The Last Game

The padel court echoed with the rhythmic thwack of rubber against glass, a sound that had become the metronome of their Thursday evenings for three years. Marcus watched David serve, his movements fluid and automatic, the same serve he'd hit a thousand times before.

"You're running on fumes again," Marcus said, letting the ball bounce past him.

David wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "I'm fine. Just tired."

"You've been 'just tired' since Sarah left. Six months, David. You're walking around like a fucking zombie." The word hung in the humid air between them, heavier than the ball.

David's racquet froze mid-swing. "Funny. That's exactly what she said when she packed her bags. 'I can't live with a zombie anymore.'"

Marcus had known David since college, had stood beside him at his wedding, had held him while he sobbed on his kitchen floor the night Sarah left. But somewhere between the divorce papers and the empty apartment, their friendship had curdled into something performative. This weekly game wasn't connection—it was obligation.

"I signed up for the marathon," David said suddenly, staring at the court floor. "The Chicago one."

"Since when do you run?"

"Since I realized I can't outrun myself walking." David's laugh was sharp and brittle. "Running until my lungs burn is the only thing that makes me feel something anymore."

Marcus set down his racquet. "So what? You're going to run a marathon, and then what? You think Sarah comes back? You think the job that's draining you dry gets better?"

"I don't know, Marcus. I don't fucking know." David's voice cracked. "But I can't keep being this. This thing that goes through motions. This zombie that shows up for work and pays bills and plays padel with his best friend who clearly resents him."

The accusation landed like a physical blow. Marcus opened his mouth to deny it, but the truth tasted bitter. He did resent David—not for the divorce, but for how thoroughly it had dismantled the version of David that Marcus had relied on. The confident, together friend who always had answers. Now there was just this hollowed-out stranger occupying his best friend's body.

"I don't resent you," Marcus said quietly. "I resent that you won't let yourself be broken. We're all broken, David. The difference is, most of us are too tired to keep running from it."

David's shoulders dropped. The fight drained out of him. "I'm not trying to be strong. I'm trying not to disappear completely."

Marcus picked up his racquet again. "Then let's play. And afterward, you can tell me about this marathon. And I'll tell you about the panic attacks I've been having every Sunday night since my promotion."

For the first time in six months, David's smile reached his eyes. "Deal."