Chapter 12 Seth
SETH
The door swung open and noise hit us like a physical force—cheers, whoops, someone pounding on a table in rhythm with the bass thumping from the jukebox.
A wall of heat rolled out, carrying the sharp bite of spilled beer and the greasy comfort of fried food.
Bodies packed the entrance, gray and gold everywhere I looked, and the second we crossed the threshold, hands were already reaching for us, pulling us into the chaos.
Sixty-some people packed into Maguire’s back room—teammates, girlfriends, a handful of alumni who showed up to every home game victory celebration like clockwork.
Someone had commandeered the jukebox and cranked it to a volume that made conversation impossible unless you were shouting directly into someone’s ear.
The air smelled like beer and hot wings and the musk of guys who’d showered fast and not thoroughly after a game.
We’d beaten Ole Miss by fourteen. Clean win, no major injuries, defense holding them to field goals in the second half. The kind of game that felt like proof we belonged in the conversation for a decent bowl bid.
Tanner hovered at my shoulder as we pushed through the crowd. His hand brushed my lower back—brief, accidental-looking—before he shoved both hands into his jacket pockets.
“You good?” I asked, leaning close to be heard.
“Fine.” His jaw was tight. “Just a lot of people.”
A lot of football people, he meant. A lot of guys in Gray Wolves gear, rehashing plays, slapping each other’s backs, existing in a world that had taken everything from him.
I shouldn’t have asked him to come. The invitation had seemed like progress at the time—proof that we could exist in each other’s worlds, that he didn’t have to hide from mine. Now, watching him scan the room with his shoulders up around his ears, I wondered if I’d pushed too hard.
“Landry!” Terrence appeared out of the crowd, two beers in hand. He thrust one at me and nodded at Tanner. “Your roommate came. Nice.”
“Tanner,” I said because Terrence had a habit of forgetting names. “You remember.”
“Yeah, yeah. The engineer.” Terrence grinned at Tanner with the easy warmth he showed everyone. “Landry talks about your work sometimes. The helmet stuff, right?”
Tanner blinked, his eyebrows lifting. “He talks about it?”
“When he’s not being a pain in the ass about film review.” Terrence clapped my shoulder hard enough to slosh beer over my knuckles. “Come on, Davis is doing his Scooter impression, and you’re missing it.”
He disappeared back into the crowd. I wiped my hand on my jeans and turned to Tanner.
“You don’t have to stay. If it’s too much—”
“I’m fine.” His voice had gone flat in that way it did when he was performing okay instead of feeling it.
I waited. Didn’t push, didn’t fill the silence. Just let him know I wasn’t going anywhere until I understood what he needed.
Tanner’s gaze swept the room—the press of bodies, the gray and gold everywhere, the celebration of a sport that had taken his father from him piece by piece.
I watched him take it in, watched him breathe through whatever memories were clawing at him.
When he looked back at me, some of the tension had loosened from his jaw.
“Go,” he said, more gently this time. “Be with your team. I’ll find somewhere to sit.”
“Tanner—”
“I’m not upset.” He stepped close enough that I could hear him without straining. “This is just…a lot. But I want to be here. I want to see this part of your life.” His mouth quirked, self-deprecating. “Just give me a minute to remember how to breathe in crowds.”
“You’re sure?” I searched his face for any sign he was just saying what I wanted to hear. “Because we can leave. Right now. I don’t care about—”
“I know you don’t.” Something softened in his expression. “That’s why I’m staying.”
The words landed somewhere in my chest and stuck there.
“If it gets to be too much—”
“I’ll find you.” He nodded toward the bar at the far end of the room. “I’ll be over there. Go do your thing, Landry.”
The way he said my nickname—like it was a costume I put on, separate from the person he knew—made me want to kiss him right there. I wanted to pull him close and remind him that none of this mattered as much as he did.
Instead, I squeezed his arm once, held his gaze long enough to make sure he saw everything I couldn’t say aloud, and let myself get swallowed by the crowd.
Being Landry was easy.
That was the thing about team dynamics—you slipped into the role like putting on a jersey.
Landry was the guy who’d played four years without complaint, who showed up to every practice and backed every play call, even when he disagreed.
Landry bought rounds and remembered everyone’s girlfriends’ names and never made anyone feel awkward about the things they said in the locker room.
Landry didn’t glance over his shoulder every thirty seconds to make sure his boyfriend was okay. Landry wasn’t a very good boyfriend.
I caught myself doing it anyway. Tanner had found a spot at the far end of the bar, nursing a beer, talking to Jenkins’s girlfriend about something that made her laugh. Good. He could do this. He was better at people than he gave himself credit for.
“Earth to Landry.” Davis waved a hand in front of my face. “You in there?”
“Yeah. Sorry. What?”
“I said the boosters want to do a meet-and-greet on Thursday before the pep rally. Coach needs a headcount by tomorrow.”
“Works for me.”
Davis followed my gaze across the room. “Your roommate seems cool. Quiet though.”
“He’s not big on crowds.”
“But he came anyway.” Davis raised an eyebrow. “That’s something.”
I didn’t know how to answer that. The truth sat heavy in my chest—that Tanner had come because I’d asked, because we were trying to build something that had room for both our worlds, because he felt things for me that neither of us had figured out how to name yet.
“He’s a good guy,” I said instead.
“Must be, if he puts up with your Garth Brooks obsession.”
“I don’t have an obsession.”
“You literally have a playlist called Garth or Nothing.”
“That’s ironic.”
“Sure it is.” Davis clapped my back and wandered off toward the pool tables.
I found myself drifting toward Tanner without deciding to. The crowd parted and reformed around me, conversations blurring into white noise.
Halfway across the room, I spotted him still at the bar—but he wasn’t alone anymore.
Jenkins had pulled up a stool next to him, gesturing broadly while his girlfriend leaned in from Tanner’s other side, her expression animated.
Tanner was nodding along, his posture still tense but his face engaged, actually listening.
I slowed, hanging back near a high-top table where a few of the offensive linemen were arguing about something on someone’s phone. From here, I could watch without interrupting.
Jenkins clapped Tanner on the shoulder—too hard, the way he did with everyone—and Tanner barely flinched.
Progress. Jenkins’s girlfriend said something that made Tanner’s eyebrows shoot up, and then he leaned forward, hands moving as he explained something.
I caught fragments of “load distribution,” “impact tolerance,” and something about bone density that made Jenkins look completely lost but impressed anyway.
“Your boy’s fitting in.” Davis appeared at my elbow, nursing a fresh beer. “Jenkins looks like he’s getting a physics lecture.”
My stomach dropped. I kept my expression neutral, but something must have flickered across my face because Davis glanced at me sideways.
“Relax, man. I just meant—” He shrugged, taking a sip of his beer. “You brought him. You’ve been watching him all night like you’re worried he’s gonna bolt. Clearly, he matters to you.” His tone was easy, unbothered. “Nothing wrong with that.”
I didn’t know what to say. The silence stretched a beat too long.
Davis bumped his shoulder against mine. “Hey. Whatever’s going on with you— Whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here. No judgment.” He nodded toward Tanner. “He seems good for you. That’s all I care about.”
The tightness in my chest loosened, just a fraction. I swallowed hard.
“Thanks,” I managed.
“Don’t mention it.” Davis turned his attention back to the bar, giving me an out. “Seriously, though, Jenkins looks completely lost over there.”
“Biomechanics,” I said without thinking. “Sounds like someone got him talking about his research on helmet design.”
“Right, the concussion stuff.” Davis tilted his head, watching the three of them. “He’s pretty smart, huh?”
“Yeah.” The word came out softer than I intended. “He is.”
“Good for you, man. Having a roommate who can actually hold a conversation. Better than my freshman year—my roommate’s entire vocabulary was ‘bro’ and ‘dude.’”
I huffed a laugh, but my attention was already drifting back to Tanner. Jenkins’s girlfriend was laughing at something now, and Tanner had that surprised look he got whenever he made someone laugh—like he hadn’t expected it to work.
Terrence wandered over to their group next, sliding in with his easy grin and a fresh round of drinks.
He set a beer in front of Tanner, who looked momentarily startled by the gesture.
Terrence said something I couldn’t hear, and Tanner’s mouth quirked into a half-smile as he responded.
Terrence threw his head back and laughed—genuine, not performative—and bumped Tanner’s shoulder with his own.
Something loosened in my chest. Tanner was doing it. He was surviving this room full of gray and gold, this celebration of everything that had taken so much from him, and he was doing it because I’d asked. Because he wanted to be part of my world.
I couldn’t stand back any longer.
I crossed the remaining distance to the bar, weaving through a cluster of alumni reliving the third-quarter interception. Terrence spotted me first and grinned.