Page 147 of Close Knit

Adrenaline spikes, ramming my heart against my ribs. I’m pushing too hard, driving too fast, but I can’t slow down. It’s like speed could somehow outpace the memories, outrun the regret.

But they’re always there, she’s always there, in the rearview mirror, no matter how fast I go.

The radio volume climbs as my speed picks up. Damn it. I relax my neck and flex my fingers, seeking control. Then I latch on to the lyrics.

“Wake me up inside!” I yell along with the tune. My teammates were right. I’m just like a fucking moody teenager. My hands beat a relentless rhythm on the steering wheel.

I glance at the center console and spot a strand of purple hair, a stark contrast against the dark interior. She’s everywhere. I swipe at the strand, feeling its silkiness between my fingers.

The hollow ache inside me cracks open. My nose tingles, my eyes sting.

In a futile attempt to hold back the onslaught of emotion, I slam my palm against my face. Too late. One more flaw she discovered in me, turning me into some pathetic, weeping bastard.

Outside, the rain intensifies, the roads becoming rivers. I should ease off the accelerator, but I don’t give a damn.

Whatever the future holds, I’ve earned it. The failure, the loss, the gaping void where she once fit perfectly.

What if this was a mistake? What if, in losing her, there won’t be any saving me?

I arriveat the Lion’s Lodge with barely a gallon of gas left. The rain is still relentless as I run upstairs and hover in front of her door. The last place I saw her.

Fucking hell. At least there’s no temptation to knock, knowing she’s far away from here.

I unlock my apartment, yank my jacket off, and toss the leather onto the couch. As I do, something on the inside sleeve catches my eye.

Curious, I run my fingertips over a small black heart embroidered into the leather. How did I not notice this before? It’s a tiny, intricate detail, almost like a secret message sewn into the fabric.

Daphne.

Heartache grips me as I bundle up my jacket in my fist. I look up and spot the kitchen counter, cluttered with the checkered coasters and potholders she knitted for me. My gaze drifts over to the stack of blankets piled next to the couch, each one a reminder of her warmth and care.

I can’t breathe. I dash to my bedroom, and mocking me from my bed is the tiny football she gifted me at Christmas. It’s too hot in here. I pull off my sweater and go to the closet, searching for a new shirt. Wedged between my clothes and kits is the red sweater she knitted. My vision blurs as I tear through my things,finding her everywhere—hearts stitched into sleeves, the scarf I bought at Femi’s auction, black and charcoal sweaters.

I drop to the floor, clutching the red sweater.

I rake my hands through my hair, realizing I wrecked the best thing in my life because of my stupid fears. She always treated me with kindness and patience, and I repaid her by walking out on her without ever admitting how broken I truly am. I relied on her to be the sun in every single day of my life. Even with my teammates helping me rediscover myself, I haven’t been able to silence the voices gnawing at my mind. The brief moments of peace I got were because she was near.

The voices in my head are telling me I’m pathetic. Shouting at me about the things I don’t deserve.

Daphne doesn’t need a person who’s haunted by the ghosts of his past, who hasn’t been able to move forward. And besides, how can I achieve greatness on the pitch when I can barely breathe in my own apartment?

I kept my mouth shut while tabloids spread nonsense. I let Rossi relentlessly tell me I’m worthless instead of standing up for myself. I let Charlie get away with hurting me because I was too afraid of letting him have that power over me. The years at Overton and the livestream leak have been eating at me, poisoning the best thing in my life. I could’ve taken control of the story, reported it to the Football Federation. Instead, I acted like a coward.

I ran from her like a coward.

My mistakes pile up like a bad car wreck. Every moment I chose silence over courage, every time I forewent being soft to fake being tough.

I have to make myself right, like I promised. Not just for the game I’ve dedicated my life to, but to ever have a chance at getting Daphne back. I have to prove to her that I can be who she needs me to be.

I want to be the man I deserve to be.

Now that I’m alone, the weight of my actions hits me like a freight train.

I need help. Serious help. Someone to talk to. My past trauma can’t keep holding me back. Even if Daphne and I are done, I owe it to myself to stop prioritizing saves on the field and start saving myself.

It’s time for me to find a bottom I can bounce off of.

Cameron Underdog Hastings.

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