CHAPTER NINE
GRANT
T he sun’s barely climbed above the tree line, and my legs already feel like concrete. There’s dew on the turf, mist clinging to the sidelines, and I’m not all that happy to be here.
Coach is screaming something about footwork and hustle and “ stop standing around like you’re posing for a magazine ad. This is football, not GQ!”
And yeah, okay, I might’ve adjusted my helmet a little dramatically when he said that.
It’s a typical early morning practice, and it’s gotten to the point in the season where it’s cold enough for my breath to fog in front of my face and for me to be questioning whether or not I can feel my fingers. All before my brain has fully woken up.
Braxton jogs up beside me, sweat dripping from his temple. “You’re in a mood today.”
I grunt. “Don’t start.”
Braxton might be my best friend, but he’s also pushy, and it gets annoying when he knows exactly what to say and ask about the things I don’t want to talk about.
“Alright, huddle up!” Coach bellows.
We break into formation, hands on our knees, everyone trying to catch their breath before the next drill. Cam leans over and whispers, “Vandenberg, you good?”
“I’m fine,” I mutter.
Braxton lets out a breath. “That’s your favorite sentence, huh? Followed closely by ‘it wasn’t a big deal’ and ‘she knew what this was.’ ”
The two of them live with me, after all. They would know best.
I glare at him. “You wanna give me a TED Talk, or do you want to actually run plays?”
“Don’t tempt me. I’ve got a whole thesis prepared: Grant Vandenberg and the Emotional Black Hole He Calls a Heart. ”
A couple guys around us snicker.
I met Braxton when we both were recruited to the football team freshman year. Since then, he’s been the best damn quarterback I’ve ever played with, and he’s also become my best friend. It’s the only reason he’s allowed to rib me this bad.
I shrug him off and jog to the line of scrimmage, fingers twitching.
We run a quick set—slants, hooks, a fade route that goes wide—nothing fancy.
My muscles move on instinct, but my head’s still stuck in that stupid 5 a.m. fog, tangled up with Lina’s voice, her stupid sarcasm, the way she looked at Savannah like she was an angel, and then as if that’s the way I saw her too.
I don’t like where my brain continues to wander. I’m so used to football being the one place where I’m entirely in control; it’s the one thing I love most about the game. The structure gives my unruly thoughts somewhere to land when everything feels scattered.
But the way my mind keeps diverting back to Lina is making it harder and harder to feel grounded in this game the way I usually am.
Instead, it feels like my grip is slipping.
It wasn’t my intention to run back with her to our apartment building, but just like when she dropped that glass in her apartment and when she was puking in my backyard, I fixate on doing what I can to prevent bad things from happening to the people around me.
When the drill ends, we huddle again. Braxton doesn’t let it go.
“I’m serious, man,” he says, dropping beside me and grabbing a water bottle. “You’ve been on edge. Snapping at everyone. You’re being a dick.”
“I’m always a dick.”
“Yeah, but usually you at least try to make it charming.”
He throws me the ball, and I throw it off to the side. “Who do I have to charm?”
I ask him as if it’s a serious question, but we both know that there isn’t a right answer. The truth of the matter is, I only have to charm a girl enough to get her into my bed, and I seem to be doing fine on that front.
“You never know.” I hate the way Braxton tries to give me hope, but I also know it’s my fault. “The right girl could come around and change everything. It happened to me.”
He thinks I’m being stubborn—that it’s all a front I put on. But he also doesn’t know the full story.
Nobody does, and that’s fine by me. It pisses me off that he’d ever think this is something within my control. But that’s just him, constantly trying to see the best in things.
“Listen, Brax. I know you think you know more about all of this than me. I mean, let’s face it, you and Meredith are practically written in the stars.
” I wipe my face with the hem of my shirt, my body heating with every passing second.
“You’re going to get your fairytale ending, but that needs to be enough for you.
I don’t want that man. I can’t want that. ”
He and Meredith have been on and off for the past year, and no one even knows why the hell they broke up in the first place, but everyone knows they’ll end up together eventually.
He waits a beat. “Is this about her?”
“Who?”
“Don’t play dumb, Grant. Lina. You’ve been weird ever since you saw her in the elevator and then when she came to the party after that. It’s not like you to be this obsessed with a girl.”
I don’t say anything. Just stare across the field. I chew my gum harder, hoping it allows me to focus on something else.
“I like her,” he continues. “Not like that. She’s just… real. And she’s not impressed by you, which is refreshing.”
“She shouldn’t be impressed by me.”
Braxton frowns. “Man, you’ve never paid this much attention to a girl before. You need to stop cutting yourself short. If you want anything with her, you need to start acting like it.”
My mind flashes with both times I’ve taken her back to her dorm. The first time, when I found her drunk in my backyard, and again last week when I found her running way too early in the morning.
Of course, there was part of me that felt like I had to—I mean, what kind of douchebag would I be if I let her find her own way home in those kinds of vulnerable spots?
But, it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t just about doing the right thing. It’s out of my own necessity. One I can’t quite describe.
All I know is that if I hadn’t done it, it would have been me not being able to sleep. My brain would’ve looped all night long—every possible thing that could’ve gone wrong. Her drunk, walking alone. Someone seeing her like that. Someone hurting her.
Still, she looked at me that morning like she was sizing me up, like she knew exactly what kind of mess I was, and wasn’t all that impressed. And still, she ran next to me like it didn’t mean anything.
And maybe that’s what messes me up the most. Everyone else wants something—attention, a hookup, a story to tell. But Lina looks at me like she already figured me out, and the answer wasn’t all that interesting to her.
“She doesn’t want anything from me,” I mutter. “That’s the difference. I don’t have to ignore her because she ignores me. I don’t have to be as much of an asshole to her because she’s a big enough one for the both of us.”
“Yeah, maybe. Or maybe she knows you’re more bark than bite.”
“I bite,” I say flatly.
He snorts. “You sulk. You brood. There’s a difference.” He looks me dead in the face before adding, “And I’m sure she’s already figured that out with you coming to her rescue every chance you get.”
There’s a pause, long enough to feel loaded. Then Braxton sighs.
“Look, I get it. Your mom messed you up.”
My jaw clenches, locking the piece of stale gum between my teeth.
“Like,” he adds quickly, almost too casually, “we all know. You don’t talk about her or her death. You don’t even let people mention her without tensing up. But you can’t keep yourself locked up like this just because your mom dying fucked you up.”
The words hit sharper than anything Coach could ever scream. Because it’s the truth.
I don’t talk about my mom, or her death, because it digs up too much.
It makes people realize exactly why I am the way that I am.
It gives way too much context to all of the parts of me that came to light during that formative time of my life—the one where my mom suddenly died and I learned, in one unbearable breath, that I couldn’t stop bad things from happening.
It’s when it all got worse. The damage control. The tracking. The mental rehearsals of worst-case scenarios.
I wouldn’t dare try to put someone else through that day in and day out. There isn’t anything I could do or say to make someone love me while also forcing them to endure my neurotic tendencies.
Coach’s whistle cuts through the air again, cutting me loose from my thoughts. Everyone breaks, scattering like ants, but Braxton claps a hand on my shoulder before he goes.
“Figure your shit out, Vandy,” he says, almost kindly. “Before you ruin something that could actually mean something to you for once.”
I nod once, jaw tight.
And when I line up for the next drill, all I can think about is Lina.