Chapter 30 Oliver
OLIVER
The city was still quiet when I pulled out of my lot.
I usually liked the early drives—the quiet stretch between home and the stadium, that half hour window where the day hadn’t hit yet.
But the silence this morning didn’t settle me.
I kept one hand clenched around the steering wheel and the other draped across my thigh, trying to ignore the slight tremble in my wrist.
I didn’t feel bad, not exactly. But I didn’t feel good either.
Sloane said she had to go in early, but that wasn’t all of it. Something about her energy was off. She was too composed. I hated that distance, that wall between us after last night was special. Because it was. What we had was fucking special, and I knew I couldn’t push her. If I did, she’d run.
Plus, I didn’t want to make her stress worse.
However, I felt the shift with her this morning, and I hated that I didn’t know what caused it.
I kept telling myself she’d talk to me when she was ready.
That she needed time. But deep down, I was starting to wonder if time was the problem.
It always had been with me. How much time before my heart stopped? How much time before my game was done?
My phone buzzed at the light outside the players’ gate. I glanced at the screen.
Rachel James – 1 new email
My heart kicked up. I pulled into the lot, cut the engine, and stared at the screen. My sister hadn’t emailed me in over a year. If she needed something, she usually texted our dad to pass it along. I didn’t think she’d ever reach out to me directly again.
I opened it, anxious as hell.
Subject: I know you probably won’t answer.
Hey,
I don’t really know how to do this. I’ve written this like three times and deleted it, but whatever, I’m hitting send this time.
I saw the game last weekend. You were trending all over my feed, so I watched the clips, then the full thing.
You looked calm. Like really calm. Like you, before everything went sideways.
And then I saw the pre-game photos. You wore the shoes I designed.
I didn’t even think you still had them. I made those for fun when I was nineteen and thought I was some creative genius.
But seeing them on you, under the lights, with that locked-in face.
.. I just lost it. I cried, okay? In my apartment.
Alone. Because no matter what happened between us, I still want to believe I matter to you.
That maybe you remember when things weren’t so messed up.
I know I hurt you. And I don’t expect you to forgive me or respond. I wanted to say I see you now. I saw something in you during that game—some version of you I thought was gone. You looked okay. I hope you are. Really.
And if you’re not, that’s okay too. I’d rather know that than stay in silence like before.
I still wear the orange necklace. The one I made for your first college game.
It’s stupid and faded and barely matches anything, but I wear it on game days.
Even though we weren’t talking. Especially now.
I was mad and scared and selfish, and I’m sorry for all of it.
You’re doing great, and I was wrong to say you were killing yourself.
You’re still my big brother. I miss you more than I’ve admitted out loud in a long time.
If you ever want to talk—I’m here. I’ll pick up.
Love,
Rachel
I stared at the message until the screen dimmed. My throat burned. I didn’t move.
This should’ve meant everything. And it did. But it also made me want to crawl out of my skin. Because she saw something in me that wasn’t real. She thought I was okay, healthy, well. But I was none of those things. Not even fucking close.
I wanted to write back. I wanted to tell her I missed her too. That I was proud of her. That I understood why she walked away and that I forgave her. That I wanted to start over.
But my hands wouldn’t move. My chest tightened again.
Because she was still right. All those months ago when she screamed at me for killing myself for a stupid sport…
and that she wouldn’t stand by me while everyone else pushed me to keep trying.
She didn’t get that I’d played too long to walk away.
I closed the app, shoved the phone into my bag, and sat there with my hands gripping the wheel. I wasn’t ready to walk in. I wasn’t ready to pretend like I had it together when every part of me felt like it was slipping sideways.
My sister thought I was doing well, thought I was in control. I hated how much that gutted me. I wanted to be the version of me she remembered. The one she could look up to. The one who didn’t scare her.
But whatever was waiting for me inside—whatever Sloane and William weren’t saying—it wasn’t good. And I didn’t want to be told to sit out. Not now. Not when everything finally felt like it was starting to work again.
I couldn’t leave Rach hanging though, not after a year of silence, so I responded before my world shifted.
Hey, Rach—
You were right about most of it. About me pushing too hard. About pretending I was fine when I wasn’t. I didn’t want you to see me like that, because I hated the idea of you worrying or being disappointed in me. I thought staying quiet made me stronger, braver somehow. Turns out, it made me lonely.
I’m still figuring things out. The truth is, I’m not okay all the time. But I’m trying to be better about saying that out loud instead of hiding and acting like I’m fine.
You didn’t fail me, Rach. You never did. If anything, you were the only one who said what everyone else was too afraid to. I wasn’t ready to hear it yet. Still struggling with it if I’m honest with you.
I miss you too. A ton. And yeah, I kept the shoes. Always will.
—O
I stared at the screen until the words stopped blurring. My chest didn’t feel so tight this time. For the first time in months, hitting send didn’t feel like a loss. It felt like a start.
I got out of the car, adjusted my hoodie, and walked toward the entrance. The parking lot was half-full. Early for a Thursday. Early enough that most of the guys weren’t in yet.
I swiped my badge and stepped inside. The air hit differently. Cooler than usual. Or maybe it was me.
The hallway that led toward diagnostics was quiet. Too quiet. The usual chatter in the locker room hadn’t reached this far yet. Everything about it felt sterile. Monitored.
I pulled my hoodie tighter, shifting my gym bag higher on my shoulder as I turned the corner.
Ivy was already there.
She stood outside recovery, tablet in hand, her face pulled into something unreadable. She looked up when she saw me. Her expression didn’t shift.
No smile. No raised eyebrow. Nothing familiar.
“I thought you had the morning off,” she said, her voice flatter than normal.
“I did,” I replied. “Figured I’d come in early. Clear my head.”
She gave a tight nod. “You’re on light protocol today. No treadmill. No drills. No weight room.”
I frowned, the fragile restraint I had on my control slipping. “That wasn’t on the sheet yesterday.”
“Things change.”
There was no teasing in her tone. No sarcasm. No Ivy. Just the staff version of her—the one who didn’t break character. The one I’d rarely seen directed at me.
“Ivy,” I said, my voice on the edge of cracking.
She didn’t look at me and tapped something into her tablet.
“What’s going on?” I asked again, quieter now. “Seriously.”
“You have neuro at noon.”
“I know that. I’m asking about the part no one’s telling me.” I gritted my teeth, my breath catching my throat.
She hesitated.
For half a second, I saw it. The flicker of discomfort. The way her shoulders shifted as she gazed down the hallway.
“Talk to Sloane,” she said eventually, her voice more clipped than before.
“I tried.” I ran a hand through my hair, a tremor in my fingers. “What changed, Ivy? Please. Just… tell me.”
That landed. Her mouth tightened, but she didn’t speak. The wall went up between us, and it hurt in a way I wasn’t ready for. She’d never kept anything from me. Not in college, not when I first joined this team.
We’d been friends for years. She’d been in my corner longer than anyone in this building. Now she was on the other side.
“Are you for real? Not gonna fucking tell me a thing?”
She exhaled through her nose, shifting her stance.
“You need to show up at 12. You damn well know you’re not healthy, and we need tests to confirm what’s next.
Don’t look at me like I’m betraying you, Oliver.
This shit is serious, and I’m done covering for you, pretending like you can handle everything. You can’t.”
The words hit harder than I expected. I stood there, trying to hold my reaction in.
My pulse felt wrong again, too fast and too shallow, but I couldn’t tell if it was my body or just the shame climbing higher in my chest. The feelings of betrayal and guilt twisted and weaved into each other, and I wasn’t sure what was what.
I couldn’t believe my oldest friend betrayed me, while at the same time, I knew I’d put her through hell.
She probably lied for me, covered for me countless times and I accepted it. I never thought about what it cost her.
I swallowed back the frustration, even though it scraped against my throat. I opened my mouth to argue, but I didn’t know what I was trying to say. That I deserved the truth? That I could handle it?
She stepped aside and gestured toward the table inside recovery. “Vitals first. Then hydration. After that, you sit. And I mean it, Oli. You sit your ass down and rest until 12.”
No music from the training room. No chatter from rookies messing with the rehab gear.
Just the low buzz of the lights and the sound of my sneakers against the tile.
Jordan and Noah had reached out numerous times, but I left them on read.
The woman I loved was about to tell me I couldn’t play football ever again.