Chapter 9 #2
“You’re always fine. That’s what concerns me.” He crossed his arms. “I’ve known Seth a long time. He’s a good guy. But he’s also—”
“A football player. I’m aware.”
“That’s not what I was going to say.” Hunter was quiet for a moment, staring out at the water. “He’s never done this before. The relationship thing. Neither have you. That’s a lot of baggage to navigate when one of you spent two years watching your father die from the sport the other one plays.”
The words landed hard because they were true. I’d thought it myself, in the dark hours when I couldn’t sleep.
“I care about him,” I said. The words came out quieter than I expected. “More than I thought I would. More than makes sense, probably. And I know it’s complicated and messy and might end with both of us hurt. But I can’t just walk away because it’s hard.”
Hunter studied me. “You really care about him.”
“Yeah.”
“Does he know how much?”
“He knows I’m in this. The rest… We’re figuring it out as we go.”
“That’s probably smart.” Hunter rubbed a hand over his face.
“I’m not trying to talk you out of anything.
I just— You’re my best friend. You’ve been through hell, and I wasn’t there for enough of it.
I was in Texas playing a championship game while your dad was dying, and I’ve never forgiven myself for that. ”
The old grief stirred, but it didn’t cut the way it used to. “That wasn’t your fault. Lincoln and Mom made that call, not you.”
“Doesn’t change how it felt. Doesn’t change that you were alone.”
“I wasn’t alone. I had Mom. And after—” I hesitated. “I’ve been seeing someone. A counselor. On campus. Since September.”
Something shifted in Hunter’s face—surprise, then relief. “You didn’t tell me.”
“It’s not exactly party conversation.”
“Tanner.” He pulled me into another hug. “I’m proud of you.”
“Don’t get mushy on me.”
“Too late. Deal with it.”
When he let go, his eyes were wet. I pretended not to notice.
Lincoln and Nixon arrived as we were sitting down to eat. I was still in awe of them. They’d been in love forever, but it wasn’t until a couple years ago they were finally able to be together. Sometimes, I wondered what my dad would say if he knew about them.
They came through the door in a flurry of loud greetings—Lincoln’s deep voice filling the house, Nixon’s quieter laugh underneath. I’d seen them both at the funeral, but that had been a blur. This was different. They looked happy, settled into each other in a way they hadn’t been then.
“Tanner.” Lincoln pulled me into a hug before I could brace myself. He smelled like cedar and coffee, the same way he’d smelled when I was a kid and he’d come over to watch game film with Dad. “Look at you. You’re all grown up.”
“I’ve been grown up for a while now.”
“Not to me.” He released me and turned to Seth. “And you must be Seth. Hunter’s told me a lot about you.”
“All good things, I hope.”
“Mostly.” Lincoln’s smile was assessing. “I hear you’re looking at athletic training programs. Smart field. We need more people who understand players’ bodies as well as they understand the game.”
We crowded around the table, elbows bumping, everyone reaching for bread at the same time. Nixon had brought wine, and John had made some kind of roast that turned out better than it had any right to. Voices overlapped, nobody waiting for permission to speak.
Seth sat beside me, close enough that our knees touched under the table.
He talked to Lincoln about training techniques and to Nixon about the Breakers’ conditioning program.
He made John laugh with a story about a disastrous group project, and he held his own when Hunter grilled him about the Gray Wolves’ chances at a bowl bid.
“Your secondary’s been solid,” Hunter said, pointing his fork at Seth. “But that offensive line needs work.”
“Tell me about it. Marcus has been running for his life half the season.”
“Marcus is good. You’re good. Just need the protection to match.”
I watched them talk, watched Seth lean into the conversation without hesitation. This was what I’d been missing—not just Seth, not just Hunter, but all of it together. People who showed up for each other.
He fit. That was what kept hitting me—how easily he slotted into this group. No awkwardness, no strain. He just belonged.
After dinner, we moved to the living room. Hunter started a fire in the fireplace, and we sprawled across the furniture with full stomachs and drinks in hand.
“So,” Lincoln said, turning to me. “Hunter tells me you’ve been making progress on your prototype.”
“Good progress. I’ve got strong data on force distribution—lab results are promising. The next step is figuring out how to test it under game conditions.”
“That’s always the gap, isn’t it? What works in controlled environments versus what survives Saturday afternoon.” He leaned forward. “Tell me about it.”
I looked at Seth. He gave me an encouraging nod.
“The basic concept is a multi-layer padding system with variable density,” I said. “Standard helmets use uniform padding, which means they’re optimized for either high-impact hits or cumulative sub-concussive trauma, but not both. My design uses overlapping layers of different materials—”
“Each calibrated to absorb force at different impact velocities,” Lincoln finished. “Patrick mentioned you wanted to work on something like this.”
My throat closed around Dad’s name. “He did?”
“Last time we talked. Before—” Lincoln’s expression flickered. “He was proud of you, Tanner. He knew you were going to do something important.”
Seth’s hand found mine on the couch cushion. He laced our fingers together, not seeming to care who saw.
“I brought my laptop,” I managed. “I can show you the data.”
The next hour was a blur of graphs and spreadsheets.
Lincoln asked sharp questions about my methodology, my sample sizes, and my assumptions.
He pointed out weaknesses I hadn’t considered and strengths I’d been too close to see.
By the time we finished, I had three pages of notes and the first real sense of direction I’d felt in months.
“This is good work,” Lincoln said. “Really good. You’ve got the foundation for something that could change the industry.”
“That’s the goal.” I closed my laptop. “The challenge now is getting it out of the lab and into someone’s hands who can manufacture it at scale.”
“I’ve got a contact at Riddell. One of their R&D directors. I think he’d be interested in seeing this.”
My heart kicked hard. “You’re serious?”
“Wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t. No promises—corporate innovation moves slowly. But getting your work in front of the right people is how this happens.”
“I’d appreciate that. More than I can say.”
“Patrick would have moved mountains for this.” Lincoln smiled. “The least I can do is make a phone call.”
Later, after Lincoln and Nixon had gone and Hunter and John had headed to bed, I found Seth on the balcony outside our guestroom.
He was leaning against the railing, looking toward the beach. The moon had risen, and if you positioned yourself just right, you could see it glinting off the waves rolling onto the shore. Somewhere in the marsh, a night heron called.
“Hey,” I said, sliding up beside him.
“Hey, yourself.” He pulled me close, arm around my waist. “How are you feeling?”
“Good. Really good, actually.” I leaned into him. “Lincoln’s going to call his contact at Riddell.”
“That’s huge.”
“It feels huge. Like something’s actually moving forward.” I tilted my head up. “Thank you. For being here. For realizing when I was falling apart. And for not getting upset when Hunter interrogated you.”
“Hunter didn’t interrogate me.”
“He did. I saw his face.”
Seth laughed. “Nah, that was just him silently warning me that I’d better not fuck this up.” He cupped my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. “I meant everything I told him earlier. That I care about you. That I’m not going to hurt you if I can help it.”
I kissed him. Slow and soft, tasting the wine on his lips. The marsh was quiet around us, and I let myself sink into it—the feel of him, the warmth, the way my chest loosened when he held me.
We slipped inside and pulled the doors closed behind us.
Even with the windows closed, I could hear the distant rhythm of waves.
The bed was bigger than either of ours at home—enough room to spread out, to keep distance if we wanted.
We didn’t want. I found my way to him in the dark, and he pulled me close without hesitation.
Seth’s chest against my back, his arm around my waist, his breath on my neck.
“Five more weeks,” I said into the darkness.
“Give or take.”
“I’m counting.”
He pressed a kiss to my shoulder. “Get some sleep.”
I closed my eyes and let the distant sound of the waves lull me under. Tomorrow, we’d walk on the beach with people who loved us. Tomorrow, I’d have breakfast with my best friend and his fiancé and two men who’d known my father and wanted to help carry his legacy forward.
And tonight, I let myself believe it could last.
Tonight, that was enough.