Page 8 of Seeds of Friendship (University of Mountain Springs)

The house is weirdly quiet. Troy's at some engineering study group, Ethan's “networking” (translation: day drinking with some guys from his dorm-that-never-was), and Alfie's holed up in his room doing...whatever he does.

I'm sprawled on our questionable couch, laptop balanced on my stomach, pretending to read about “market fundamentals” when my phone buzzes. Dad's contact photo pops up—him and me at Megan's last middle school game, both of us grinning like idiots. Back when he was healthy.

I debate letting it go to voicemail, but the guilt wins.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Freddie!” His voice is too bright, that forced cheerfulness that makes my chest tight. But underneath it, I hear the wheeze. Subtle, but there. “How's my college man?”

“Good, yeah. Just studying markets.” I close the laptop, already feeling the weight settling on my shoulders.

There's a pause, then that wet, rattling cough that makes my stomach clench. He tries to muffle it, but I know that sound. Thirty-five years in the mines, breathing in God knows what, and now his lungs are paying the price.

“Sorry about that,” he says, voice rougher now. “Change in weather, you know.”

We both know it's not the weather.

“Studying markets, eh? You're still thinking business major, right? Smart choice. Practical. Good money in that.”

“Yeah.” I don't mention that I'm actually better at science and math. That my chemistry professor pulled me aside last week to ask why I wasn't planning on a STEM major.

Business means faster money, safer money. Clean offices.

“Your mom's at work—picked up another double shift at the hospital. But she wanted me to tell you she loves you.”

Another double. Of course.

“How's Meg?” I ask, deflecting.

“Oh, you know your sister. Stubborn as hell.

She's insisting she doesn't need new cleats, but...” He trails off, and I can hear what he's not saying.

They're falling apart, but they can't afford new ones. Not with the medical bills piling up. He’s still working but struggling. I’m surprised they still let him go in.

“I could maybe send—”

“No.” His voice is firm, then another coughing fit triggers. Longer this time. I count the seconds—fifteen before he can speak again. “Absolutely not. You focus on your studies. We're handling it.”

We both know they're not handling it. They're drowning, slowly, and pretending everything's fine. Like always.

I have scholarship money; I got the grants for coming from a low-income household. Not that I'd ever admit that to anyone here.

Another cough. Wet. Painful sounding.

“Dad—”

“I'm fine, son. Just need to rest more.” The lie comes so easily. “House feels empty without you stomping around.”

The guilt settles in me with a thud. Because the truth is, I don't miss it.

Not the sound of his coughing at night. Not the stress-filled dinners where we all pretend Mom's not exhausted and Dad's not getting worse. Not the stack of bills on the kitchen table that nobody mentions. Not Megan trying to shrink herself, to need less, to not be another burden.

I love them. Fuck, I love them so much it hurts. But being here, being away from all that weight and dying and endless, crushing need—it feels like I can finally breathe.

The irony isn't lost on me. I can breathe because I'm away from the man who can't.

“Miss you guys too,” I lie, smooth as silk.

“Well, I'll let you get back to studying. Make us proud, son. You're going to fix everything for this family, I know it.”

A ball gets lodged in my throat, I’m surprised I can even speak.

“Yeah, Dad. I will.”

We hang up and I sit there, staring at nothing, feeling like the worst son in the world. What kind of asshole is relieved to be away from his struggling, sick father?

The front door slams open. Troy walks in, takes one look at me, and frowns.

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks. Really needed that confidence boost.”

He drops his backpack, studying me with that annoying perceptiveness he has. “What’s up? Family stuff?”

I don't answer, which is answer enough.

“Want to talk about—”

“Want to hit the gym?” I cut him off, sitting up. “I need to hit something or lift something heavy or just... not think for a while.”

Troy nods, already heading for his room. “Give me five to change.”

This is what I'm starting to appreciate about these guys. No pushing, no prying. Just understanding that sometimes you need to sweat out the shit you can't talk about.

Ethan stumbles in as we're heading out, slightly buzzed and grinning. “Gym? Fuck yeah, I'm in. Let me just...” He weaves toward his room.

“You're drunk,” Troy points out.

“I'm pleasantly tipsy. There's a difference.”

Even Alfie emerges from his cave, looking at us gearing up. “Where are you all going?”

“Gym,” I say. “Troy's gonna spot me while I work through some family bullshit.”

Alfie nods once. “I'll come.”

We all stare at him.

“What? I work out.”

“Since when?” Ethan asks.

“Since always. I just do it at 5 AM when there aren't crowds of sweaty idiots grunting at each other.”

And that's how all four of us end up at the campus gym on a Tuesday afternoon.

Troy's an efficient spotter, knowing when to push and when to back off.

Ethan's mostly doing bicep curls in front of the mirror, narrating his own workout like he's filming a documentary.

Even Alfie's putting in solid work, quiet and methodical on the machines.

“So,” Troy says as I push through another rep, “the party's in four days.”

“Yeah.”

“You good?”

I rack the bar, sitting up. “I will be. Just need to make this party work, you know? Prove we're not losers. Have some fucking fun for once.”

“We will,” Troy says with a confidence I don't feel. “We've got Alfie as bait, remember?”

From across the gym, Alfie flips us off without looking over.

“See? He's already practicing his charm.”

I laugh, and for the first time since Dad's call, the weight on my chest eases slightly.

These three idiots might not be family, but right now, they're exactly what I need. People who don't know my history, don't expect anything from me except showing up and being myself—whoever the fuck that is.

“Come on,” Troy says. “One more set. Then Ethan's buying us food after.”

“I am?” Ethan calls out.

“You showed up drunk to the gym. It's punishment.”

“Pleasantly tipsy!”

And just like that, the sadness gets tucked away in its familiar corner. I focus on what's in front of me. These guys. This party. This chance to be someone other than the disappointing son who's relieved to be away from home.