~~
I stretched my arms out as I stepped out of the hotel bedroom, yawning loud enough to echo off the marble walls. The plush carpet softened every step.
I deserved that after the nigh I had.
I made my way to the velvet couch and flopped down onto it with a content sigh. My hand reached for the remote like muscle memory, already prepping for a few solid hours of doing absolutely nothing.
That peaceful plan didn't last long.
"Really, Sean?"
The door slammed open without so much as a knock. Nicholas—my ever-persistent, assistant—stormed in parking himself directly in front of the TV.
I blinked up at him, still half-yawning.
"Well, hello to you too," I said, trying to peek around his shoulder at the screen. "It's been a while."
He didn't laugh.
"Two years, Sean," he snapped, voice sharp. "It's been two fucking years."
Silence settled between us. Heavy. Awkward. Tense.
He stood there, demanding answers.
"Two years, Sean," Nicholas snapped, voice cracking from frustration. "You disappeared for two fucking years. Not a word. No explanation. Just vanished."
I didn't look at him. I couldn't. I leaned back into the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it held answers.
"I thought you were done yelling at me last night" I muttered, trying to ignore the topic.
He stepped closer, towering over me like I owed him something—maybe I did.
"That's all you've got? You just drop off the face of the earth, and then send a random message in the middle of the night telling me your lost and thats all I get?"
I stayed quiet.
He waited. Pacing.
"Look," he finally said, softer, "I know what happened two years ago—"
"Lets not go there Nic..." My voice cut through his like a blade.
I sat up, finally meeting his eyes. Anger, guilt, exhaustion—all of it at the esge of boiling over.
The room went quiet again. This time, the silence wasn't awkward. It was heavy. Real.
The silence lingered, thick. The only sound breaking through was the steady ticking of the wall clock nearby. It felt too loud in the stillness.
Eventually, Nicholas let out a breath, the tension slowly draining from his shoulders as he sank onto the couch across from me. His eyes stayed on me, searching for something.
"How've you been, Sean?" he asked, voice low, careful, like the wrong tone might send me spiraling again.
I kept my gaze on the ceiling a moment longer, then turned to meet his eyes.
"Better," I said. Not great. But better.
He nodded slowly. The kind of nod that carries a dozen unspoken thoughts.
"People still talk about you, you know." He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "Even after two years, you're still a hot topic. You're like some urban legend now. The press makes up sightings—Sean spotted in club, Sean with a secret wife and kid, Sean Ryan in a same sex marriage?…"
A small breath of a laugh escaped me, and Nicholas smiled faintly.
"They want you back," he continued. "Even if you can't play anymore, they're hoping you'll step in—coach, mentor, something. Your name still holds weight."
I shook my head at the thought.
Yeah… that could never happen.
I let the silence settle again, mind drifting back to that cracked tennis court in the slums—the kid with the ghost-gray eyes and the quiet storm behind them. Something about him wouldn't let go.
Nicholas looked around the hotel room, exhaling like he was still trying to process how we even got here.
How the hell did you even end up in a slum city?" he asked, eyes narrowing. "Of all places… I never imagined you'd willingly set foot in a graveyard city."
I leaned back, gaze drifting toward the window.
"Honestly, Nic," I said, voice low, "I don't even know how I got there either."
I paused, the image of that kid flashing through my mind—the way he stood on that mound, like the world couldn't touch him.
"But I'm glad I did."
—it was still clear in my mind, like a replay stuck on loop.
"There's this kid," I said finally, my voice quieter than I intended.
"I met him last night in the slums. His pitching... it reminded me of myself. Not perfect. But instinctual. Wild. He had something, Nick.. He can't stay in a place like that."
Without waiting for a response, I got to my feet, already heading for the door. My body moved like it had decided before my brain caught up.
Nicholas stood too surprised at my behavior, trailing after me like a second conscience.
"Wait, wait—Sean, are you sure about this?" His tone was tight with concern. It's been a long time since hes seen me act like this, way too long.
"How old is this kid? You and kids have never exactly... mixed well. And how do you even know he wants to go with you? Did he say that?"
He kept firing off questions as I slid on my sneakers, one after the other. I didn't have the answers. I didn't care. Not right now.
"We'll figure that out later," I muttered, lacing the last knot. "Right now, I just need to find him again."
Nicholas let out a deep sigh. He folded his arms as he watched me unlock the door.
"Find him?" he repeated. "Sean, you saw him once. What makes you think he'll even be in the same spot today?"
"He won't be," I said simply, grabbing my jacket. "I know where he lives."
Nicholas blinked. "And how, exactly, do you know that?"
I turned to him with the brightest, most innocent smile I could muster.
"Oh. I followed him home, of course."
The look on his face was priceless—half horror, half resignation—as I stepped out the door without another word, leaving him stunned and speechless behind me.