Chapter 22 Seth #2
The silence stretched. Coach stared at me like I’d grown a second head.
“You’re cleared,” he said finally. “The doctors say you’re fine.”
“The doctors say I’m not going to die if I play. That’s not the same as fine.”
“Landry—”
“I’ll suit up. I’ll be on the sideline, supporting the team. But I’m not going back on that field.” I held his gaze. “My decision is made.”
Coach leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “You know what this means. The bowl game is your last chance to impress scouts. If you sit out—”
“I’m not going pro.”
“You don’t know that. You’ve had a hell of a season. The numbers—”
“Don’t matter.” I cut him off, surprising myself with how calm I felt.
“I’ve known for a while that football wasn’t my future.
No amount of telling me I could get drafted will make me change my mind.
And without that being an issue, I don’t see a reason to put myself in danger when I’m still healing.
We both know there’s no way I’d have been cleared this fast if it wasn’t for the bowl game on the line. ”
Coach studied me for a long moment. I could see him cycling through arguments—appeals to duty, to legacy, to the teammates who were counting on me. I’d heard all of them before, had used them on myself during sleepless nights when I wondered if I was making the right choice.
But none of them changed the fundamental truth: I didn’t want this anymore. Maybe I never had.
“This about the McBride kid?” Coach asked quietly.
I thought about lying. About keeping Tanner out of it, protecting whatever privacy we had left. But I was tired of hiding. Tired of pretending parts of my life didn’t exist because they made other people uncomfortable.
“He’s part of it,” I said. “But not all of it. I want a different life than this one. And I’m not going to find it by getting my head rattled again.”
Coach sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I can’t say I understand. But I respect it.” He met my eyes. “You’ve been a good player, Landry. Better than you give yourself credit for. Whatever you do next, I hope it works out.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
We shook hands, and I walked out of that office feeling lighter than I had in months.
Tanner was still in the kitchen when I got home.
He’d finished the stir-fry, had two servings plated on the counter, but he was just standing there staring at them when I came through the door. Lost somewhere inside his own head.
“Hey,” I said.
He startled, spinning to face me. “You’re back. I didn’t hear the door.”
“I was quiet.” I crossed to him, stopping close enough to touch. “I need to tell you something.”
The wariness crept into his eyes—the same guarded expression he’d worn since the hospital, the one that said he was bracing for impact. My chest ached with how much I wanted to take that look away.
“What is it?”
“I went to see Coach Bradley.” I reached for his hand, laced our fingers together. “I told him I’m done.”
Tanner went very still. “What do you mean, done?”
“No more football. No more games. I’ll suit up and be on the sideline for the bowl game, supporting the team, but I’m not playing.” I squeezed his hand. “It’s over.”
His face did something complicated—shock, confusion, and then something that looked almost like terror.
“Seth, you can’t—the clearance, the bowl game—”
“I can. I did.” I brought his hand up, pressed my lips to his knuckles the way I had that night after Thanksgiving. “This isn’t about you, Tanner. Or it is, but not the way you think. I’ve been watching you fall apart trying to hold it together for me, and it made me realize something.”
“What?”
“That I’ve been playing a game I stopped wanting years ago.
That every time I stepped on that field, I was choosing something I didn’t even want over the life I could be building.
” I held his gaze. “You showed me what that life could look like. Wilmington, grad school, working on equipment that actually protects people. That’s what I want. That’s what I’m choosing.”
Tanner’s eyes had gone glassy. His hand trembled in mine.
“You didn’t have to do this,” he whispered. “I never asked you to—”
“I know you didn’t. That’s why it matters.
” I cupped his face in my hands, brushed my thumbs over his cheekbones.
“You never would have asked. You would have watched me play until it destroyed you because that’s who you are.
But I’m not going to let that happen. Not when I can choose something better. ”
A tear slipped down his cheek. I caught it with my thumb.
“I love you,” I said.
The words came out simple, certain. I’d been carrying them since that night after Thanksgiving, holding them back because I wanted him to hear them right. Not in the heat of the moment, not when he might think I was just caught up in something.
Now. Like this. When he could see how much I meant it.
Tanner’s breath caught. His eyes searched my face—looking for doubt maybe, or hesitation. Whatever he found made his expression crumple.
“Seth—”
“I love you,” I said again because he needed to hear it twice. “I’m in love with you. I have been for a while now.”
He stood frozen for a long moment, tears sliding down his face. Then he made a sound—half sob, half laugh—and pulled me into a kiss that tasted like salt. His hands fisted in my shirt, dragging me closer, and I wrapped my arms around him and held on while he shook against me.
“I love you too,” he breathed against my lips. “I love you so much, Seth. I’ve been so scared—”
“I know.” I kissed him again, softer this time. “I know you have. You don’t have to be scared anymore.”
He laughed, wet and broken. “That’s not how fear works.”
“Then we’ll figure it out together.”
We stood there in the kitchen, holding each other, the stir-fry growing cold on the counter. I could feel the tension draining out of him—ten days of vigilance, of holding himself together, of pretending he was fine finally releasing its grip.
When he pulled back, his eyes were red but steady.
“Take me to bed,” he said.
I didn’t need to be asked twice.
Tanner was kissing me like he was starving for it the entire way to my room, hands everywhere, pulling at my shirt until I helped him yank it over my head. His mouth found my neck, my collarbone, the sensitive spot below my ear that made me groan.
“Slow down,” I managed. “We’ve got time.”
“Don’t want slow.” He bit down on my shoulder, and my knees almost buckled. “Want to feel you. Want to forget everything except this.”
I understood. After ten days of distance, of monitoring and managing and pretending, he needed to let go. Needed something raw and real to ground him back in his body.
But I also knew what he really needed—not just release, but permission. Permission to stop being strong. Permission to fall apart with someone who would catch him.
I pushed him onto the bed and crawled over him, pinning his wrists above his head. He arched up, testing my grip, and the way his breath caught made heat pool low in my stomach.
“You’ve been holding everything together for ten days,” I said, lowering my mouth to his jaw. “Taking care of me. Making sure I was okay.” I kissed down his throat, felt his pulse hammering against my lips. “Now it’s my turn to take care of you.”
A sound escaped him—something raw and wanting. His hips rolled up against mine, seeking friction, but I held him down.
“Tell me what you need,” I said.
“You.” His voice cracked. “Just you. All of you.”
I took my time undressing him. Peeled off his shirt slowly, pressing kisses to each inch of skin I revealed. His chest, his ribs, the soft trail of hair below his navel. He squirmed beneath me, hands grasping at the sheets, but I didn’t let him rush me.
“Seth—” My name came out desperate. “Please.”
“I’ve got you.” I unbuttoned his jeans, dragged them down along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, flushed and hard, already leaking at the tip. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I wrapped my hand around him, stroking slowly, watching his face. His head fell back against the pillow, mouth dropping open on a moan that sounded like it had been building for days. I could feel all of it in the way he trembled beneath my touch.
“That’s it,” I murmured. “Let go.”
I kissed down his chest, his stomach, the sharp jut of his hipbone. When I finally took him into my mouth, the sound he made was almost a sob—relief and pleasure and something that had been wound too tight finally snapping.
His fingers threaded through my hair, not guiding, just holding on. I worked him slow, savoring the weight of him on my tongue, the way his thighs shook when I took him deeper. Every sound he made felt like proof—proof that I could give him this, could be the person he let go with.
“Fuck, your mouth—” His hips stuttered, fighting the urge to thrust. I held him down with one hand splayed across his stomach, the other reaching lower to tease at his entrance. "Wait—fuck, wait—" His hand tugged at my hair. "Not yet. Want you inside me when I come."
I pulled off and he whimpered at the loss, hips chasing my mouth. He was trembling all over now, chest heaving, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Not from pain—from the overwhelming release of everything he’d been holding back.
I crawled back up his body, kissing the tears from his cheeks. “Still with me?”
“Yeah.” His voice was wrecked. “Need more. Need you inside me.”
I reached for the nightstand, found the lube. He spread his legs wider, making room for me, and the trust in that gesture—the way he opened himself to me without hesitation—made me want to shield him from everything that had ever hurt him.
I slicked my fingers, circled his hole slowly. He was already so worked up, so desperate, that the first finger slid in easy. He gasped, back arching, hands fisting in the sheets.
“More,” he demanded. “I can take it.”
I gave him another finger, working him open while he writhed and begged. Every sound he made went straight to my cock—the broken moans, the way he chanted my name like a prayer. When I crooked my fingers and found that spot inside him, he nearly came off the bed.
“There. Fuck. Right there.”
I rubbed against it, relentless, watching him fall apart. His cock was leaking steadily against his stomach, untouched, and I knew he was close. Could feel it in the way his muscles clenched around my fingers, the way his breathing had gone ragged and desperate.
“You’re so good for me,” I told him, adding a third finger. “So fucking beautiful like this. Letting me see you.”
“Seth—” His voice broke on my name. “Please. I need—”
“I know what you need.”
I withdrew my fingers slowly, slicked myself with more lube. When I lined up against him, I paused, meeting his eyes.
“I love you,” I said. Because I could. Because he needed to keep hearing it.
“I love you too.” He reached up, pulled me down into a kiss. “Now. Please—”
I eased into him, watching his face—the way his mouth fell open, the flutter of his eyelids, the moment tension gave way to something softer. When I bottomed out, he exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for days.
“Stay,” he breathed, wrapping his legs around my waist. “Just—stay.”
I understood. Not just in this moment, but always. He needed to know I wasn’t going anywhere.
“I’m not leaving,” I told him, starting to move. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”
We moved together, slow at first—deep, grinding strokes that had us both groaning. Tanner clung to me, fingers digging into my shoulders, his face buried in my neck. I could feel him shaking with every thrust, could hear the soft, broken sounds he was making against my skin.
This wasn’t just sex. This was release. Ten days of holding everything together, of being strong, of pretending he was fine—all of it finally letting go.
“I’ve got you,” I said again, picking up the pace. “Let go, Tanner. I’ve got you.”
He came with a sob, his whole body clenching around me, cock pulsing untouched between us. The feeling of him falling apart in my arms—trusting me to catch him—pulled me over the edge. I buried myself deep and let the pleasure crash through us both, holding him while he shook.
Afterward, we lay tangled together in the wreckage of the sheets. I traced patterns on his back while his breathing slowed, feeling the gradual loosening of muscles that had been wound tight for days.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“For choosing this.” His hand found mine, squeezed. “For choosing me. For taking care of the man I love instead of playing that stupid game again.”
I pressed a kiss to his hair. “Always.”
We fell asleep like that, wrapped around each other, the blackout panels turning the room into a cocoon of darkness. Tomorrow there would be questions—from teammates, from coaches, from everyone who expected me to finish what I’d started.
But tonight, there was just this: the two of us, safe, together, finally on the same side of everything that had been keeping us apart.