𝐌𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 | 𝖩𝗈𝖻𝖾 𝖡𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗁𝖺𝗆

¹⁸. 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝗋𝗂𝖽

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 𝖠𝖫𝖤𝖷 𝖵𝖠𝖫𝖤

I THREW MY suitcase onto my bed, letting out a sigh as I flopped down beside it. I had just arrived home, exhausted from the trip. My mom had dropped Ethan and Layla off at their houses before we finally pulled into ours. It was 4 p.m., and after the plane ride and the drive home, I felt drained. Not that the car ride was quiet—Ethan made sure of that, talking the entire time, filling the silence with his endless commentary.

Before we got in the car, I'd told Ethan and Layla that I'd lied to Jobe. They weren't disappointed, just confused—which, if I'm being honest, I get. I could have told Jobe the truth, but I didn't. And now I was left replaying that decision over and over in my mind.

My friends, of course, were already aware that my mom didn't know about Jobe. So they made sure not to bring him up or mention how we basically stayed at his house. It was a silent understanding between us, but it didn't make the guilt of lying to Jobe any easier to bear.

I sighed, standing up and unzipping my suitcase. As I started pulling out clothes and folding them, I heard footsteps approaching. I glanced up just as my mom appeared at the door, leaning casually against the doorframe.

"Alex," she said, her tone light but curious, "you never told me how it went. No storytimes?"

I paused, holding a shirt in my hands, and offered her a small smile. "It was good," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant. "Nothing too exciting. Just... you know, sightseeing and stuff."

The sightseeing was Jobe.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, the way they always did when she suspected there was more to the story. "Sightseeing, huh?"

"Yep," I said quickly, turning back to my suitcase, hoping to avoid further questioning.

I noticed her movement in the corner of my eye as she took a step closer. I kept my gaze focused on the open suitcase, pretending to be absorbed in my clothes, but my mind was racing. As I sifted through the pile, I saw a flash of red and white—a shirt I didn't remember packing.

I pulled it out, my heart skipping a beat as I realized it was Jobe's jersey. I hadn't put it in there.

I froze for a moment, my fingers gripping the fabric a little too tightly. My mind raced, trying to figure out how it got there. I didn't want my mom asking questions, especially not now.

I glanced up at her, noticing her eyes still on me, waiting for my response.

"It was fun, Mom," I said, forcing a smile as I folded another shirt. "A lot of great memories." And that part was true—I wasn't lying.

She smiled back, her expression softening. "That's good to hear," she said, but then her eyes trailed to the jersey in my hands. Before I could react, she reached out and took it from me.