly more jarring than he’d expected. It wasn’t as if the Foxes had never lost before. They weren’t always as lucky as it seemed they’d been for the past few games. But the loss still stung and he wanted it to not feel like it did. He was in no mood to cheer anyone up.

         Sometimes he wondered if he belonged here. The rest of the Foxes came from broken homes, horrible situations. And here he was, pretending not to be from either situation—but knowing that his situation was less than ideal. People like River had a fierce determination that Henry just didn’t possess. Maybe he was going to be miserable all his life because there was something wrong with him. He didn’t want people to know his problems because then he had to admit he had problems.

         He bit down on his lip slightly as he shrugged at River’s statement. “I don’t technically need it tonight.” He thought he’d be alone here this evening, though that clearly wasn’t the case. “Nah, it’s alright. You don’t have to look with me. Don’t worry about it.” He smiled lightly at them. “How come you’re still here?” he asked, taking another sip from the bottle. He handed it back over, his way of asking if River wanted more. 

Maybe Henry wished to be alone too. The shrugging off the search of the book, the way the bottle hung from his hand, it all compounded to the thought that Henry wished to escape to a space that would fit. And there existed no anger for his decision to arrive at the locker rooms; while River hadn’t taken comfort in it the last few hours, the locker room allowed a chance to be alone. They couldn’t blame Henry for wishing to take advantage of that.

But then their teammate offers the bottle again, and River swallowed assumption after assumption. The day --- and presently, the night --- was unraveling into something they couldn’t control, something they couldn’t help but feel suffocated by. And alcohol wouldn’t be of much help. They knew this as well as they knew their sibling, and yet --- and yet.

They reached for the bottle and took another swig. Longer than before, but not long enough to be considered rude. Hopefully.

Justice had been angry, when Charity left. That was his sister, his full-blooded sister, and one day she was just gone. No one looked for her, but Justice had turned her into a cautionary tale. No one’s come looking for her, either, and she’s sure that she’s become one, too. 

She’d gotten her freedom, but it may have come at the price of tightening the chains around the rest of her siblings. 

She’d say that none of them wanted to leave, but how can she know that? She’d been too busy staying out all night, with her new friends and her new boyfriend, to know any of her siblings’ hearts. She’d been angry with them, for letting her be a scapegoat for Justice’s anger; and they’d been angry with her, too, for being so difficult, for not doing what she was told for all of their sakes. 

It doesn’t seem fair, that she’s gotten away so cleanly when River hasn’t. (But then, the things that haunt her most aren’t ones she can blame on anyone else. Someone she loved is dead. Justice didn’t do that. And she didn’t do it, either, but she feels like she bears some of the blame anyway. She had been there, and she hadn’t done anything to stop it. She didn’t know any better, but she should have.) That their father could just come into this safe place and make River feel like this, hiding and shaking and blaming themself for being hurt by it. By him. 

If she could fight River’s father, she would. But that wouldn’t fix anything, and so she tries to focus on what she can do: comfort River, hopefully; and do whatever she can to make sure that he can’t just show up again, do this to River again. 

“You have people on your side. You have us, and Wymack, people who want to help you and a whole life that he isn’t a part of—that’s power. And you can use it to make sure you never have to see him again, not in this court, not ever.” It’s hard for her to sit still, hard for her to keep her voice matched to River’s low tones, so that the intensity she’s feeling isn’t mistaken for anger. But she’s trying, because this feels important. “You don’t have to let him keep hurting you to prove that you’ve moved on, that’s just giving him what he wants. Keeping him away from you isn’t giving him power, it’s using yours.”

They want to believe her. And in part, they do, because this team has never caused them to feel like they did before. They’ve been frustrated and angry, yes, but never in the way that fury rotted their core. Their old team ignored their presence, their mother always turned away, their father punished, and they carried it all with an ever-growing hatred. 

But the Foxes pushed them to be better, as a player and a person. And maybe their hesitance is their fault, for being too harsh in their stance, for forcing their voice to be heard when it was silenced for so long. River knows it’s difficult to be friends with someone who cannot compromise. 

And yet --- and yet Glory is still here. Wymack granted them space instead of lecturing them about sportsmanship. In the past year, no one’s looked at them with anger, and they’ve finally stopped looking for it in their eyes. 

It still doesn’t feel powerful enough to use against their father. He looms, an ever-present shadow cast on their life once more. But they want him gone, they want this life that they’ve built without him, they want to be okay, they just want to be okay.

“Glory, I ---- God, I want--- fuck --- ” They’re all staggered breaths and a heaving chest, trying to keep quiet as the sobs cough out. For so long they’ve had hands clamped over their mouth as not to stir ire for being too loud in their distress, that the action of crying so openly feels wrong. Even with Dana, they never sobbed in front of her. She witnessed their tears, but they somehow managed to restrain the worst of sounds. Because it was still giving in, wasn’t it? And they couldn’t do that in front of Dana, not when she had rebuilt her life and they had impeded so suddenly. 

And shame still wraps itself around them, because it’s unfair to Glory too. Rubbing their hands over their face, River wipes the tears away, blinking fast to dry their eyes. It doesn’t work well. They can still feel tears welling as they straighten, and they must look like a wretched mess. With shaky hands, they run them through their hair, choking back another unbidden sob.

Jack closed their eyes, doing their best to ignore their aching muscles or how rather uncomfortable the bench was. They weren’t sure if they wanted to go right to bed or do something to distract themselves from their thoughts for the rest of the night. The loss felt like a vice around their heart, crushing the hope they’d started to feel after three years of losing. 

“I suppose we should be grateful that they built this place,” Jack sighed, waving a hand around at the room around them. “But I think we’re just the redheaded stepchild as far as Palmetto’s concerned. Maybe if we win this year, but yeah. Edgar Allen has that because they’re worth something.”

The truck was a reassuring standard though, and even talking about it made them feel a bit better. “My motorcycle’s loads more practical around campus most of the time, but I don’t trust the crowds after games. It’s another layer just in case, y’know?”

“At least we’re worth something to ourselves.” Their voice was quiet, almost lost in the shuffle of changing into something casual and comfortable compared to the uniform. And maybe they were wrong, but for them, the Foxes were worth so much to them. All the work they had put into themselves, all the pain that they suffered, it was worth something. It had to be.

Their father shouldn’t be able to take that away.

“Yeah, the crowds get way too hectic. For a win, for a loss. Maybe we have FoxWatch to blame for that.” Silently, they sent a heap of praise for Jack thinking about another layer. On the chance that their father was waiting, the truck would be ---- fantastic. Wonderful. Fucking awesome. 

Glory’s older sister had ran away. Glory was young when it happened, but as far as she knew, no one reported her missing. That wasn’t her family’s way; Hoskins kept their business to themselves. No one dragged her back home. No one even looked for her. Glory hadn’t been thinking about leaving then, not really, but when it was her time to go, she felt certain: if she left, no one would come looking for her, either. 

It made it easier to go. Knowing that she only had to make the decision once. 

Sitting in the back of a cop car, stubbornly refusing to say anything about herself, with nothing on her that would give up where she belonged and what she was leaving behind, she’d felt her heart in her throat: What if they dragged her back there? What would Justice do to her? What would she even say to her father? How would she ever get the courage to leave again? 

It hadn’t happened then, and it hasn’t happened since. And so she doesn’t bother to even think about it—though she does now, just for a moment. 

The monster in her home wasn’t her father. If she saw him, she doesn’t know what she’d do: she misses him, misses the rest of her siblings that aren’t Justice—but that ache feels so sharp that she doesn’t want to see them again. She just wants to cut that part of herself out of her, the one that longs for home, where it can’t hurt her anymore. 

And that’s Justice’s fault—he’s the monster in her past, like the one that River seems so afraid of now. And it’s easy to be angry now, at this man that she hasn’t seen and doesn’t know, because she and River have that in common. 

“River,” she says, saying their name again, because it seems like a point of connection—like it’s reaching out, like it’s the closest she can come to laying a hand on their shoulder, when she isn’t sure if that would be welcomed, would be too much. “We have security here, you can talk to Wymack, he can make sure your father never sets foot in this court again. You—you don’t have to deal with this alone.”

River. Unceasing and relentless. A name they chose for themself, and have been proud of. It’s so easy to imagine a life where this name, their name, will be said longer than the one their parents gave them. And when they first stepped onto Palmetto, when they knocked on Wymack’s door, when they first wore the Foxes jersey on the field, they continuously think of everything that is waiting for them to conquer. That hope has always burned strong and steady, driving them forward through the cards fate dealt them.

And they love hearing this name: River, River, River. A reminder of a beginning.

But they never wanted anyone to say this name the way Glory has. She’s trying, and it’s not her fault at all in the way she says it. They’re eternally grateful for her in this moment. They just --- they just never wanted someone to worry, to reach out to them in this way. It hurts, and it shouldn’t. It never, never should hurt.

“In the back of my mind, I know that. I know I don’t have to --- to do anything alone. And it’s not as if I wasn’t aware my father could come here for something, because our names are in the press just enough, but I ---- I really thought he wouldn’t give a shit after I left.

“But I guess he does, and I ---- trying to keep him out makes it feel like he still has fucking power.” It’s a waterfall now,  a rush of words that they don’t want to escape. Their mind is on a loop, a never-ending course of shut up, shut up, SHUT UP! 

But they don’t stop. Their tongue is finally loose, unleashing everything they kept silent since their first introductions to the team. And later, they will chide themself for it, for placing this weight on Glory who doesn’t deserve it all. 

Yet if she doesn’t deserve it, neither do they. They don’t deserve their father rising from their past and trying to inflict his presence on their new life. 

“I know that sitting here, fucking --- frozen isn’t that much better. That he still has this damn effect over me, but he doesn’t know that, doesn’t ever need to know that because I left. That should be enough, I shouldn’t --- need to do more. I just --- I know, I know the logical choice in this, but it doesn’t feel like the right one, it doesn’t feel like I’ve moved on if I have to keep looking over my shoulder to stop him.”

Slowly, they lean forward, elbows on knees and the heels of their hands pressed against their eyes. It’s one breath after another as they try to calm themselves, heartbeat too loud and too fast in their ears. How long have they’ve been trying to calm themself? How long will it be until they can just never have to dwell on the past?

Restlessness is quick to overtake them at the news of the delay. Quite frankly, if they were to actually acknowledge the dread seeping through their veins, they would properly label it as anxiety. They’ve never enjoyed being thrown off schedule, and as much as they love to claim they’re adaptable on the field, that doesn’t translate well anywhere else. The knowledge the team will be pressed for time due to the delay doesn’t place them in the best of moods.

But they can’t fucking go anywhere. They’ve walked the length of the floor already, and they’re not itching to snatch something at the food court. So they’re stuck at the terminal, pacing over and over and over.

Which is unbearable to do as much as it must be to watch. So after a few minutes, they plop to the floor, stretching their legs out and leaning forward. 

“Someone, anyone, please tell me the way I can improve my flexibility within an hour?”

         It sucked that this was the first loss in so long; the loss almost felt like too much, after such a strong season—and while it wasn’t over, it still felt horrible. “Yeah,” he nodded at River’s words, unsure what he was supposed to say. The loss would still feel fresh tomorrow. Henry could think of a thousand different ways that he could have played better tonight. Damn his dad for getting into his mind so easily. Damn the anxious feeling in his gut that never seemed to go away during home games, despite knowing that his worries would never actually happen.

         But that just meant that next game, he’d play better and prove that he was worth being on the team. He wanted to prove that the Foxes were worth it. There were talented people on his team. The Foxes might not have the best luck, but they would go down swinging. If it was their next game was their last game, then he sure as hell was going to make sure it was his best game. He wouldn’t let his dad cloud his mind. He wasn’t going to let anything cloud his mind.

         Handing the bottle over was harder than he wanted to admit. Henry didn’t like sharing his alcohol. He just thought it would seem rude if he didn’t share. River probably didn’t care either way, he thought, but gave a small smile as he handed the bottle over. Henry sometimes wondered what the vices of the other Foxes were, if River had something they did that none of the Foxes knew about. He personally was too ashamed of his own vices to talk about them with others. His drinking was bad.

         He took the bottle back, taking a big sip. “Fuck if I know. I’m probably going to sleep. I honestly just left my book here.” Though that wasn’t entirely true, it was an easy enough lie. He came here to drink and be alone. But he wasn’t alone—and he wouldn’t drink much with company. “I’m not really in the mood to wallow in misery.”

The silence felt heavy. One word responses were something River usually rolled off their shoulders, a point in conversation they would easily move on from. But in this circumstance, in this room, it just ----- they couldn’t shake it. It only highlighted an awful space, a lack of confidence that they usually possessed within the past year.

How fucking cruel that it could be stolen in a mere second. How fucking pitiful it was their father still held so much control over them.

It was as if this new life of theirs was so fucking tainted now, and they couldn’t stand it. They built their life from scratch, having crawled from ashes to stumble through an escape. All that stumbling led them here, among people who supported them without asking anything but being a good fucking player. Dana had been surprised and thrilled when they tripped through her doorway, a wide smile hurting their cheeks as they relayed their meeting with Wymack. How the offer of being a Fox would change their life for the better.

And now ---- now all the work felt fake. As if they don’t belong. As if they’ve been pretending for no goddamn reason.

Swallowing, they didn’t take comfort in Henry’s returned smiles. Honestly, they just ---- would rather leave. Not back to their dorm but just ---- somewhere. They wouldn’t want to wallow in their own misery either, but they’ve learned long ago that their mind wouldn’t listen to what they want in this life.

She thinks back to the end of the game, but she can’t make anything clearer. The Foxes lost. Glory had been on the bench, but River had been on the court. Had something happened then? Or had it been in the handshake line? Glory had gone through it on autopilot, then, like she usually did: quick clasps of hands, murmuring good game under her breath until they didn’t sound like words anymore, too meaningless to feel bitter in her mouth.

River had been gone by the time the handshake line was over, and maybe they’ve been in here ever since. Which seems unfair—did everyone that they shared this locker room with just leave them in here, looking like this? So eager to get out of the court and wipe the taste of a loss out of their mouths? Had Glory? She hadn’t seen them, she hadn’t noticed. She hadn’t been looking, and maybe she should have been. 

Thinking about it makes her feel angry, and she likes that better, better than looking at River as they stumble their words and make themself small—because that just makes her feel helpless.

“That’s okay,” she says, hoping she sounds soothing. “You don’t have to know. But I’m—I’m okay staying. Believe me,” she says, hoping for a small bit of levity, “I’ve spent nights worse places.”   

“River—” she says, drawing their name out as she hesitates, not sure if she’s supposed to ask, but unable to keep the curiosity at bay. She doesn’t know what River needs, she doesn’t know how she can help, but maybe it’d become clearer if she just knew—“what happened?” 

They attempt a smile at the thought of worse places, but it’s flat, strained. They believe her, and are glad that, of all places, sitting on a bench while they’re trying not to implode isn’t something burdensome. Or maybe it is, but they take comfort in the fact that Glory isn’t saying as much.

Yet another part of them is thinking of the after; of how the next moments might as well break this camaraderie. Judgement doesn’t truly exist on a team shaped by people with tragedies littering their lives, but that fear still lingers. They know their last team noticed that purple blossoming on their skin, and they stayed silent. And when they spoke, it was to deny them. 

The Foxes wouldn’t deny River Tate, but that truth is hard to grasp when swallowed by shame.

And then Glory says their name with hesitance, and they hate it. It’s not pity that Glory will give them, but they know the question that will follow, and they never wanted this exposed. It was ridiculous to believe they could have spent their entire career without their past ever being brought to light, but it was something nice. A true beginning. A place where their past remained behind them, the chains long gone. 

And yet, here they sit: a goddamn fool.

                                                                         “ --- what happened?”    

A shuddering exhale. Hands clamping to fists, tight and hard, before finally releasing them flat against their legs. The armor of the uniform weighs heavy. Their head tips down again, and they imagine falling, falling, falling. 

That would be easier than this present. 

“My.....my, uh --- ” They suck a breath. There are so many ways they could answer. There are so many ways they could say anything else. But with Glory’s eyes on them, it feels cheap to divert. It feels as if she’s not --- that they don’t ---

It’s been so long since they’ve had so many people they could trust outside of Dana that they don’t know what to do with it.

“My past came roaring back,” they finally whisper. “In, uh, the shape of my father.” They meet her gaze, and swallow, swallow, swallow. “I don’t know why he came. I don’t know what he wants --- wanted --- here.”

It’s so common, the words hardly make Carter even blink. He can’t count how many times he’s heard those two words in the course of five years. In the course of his life. Somehow those two words are a safety net, something so easy to fall into and never worry about anyone pressing any further.

The irritation was somewhat noticeable but Carter hadn’t been sure if they’d felt that from Carter’s appearance or from whatever happened out on the court. Either way, Carter isn’t in the business of pressing. “I did need to check up on you,” Carter said with a shrug of his shoulder, the one not pressed into the lockers. “Sometimes Foxes have a tendency to feel like they can’t talk to anyone, I’ve been there and done that, and I don’t want anyone to feel that way. Whether we’re close or not, my door is always open–when there is something wrong.”

The offer would always be there for any Fox even after he graduated. The Foxes were the reason Carter stood there today, became the person he is… he owes old and new Foxes everything. “I’ll walk back with you to the dorm, if you want? Up to you, you can tell me to fuck off.”

They know it was stupid to doubt, especially after they traveled miles and miles to convince Wymack to join the Foxes. River knew of the reputation long before they considered what being part of the team meant, and that knowledge was a constant thought in the back of his mind. That it could be a place for them. That no matter what happened, no matter how their past impacted them, this place would accept them as they were now.

But Carter’s response still caused them to shrink, and it was fucking ridiculous. For months, they pushed and fought and stood tall. They hadn’t cowered since they left their parent’s place, and that was something to be proud of, something to treasure, but the progress seemed empty if they’re wishing to melt into the background as Carter extended a branch to them.

“I’m not --- pissed at you to garner a fuck off.” Biting their lip, their gaze lingered on the doorway to the locker room. The image of their father barging through was too easy and too vivid to imagine. Closing their eyes, they sucked a slow, long breath. 

         Okay and okay enough were two completely different answers, but Henry wasn’t the type to pry. If someone said they were okay and left it at that, he wasn’t the type to keep pushing. That was a therapist’s job and they all had the same access to Betsy if they so choose. Just because he didn’t take sessions with her seriously, didn’t mean that others didn’t. The whole point of being a Fox was having issues. Henry didn’t deal with his, so he didn’t know why he thought other people would deal with their issues. Maybe River was just really upset over the game. He unsurprisingly wasn’t too happy about the outcome either. Henry wasn’t in the mood to listen to someone else’s problems though, as much as he wanted to make sure his teammate was alright.

         It was late and he just really had expected it to be empty enough that he could drink alone. Where he could be himself for a moment and not who he hid from the Foxes and not feel ashamed of who he was. It was a stupid thought because someone was going to be there, he’d known that and yet he came here seeking solitude anyway. Would have been better to go off elsewhere.

         “Nope, not really,” he responded, gripping onto the bottle tighter. He couldn’t exactly hide it now. “Pretty sure we’re all trying to find some way to cope with the loss.” It felt like so long since they’d actually lost a game and he’d forgotten what it felt like to be disappointed—not disappointed in his team, but with himself. “Want some?” he asked offering the bottle out to River.  

“It’s been a while since the last loss. Not that I thought we were invincible, but the sting feels ---- too fresh. Like lessons weren’t learned.” What a depressing thought. Their mood was still tumbling further and further into a space they couldn’t handle. They hadn’t drawn near in ages, and now, they’re free-falling right into that pit where their chest will heave with each breath.

And because this moment had to be harder, of course they suddenly think of their mother. Was she there too? Did she wait in the car? How much did she disprove of their entire existence?

They didn’t want this. 

So when Henry extended the bottle to them, River’s quick to nod. They take what’s offered, and slowly twist the bottle open. “Thanks,” they muttered before taking a swig. The alcohol stung their throat, and their shoulders stiffen as they attempted to withhold a cough. 

Jack nodded along, pulling out their flip-phone to check the time. It was a little later than they’d thought, but it wasn’t exactly like they’d made plans for the night. As much as they’d give River shit if they took too long, they weren’t actually in a hurry to get anywhere.

“I’m not actually sure the Ravens’ whole Castle Evermore thing was that bad of an idea. It’d be fantastic to have beds in the stadium.” They put away their phone, walking further into the room to sit on one of those benches. “I wonder if they had their own plane, back in the yakuza days. That’d be the real dream.”

Nodding again in response to River’s answer, they laid back on the bench as if they actually were going to sleep on it. “I drove the truck today, so you won’t have to put up with riding on the back of the bike.”

As Jack walked to a bench, River began tugging at their armor, shoulder pads sliding over arms as they fumble loosening everything. While muscle memory was able to take over the majority of the work, they feel like their fingers weren’t connected to their brain. All their mind shouted was ‘make this quick, make this quick,’ yet every movement is painfully slow.

At least Jack didn’t seem to mind. Was willing to wait, and while they didn’t wish for anyone to see them in this state, River was grateful for the menial talk. Their thoughts wouldn’t drift anymore.

“Can you imagine Palmetto putting enough funding into the athletic fund for beds in the stadium? That’d be the fucking dream. We’d be truly living and breathing Exy at that point.”

    There had always been something delicate about River. With Indigo, who was all neon colors and sharp edges, she never fully knew how to approach them. Everyone on the Exy team, she considered friend; even those who she quarreled with. Familial rejection in the real world had given her cause to see the Foxes as her new sort of family, River included in this. 

   Apparently, today at least, they shared something in common. The reluctance to leave the locker rooms, to get back to ordinary life after the loss, and push away the results of the game was tough for them both. 

   “Oh, yeah, count me in on that,” Indigo answered them ruefully, a smile on her features, hoping it was somewhat warm and inviting. “But you know, it’s not over yet. Maybe we’re in for a miracle.” 

“Miracle.” The word fell heavy, a stone shattering the case they were trapped within. Yes, this was something they could focus upon. Exy granted them life in ways that saved them, in ways that rebuilt what had broken. They clambered onto the bus, arms tight around their backpack as they watched the cars pass by, all for this chance to continue playing this game, and to compete with a team that they knew would better their life.

They need to focus on what their life is now. Their father can’t fucking threaten them here. Not anymore.

She’s never been the gentle one. Never been the one that her siblings came to for advice or sympathy. Virtue was the practical one, Prosper was the kind listening ear—and Glory was just Glory. The wild one, the loner, the girl out in the woods or in the back of one of her friends’ pickup trucks, getting into trouble. 

But she’s not cold, and she never has been, even when it’d be easier to be. She’s all fire, a big heart hidden underneath a stubborn, angry shell. She hates when people she cares about are hurt. She hates it when people are cruel, or when things aren’t fair. She’s just built more for fighting than for comforting—she’d take on the entire world, if she had to, but she doesn’t feel like she ever knows what the right thing to say is. 

River’s smile is a small thing, and it does little to assure Glory that they’re alright. They don’t move, and so Glory decides to bring herself to them, making her way slowly from the doorway to the locker room to sit down on a bench. It’s an action that she hopes makes a statement: that she’s willing to stay here with River. That she’s willing to wait, however long that takes. 

“Coast is clear,” she confirms, with a small smile to match River’s. Neither of them happy, but a gesture of—something. Like they’re trying, and so is she. Meeting each other somewhere in the middle. “I can keep you company, if you don’t wanna head back alone. Or if you don’t wanna leave yet, I can just—stay.”   

Their phone weighs heavy in their hand, and god, it’s like it burns hot, but they can’t let go. They don’t know if they should send a quick text to Dana, to inquire if their father has reached out to her too. If he’s found her, cornered her, reminded her that they can’t fucking escape where they come from. 

For the first time in nearly a year, River feels that terror crawl up their throat, and they cannot stop it.

They’re supposed to be unceasing, a force pressing against the world. But as Glory slowly approaches and sits on the nearby bench, they wish to step back and fade into the walls. They wish to become stone, unfeeling and unbothered and incapable of shattering so easily.

Coast is clear, she says, shoots them a smile too, and they finally drop their gaze, eyes squeezing shut. Yet their father’s face in the crowd greets them, and the phone burns, and they can hear their pulse in their ears pounding faster, faster, FASTER ----

“I don’t ---- I don’t know,” they stammer, because the silence is suffocating them, and they have to fill the gap. Sinking back down to the bench, they finally release their white-knuckled grip on the phone, leaving it face-down. “I --- ” They try to keep their breaths even, slow,  but their heart still slams against their ribs. “I don’t know what I want right now.”

what if he’s actually still there, what if he’s waiting, what does he fucking want?

         The worst part about the loss is that they’d been doing so well. Somehow this year, the whole team just seemed to mesh together in a way that Henry hadn’t seem since starting with the team. He’s completely gutted by the loss, feeling as if it was all his fault, when it wasn’t. Home games were always nerve-wracking for him. The thought of people he didn’t want there showing up was always a possibility. Not that his dad had ever taken an interest in Henry’s playing. He’d made his opinions about the sport clear a long time ago, which was exactly why Henry played in the first place. He’d always liked his version of rebellion because it was quiet—quieter than Holland’s had been anyway. Henry was always on edge when there were home games, in case his dad showed up.

         Of course, he doesn’t show up—he hasn’t in three years. Doesn’t matter if the Foxes are winning. Doesn’t matter if Henry’s actually doing well. It’s never enough for his dad and the only reason he still goes home is because he doesn’t want his teammates to pity him. And well, he’s too proud to admit that home is a problem because it means admitting a lot more than that his dad is abusive. Tonight, more than any other night he’s been at Palmetto, he misses Holland. In some alternate universe, she was still in his life. In some other universe, she would be here tonight, cheering him on and when they lost, she’d be there helping him deal with it. But she’s not because he screwed up and chose someone who abused them over the one person that loved him more than she loved anyone else.

         After a few hours of feeling sorry for himself, Henry eventually leaves Fox Tower to find something to take his mind off the pain of loss, which tonight is way more than just the game. A failed attempt at having fun at a party, led to him buying his own bottle of alcohol and heading back to court where he could maybe bring his thoughts back around to the game and not his sister. What he didn’t expect was to hear someone else still here unless his mind is playing tricks on him or ghosts are real. “Didn’t think anyone was still here,” Henry responded. “You okay?” Although, clearly, the answer was no. 

They swallow, once, twice, thoughts failing to string together a sentence. “I’m --- okay enough,” they finally say. Too late and much too weak. Their cellphone feels hot in their hand, and they think of Dana, wondering once more if she knew. And if she didn’t --- was it worth informing her? Would it matter at the end of the day, that his father had watched the game? If the man didn’t approach River, then they should leave it be. There was nothing their father could do to them anymore. They were safe at Palmetto.

                                                                 And yet, they can’t bear to leave the locker room.