Page 2 of Worth the Shot

Weeks.

My mouth goes dry. Heat climbs my neck so fast I swear smoke could pour from my ears. Anger and betrayal lodge deep into my chest, heavy and sharp.

“The team doesn’t know yet. I wanted you to be the first. It’ll be released to the public any second now.” He rubs the back of his neck, and looks at his phone. His face stays unreadable, like this is a routine update instead of the moment he blows my life apart.

“Oh. Got it.” I nod once, trying to keep my cool in a situation that feels barely held together by dental floss. “Well, I’m not really sure what to say except that I wasn’t…expecting this.” I swallow hard, forcing back tears. He notices and reaches for my hand across the table.

“I’m so sorry, Delaney. This is hard. I just don’t really have any control over it, you know? Staying here was my first option, of course, but the team couldn’t really afford to re-sign me right now. They need to sign another Forward. You get that, right?”

“I do. I just thought maybe I’d be part of the conversation, considering we are, in fact, in a relationship. Easy detail to miss, I know.”

“Look, this is a lot and I wish I could change it. It was never a guarantee, though, ya know? Me staying here my whole career…” He sighs. “And your life is here. Who knows where I’ll end up after this. I can’t drag you around with me. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Right.” I nod, like I get it. And even though a part of me does, or should, I don’t know how to explain to my heart why I never fully prepared it for this.

I knew his contract with the Mountaineers was coming to an end, but since he was nearing the end of his career I just assumed he’d re-sign here and finish out his career. I pictured an engagement, the big wedding, the fancy apartment overlooking the ocean that we always talk about. Right up until now, as the man I thought I might grow old with, is calmly telling me that he’s signed a 1-year deal with LA. Joke’s on me, I guess. Turns out we were planning a future with completely different maps.

“So what happens to us now? The last two years we’ve spent making plans?”

“You know how hard it is for us to find time now, living in the same city. I think it’d just end up hurting us both more if we tried to make that kind of long-distance work.”

I nod, a forced laugh catching in my throat as I do the one thing I’ve always excelled at: replacing emotion with dark humor. “Nice. Always wondered what my thirteenth reason would be.”

“Delaney, please,” he says, and I let out another short laugh that sounds nothing like amusement.

“Please what, Matt?” I finally look at him. “Please make this easier for you? Please pretend this doesn’t feel like you dropped a grenade on the table before we could even order coffees?”

His jaw tightens, but his voice stays gentle. “No. Please don’t do that.” He swallows hard. “You don’t have to make a joke out of this just because it hurts. I know I’m hurting you and I hate it, Delaney. I really do.”

He pauses, eyes locked on mine. “And if there was a version of this where I could stay and be the man you deserve, I would. But there isn’t. Not if I want to make the most of the end of my career.”

I nod so he knows I hear him, but I don’t reply. Instead, I cross my arms and focus on something across the room, because looking at him right now feels like volunteering for another wound.

When he speaks again, his expression is softer, his voice quieter. “If there’s ever a chance I make it back here, maybe the universe lines up for us that time around.” He pauses, strain creeping into his voice. “But I guess now just isn’t our time. I’m thirty-four next month. I have to take what I can get if I want to keep playing.” His throat bobs as he swallows, eyes glassy in a way I’ve never seen before. “I’m sorry, Delaney.”

Seeing him like this stings, and I hate how quickly it reminds me this is hurting him too. That taking a career move he couldn’t afford to pass up also meant losing us, and neither side of that choice could have come easy.

We sit there for a while, reminiscing about the last year. The highs, the lows, and everything in between. I keep my expression neutral, hiding the fact that even with the gentle crash landing, this still hurts. I try not to be bitter. I’ll deal with it later when I’m alone, where I can unpack every feeling just to shove it back in the box and sit on the lid.

Finally, he glances at his watch like he has somewhere to be, and there it is. That small, ugly flare of resentment, right on schedule.

Oh, sorry. Did you have a plane to catch, sir? Wouldn’t want to keep you.

“I should probably get going before this gets any harder for us.”

“Gets?” I bite out a laugh. “That has to be a joke.” A single tear slips free. I wipe it away fast and drag in a steadying breath before the rest can follow. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

He grabs his keys off the table and I track his every move, trying to memorize him before he slips away entirely. Before he walks toward the door he continues, “Take care of yourself, Delaney,” but he doesn’t reach for me. Not a hug. Not a handshake. Not even a brush of fingers. Maybe it’s better that way.

I wish him good luck, even though my heart is screaming things far more inappropriate and vulgar than what belongs in this quaint, small-town coffee shop. It’s much easier to reach for anger than admit I’m hurt, right?

Then I watch him leave. The bells jingle as the door swings open and shut, sharp and cheerful and weirdly cruel. And there I am, staring down a future I never expected and one I have absolutely no idea how to navigate in this moment. The tears don’t come immediately, though. Instead, there’s just numbness and a heavy stillness that settles deep into my chest. So I go to the counter and order the most expensive latte on the menu—the one with cardamom and elaborate, pretentious latte art—and carry it to the coziest, most reclusive corner of the cafe, curling into it like I could disappear if I try hard enough.

The rest of the place hums around me. Milk steaming, cups clinking, and people laughing too loudly at tables that feel impossibly far away. Across the café, a woman laughs at something her boyfriend says. He reaches for her hand and intertwines their fingers, and she looks at him like he hung the moon. For a second, I can’t stop myself from wondering if that’s what we looked like to everyone else. Happy. Untouchable.

The world keeps moving like mine didn’t just get shoved off a cliff. The longer I sit there, the louder my thoughts get. Needing a distraction, I grab my phone and call my best friend.