Crossing the line
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
By the third day, something shifted. Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe resignation, but the barbs lost their venom. I caught myself laughing once—really laughing—when he described Marcus’s pregame ritual of talking to his shoes like they were sacred relics.
“You’re making that up,” I accused, covering my grin with my notebook.
“Swear on Tyler’s Xbox,” he said solemnly.
At the mention of his brother, my laughter faltered. His eyes flicked to mine, catching the change, and for once he didn’t look away.