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Robby wandered aimlessly down the dimly lit hotel hallway, his footsteps swallowed by the thick carpet. The ornate sconces on the walls cast a soft, golden glow that should have felt warm, but to him, the light felt hollow, distant. His breathing was shallow, uneven, and each step he took felt like dragging a weight he hadn’t agreed to carry. Barcelona had seemed magical when they’d arrived—now it was just another place that couldn’t outrun heartbreak.
Her words still echoed in his mind. Not their precise shape—he couldn’t recall them clearly anymore. It was the tone, the finality in her voice that stuck with him, sharp and cutting, like broken glass he couldn’t help but tread on. She had looked at him with those guarded eyes, so full of conviction that she was doing the right thing. For him. For them both. He should have told her she was wrong, but how do you fight someone determined to walk away?
He stopped in front of a gilded mirror, his reflection fractured by the ornate frame. His face was pale, his jaw tight, his eyes rimmed red. He looked like a stranger. For a moment, he studied himself, searching for some semblance of the person he thought he was—the person she made him feel like he could be. But there was nothing in the mirror except a boy who’d tried too hard to hold on to something slipping through his fingers.
She’d stood there, steady and resolute, as if pulling them apart was an act of strength. Maybe it was. Tory Nichols never let anyone see her falter, and Robby knew better than anyone how much she kept bottled up inside. She carried her pain like armor, her defenses always razor-sharp. But this… this wasn’t protection. It was a wall. Another layer she’d built to keep him out, no matter how much he’d tried to convince her he was safe. That they were safe.
“You don’t trust anyone but yourself.”
The words had slipped out before he could stop them, a gut reaction that now sat heavy in his chest. He hated how true they sounded, even to him. She had shut him out because trusting him—trusting anyone—meant risking that they might fail her. And maybe he would have. But didn’t she understand? Loving someone wasn’t about guarantees. It was about showing up, again and again, even when it got hard.
His hand brushed the wall as he walked, the textured wallpaper grounding him in the surreal haze of his thoughts. He didn’t know where he was going; he just knew he couldn’t stay still. The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly, the soft hum of distant conversation and the faint clink of glasses from the lobby below barely registering in his ears.
By the time he reached the elevator, he felt as if the world had narrowed to the pulse in his temples and the gnawing ache in his chest. The soft ding of the arriving car jolted him, the sound too sharp against the quiet. He stepped inside, leaning back against the mirrored wall. His reflection stared back at him again, fractured and unsteady under the dim elevator lights. He shoved his hands into his pockets, clenching his fists against the helplessness coursing through him.
When the doors opened to the grand lobby, Robby hesitated. The opulence of the space felt wrong, like a mask over something fragile. The marble floors gleamed under the crystal chandeliers, and the air smelled faintly of jasmine and polished wood. He lingered by the revolving doors, the cool breeze of the Barcelona night brushing his skin every time someone entered or left.
Part of him wanted to go back upstairs, to knock on her door and demand answers she wasn’t ready to give. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. If she’d decided to shut him out, nothing he said would change her mind. And the truth was, he wasn’t sure he could bear to hear her say it all again.
Instead, he stepped outside, the night air hitting him like a splash of cold water. The city buzzed with life around him—laughter spilling from nearby cafes, the distant hum of music from street performers, the occasional chirp of passing scooters. It should have been comforting, this vibrant reminder that the world was still moving, still alive. But Robby felt like a ghost, drifting aimlessly through a life that had suddenly become foreign.
He walked with no destination in mind, his sneakers scuffing softly against the cobblestones. The narrow streets twisted and turned, lined with balconies draped in blooming flowers. The beauty of it all felt almost cruel. He’d wanted to share this with her, to get lost in the city together, to make memories that felt like theirs. Instead, he was here alone, carrying the weight of everything unsaid.
His mind replayed fragments of their time together—the rare moments when her guard had dropped, when she’d let him see the softness beneath her sharp edges. The way she’d laugh at his terrible jokes, the way her hand fit perfectly in his, the fire in her eyes that had drawn him to her in the first place. She was fierce and flawed and entirely her own person, and he… he’d thought he could be the one to stand beside her.
But now, all he could feel was the distance she’d put between them. The walls she’d built, not just against him but against anyone who tried to get too close. He’d thought they were strong enough to break through them together. Maybe he’d been wrong.
Robby found himself at a small plaza, the sound of a fountain trickling softly in the center. He sat on the edge of the stone basin, his head in his hands. The tears he’d been holding back threatened to spill over, and for a moment, he let himself feel it all. The sadness, the frustration, the overwhelming sense of loss. He wasn’t used to this kind of vulnerability, but there was no one around to see him break. No one to hear the whispered, desperate question that slipped from his lips.
“Why wasn’t I enough?”
The night didn’t answer him. The fountain kept trickling, the laughter from the streets continued, the world moved on. And Robby sat there, a boy trying to make sense of something he might never understand.
She’d thought she was protecting him, but all she’d done was leave him with a wound he didn’t know how to heal. He wanted to believe she’d come back, that she’d realize pushing him away wasn’t the answer. But for now, all he could do was sit beneath the Barcelona sky, the stars distant and indifferent, and try to find a way to keep moving, waiting hours before going back to his hotel room so his teammates wouldn't know.