Page 46 of Big Pitch Energy

I set my duffel on the floor and sat on the chair across from her.

“I left the ball in her court, Mom,” I said. “Maybe we just need some time apart.”

“You haven’t seen each other in two weeks,” she pointed out. Then she sighed and added, “I’ve stayed out of it, hoping you two would come to your senses on your own.”

“And I appreciate that.”

“But maybe I should talk to her.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

I didn’t have a good answer, so I didn’t give one at all.

What I do have is a letter. An honest-to-goodness handwritten letter on looseleaf paper I found in my desk.

I’d poured everything into it—how much she meant to me, how sorry I was for pushing too hard, how willing I was to wait while she figured things out. And tucked in with those words was an open-ended ticket to Tampa with her name on it. No pressure, no timeline—just an invitation to take a chance. The envelope weighed down the front pocket of my hoodie, sealed with more hope than I cared to admit. I didn’t know if it would change anything, but I had to try.

I stood, walked across the room, and stopped in front of Mom.

“Would you give this to Hope for me?” I pulled out the letter, trying to keep my voice casual.

Mom took it, studying my face with those sharp eyes that missed nothing.

“Of course, honey.”

“Thanks.”

She stood and followed me toward the door.

“You know you two are perfect for each other."

“I do.” I picked up my duffel. “Now I just need Hope to know it too.”

“She does, she’s just scared.” She patted my back. “You’ll figure it out.”

We headed out to the truck and I opened the door and tossed my bag into the passenger seat. When I turned to say goodbye, Mom pulled me into one of her fierce hugs that reminded me I'd always be her little boy, no matter how tall I'd grown or how old I am.

“Call me when you get to Myrtle Beach,” she said, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

“I will.”

I should have taken the direct route to the highway and left the past two weeks behind me. Instead, I found myself driving past Hope's studio.

The lights were off, the front windows dark, and there wasn’t a single car in the lot. I lingered in the street, staring at the reflection of my truck in the glass, until a car appeared behind me.

I pulled away telling myself I wasn’t being a total weirdo. I just wanted to see her face before I leave, even if it’s from a distance. My pulse picked up as her house came into view, but the driveway was empty.

Frustration twisted my gut and I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. I eased back onto the road and headed toward the highway.

Mom has the letter, and I know she’ll get it to Hope as soon as she can. If that doesn’t do the trick, I’ll come up with a Plan B. Maybe even a Plan C. Because walking away? That’s not in my playbook. Not now, not ever.

Hope

I movedthe yoga mats and blocks around for the third time, trying to find some configuration that felt right. But nothing did.

The space looked fine. It was clean, organized, and even peaceful I suppose, but something about it was off. Like the energy didn’t know where to land, like the air was holding its breath no matter where I stood.

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