Page 37 of Fragile (Cedar Lakes University #2)
Chapter thirty-six
Miles
The room is softly lit by the morning sun, its golden rays filtering through the thin curtains and casting a gentle glow over everything. It feels like the world outside has paused, holding its breath just for us.
This morning feels like a dream. With her warm body nestled on my chest, legs intertwined under the sheets, her red hair splayed out across my arm and pillow. I want to stay here for the whole day. Something shifted in me last night. It felt real and I don’t know if I’ve ever felt things like that before for anyone.
I trail my fingertips over the soft skin of her arm hugging my stomach, and she begins to stir, her body seeking more of mine even in sleep. As I press a soft kiss to the top of her head, she immediately opens her eyes, snapping her head to look up at me. “Morning, Queenie.”
“Morning,” she says, sleep lacing her voice. “What time is it?”
“Time for us to snooze a little longer.” I pull her body into mine, despite her already being so close. “Mmm, I like this.”
She sighs softly, resting against me for a moment before reluctantly untangling herself from my embrace.
“No, don’t go,” I whine, grabbing for her.
“I’ll be right back.” Her happiness radiates from her as she stretches, arms reaching up over her head, showing me her perfect body, before she grabs one of my shirts, slips it over her head, and the sight of her as she walks away wearing my clothes makes my chest rumble with possession. I want to follow her, claim her, all over again, but I don’t I just watch as she goes into the bathroom.
I power up my phone, knowing there will probably be a hundred messages from the fallout of it being off all night. As soon as the screen comes to life, it rings, and I see Dad’s name on the screen. I know I can’t keep avoiding him, as much as I want to, so I take a deep breath and answer.
“Hey, Dad,” I say, trying to keep my voice normal.
“Finally decided to pick up?” he snaps. There’s no warmth in his voice, only irritation. Great, this is going to go well.
“Yeah, I’ve been busy,” I reply, struggling to keep my tone even.
“Busy, huh?” he retorts. “It’s funny how you always seem to be too busy to talk to me on game days, you know. It’s almost like you’re deliberately ignoring my calls.”
I wince, because he’d dead on the money. “It’s not like that. I’ve got practice and stuff. It’s hard to find a good time to talk.”
“Hard to find a good time?” he says sharply. “I’ve been trying to reach you, and all I get is voicemail. You know, it feels like you’re making excuses. It’s becoming a pattern.”
My stomach knots. “Dad, I’m really doing my best here.” You have no idea how hard I’m trying, so back off.
“Your best?” he sneers. “I watch the games, Miles. I see what’s going on. You get one or two decent plays, and suddenly you think you’re the best. Well, that attitude won’t work in the pros. It’s not good enough. How can you expect people to be interested in your draft next year when you can’t even be consistent.”
His words cut through me, slicing away pieces of me like always. “That’s not true. I’m working hard.”
“Working hard?” he scoffs. “I see a player who’s lost his edge. Maybe you’re not cut out for this. Ever think about that?”
My mind goes blank, numbness taking over, and I’m struggling to process his words, because he knows exactly what to say to hurt me. “Dad, that’s not fair—”
“Fair?” he interrupts, voice dripping with disdain. “What’s fair is me telling you the truth. You’re underperforming, and you need to face it before you lose all interest from teams and scouts.”
I can barely hold on. His words are like a cold wave crashing over me. It doesn’t matter to him that I wouldn’t enter the draft until next year. Nothing matters except the fact he’s desperate to ruin my happiness. I don’t know how to respond, so I just lie. “Dad, I’ve gotta go.” And I hang up before he can respond.
Quinn steps out of the bathroom, her carefree expression faltering the moment she sees me. My chest feels like it's being crushed under an invisible weight, every breath a struggle, shallow and jagged. My vision blurs at the edges, darkening like the walls are closing in. I can’t get enough air, my lungs refusing to cooperate as my heart hammers against my ribcage, faster and faster, like it might explode.
“Miles, what's wrong?” Quinn’s voice cuts through the haze, distant at first, like she’s shouting from the end of a long tunnel. But then she’s right in front of me, her eyes wide with worry, taking my phone from my hands. I want to answer, to tell her I’m fine, or that I’m not fine. I want to say anything, but the words are stuck in my throat, tangled up with the panic that’s suffocating me.
She doesn’t hesitate. She drops to her knees, her movements quick but gentle, her hands reaching for my face. “Hey, hey,” she whispers, and her voice is the first thing that feels real, like a lifeline when I’m drowning. Her hands are warm, firm, as they cup my face, her thumbs brushing lightly against my cheekbones rhythmically, and I try to focus on her. Only her.
“Look at me,” she says, and I try—god, I try—but my vision is swimming, the room tilting like I might fall off the edge of the world. My heart is still racing, a wild, erratic beat that silences out everything else. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” Her voice is steady, solid, and I latch onto it, desperate to pull myself out of the spiral.
There’s something in her eyes, something steady and unyielding, that begins to anchor me. Her touch, the gentle pressure of her hands on my face, grounds me, pulling me back from the brink. The walls stop closing in, my breaths start to even out, the crushing weight on my chest easing just a fraction.
The storm inside me doesn’t disappear, but it quiets enough that I can hear her again, feel her presence beside me, pulling me out of the darkness. “I’m good,” I whisper, my voice breaking.
She releases my face and climbs straight into my lap, pulling me close to her until all I’m breathing is cinnamon. “I know you are.”
I don’t know how long we stay wrapped in each other, but it feels like a long time. When I finally release my grip around her, she only adjusts her arms, not dropping them completely.
I inhale her one more time, taking strength from her being here. “My dad called,” I tell her with the knot tightening in my stomach, and I find myself kneading her hips for comfort. “He…he…”
“It’s okay. If you want to write it down, would that help?”
I shake my head, swallowing down my fears. “He said I’m wasting my potential.” I continue on a breath. “That all the work I’ve put in isn’t enough, and it’ll never be enough. He said… He said I’m letting him down.”
Her hand moves to the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair. “You’re not letting anyone down,” she whispers fiercely. “You’re doing your best, and that’s all anyone can ask of you.”
I want to believe her, but the knot in my stomach tightens, the doubts swirling in my mind. “He doesn’t think my best is good enough,” I say, and the words taste bitter on my tongue. “He said if I don’t step up now, I’ll be stuck, and no one’s going to take a chance on me. I’ll be forgotten.”
She pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes, her gaze steady and full of conviction. “You know he’s projecting onto you, right? Because he is. That’s what happened to him. He lost his chance to keep his job in the pros, so he’s pushing you to get what he wanted.”
She’s right. That’s exactly what’s happening here. I’ve known it my whole life.
“It doesn’t make what he’s doing okay, though. And when you make the pros, it’ll be because you have more talent in your pinky finger than he ever did.” She flushes with determination as her eyes lock onto mine.
“But what if he’s right?” I ask, my voice trembling. “What if I’m not good enough?”
“You are good enough,” she says, unwavering.
I nod, trying to let her words sink in, to let them erase the doubts. But it’s hard. My dad’s voice is still there, echoing in my mind, a constant reminder of the standards I’ve been trying so desperately to meet.
“I just don’t want to fail,” I admit. “Not him, not you, not myself.”
“You won’t,” she assures me. “And even if things don’t go the way you want, that doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It just means you’re finding your own path, in your own time.”
I want to believe her. I want there to be a switch that flips in my mind that can block out all the noise and just listen to her, let her ground me and keep my head on straight. But I don’t know how to get rid of his cold voice in my mind.
“You want a distraction?” she asks, pulling my face between her hands and keeping me absorbed in her green eyes.
“Yes,” I murmur, and before I know it, we’re dressed and she’s checking her phone.
“Indie says Seb left our dorm, like, three minutes ago to go into town.”
She cautiously opens the door as though he might pop out, but when she’s satisfied the coast is clear, she drags me out of my dorm. Being the source of sunshine I need.