Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Chase
The second my foot hits the pavement, it all caves in.
The noises fade, but the heaviness doesn’t.
It just…shifts, going from this pulsing roar in my chest to a thick, throbbing weight low in my gut.
I don’t hear the world around me, and I can’t feel the bite of the late November air.
All I know is the ache behind my ribs and the pressure building at the back of my throat.
I don’t know how long I stand there, at the edge of the pile the driver’s creating as he pulls bag after bag from under the compartment, but suddenly Brady’s shoes are in front of mine.
I blink, lifting my gaze, finding his frown staring back at me. Beside him, Mason is doing the same. I look between the two of them, a bit confused.
“What?” My voice comes out rough, and I try to clear my throat.
Rather than repeat whatever it was he might have tried to say, Brady’s frown deepens, the corners of his mouth tugging down, and Mason’s shifts from irritation to worry. It must show all over my face. This loss, this shame, but they only know half of the weight I’m carrying.
I can’t possibly tell them that tonight wasn’t just a bad game—they know that already and that’s where the concern in their eyes is coming from, the witnessing of my downfall.
But what they don’t know is something else is wrong, something I can no longer push to the back of my mind and ignore, that might end everything for real, if there is even still a chance for me at all.
Or that in two weeks’ time, when we pack up for our last winter break here at Avix University, the school we planned to attend together since we were fifteen years old, I won’t be coming back.
The thought slices something open in me, a cold knot locking up my throat. It’s coming, the break. The goodbye. The final fall.
I can’t—
I shift my weight, grip the strap of my back tighter, and force out, “Can you…can you take this?” The words taste like defeat, but the bag’s too heavy. Not in pounds but in pressure and everything that it holds. It slips from my shoulder and hits the ground between us.
I can’t tell them that, on Coach’s orders, I have to go to the ER. That I have to finally figure out what the hell has been going on with me.
Mason’s brows pull together instantly, and Brady’s already blindly reaching for it, his worried gaze not breaking from my own.
“Yeah, man, we got it,” Brady says quietly.
“We got you,” Mason adds, softer than I expected.
Their understanding kills me because I know, if given the chance, they would hold me up, take all the weight, and share it between them if it were possible.
It isn’t.
I spin, unable to meet their stares anymore, and start walking. My feet barely lift, the numbness spreading, this time not from whatever the hell happened on the field those few weeks ago, but not fast enough. I want it to fucking swallow me.
“Where are you going, brother?” Mase calls after me.
When I don’t answer, he tries again: “Don’t forget, we’ve got the FaceTime call planned for later. Ari made us all promise, remember?”
My head tips, maybe a nod, maybe not. I can’t tell. My jaw is locked, my throat raw like someone’s dragging nails up the inside of it. I just have to get out of here, away from…everything.
“She wants you there, too,” he adds. And then quieter, slower, he says, “So does Paige.”
That one lands, lodging itself somewhere behind my ribs, but I keep walking. I keep walking because I can’t stop.
If I stop now, I’ll fall, so I keep going.
My lungs burn as if I’m running, but I can’t say for sure if I am. I could be moving at a snail’s pace, and I wouldn’t notice the difference.
I have to get away, to escape. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? There’s no more escaping the reality. No more wishing and hiding, no more wasted hope.
I’ve reached the end of the road, and just like I expected, there’s no soft landing waiting for me.
I guess it’s true what they say, as much as I was hoping I got it wrong.
Karma does come around and my future is the price.
And it’s confirmed several hours later when the doctor comes back into the room looking grim.
It’s late—late enough that the stars are already out, mocking me from above, like the heights I’ll never reach no matter how much I try, no matter how hard I work. I’ll always be below, under, less than.
Darkness surrounds me in every sense of the word.
I don’t even remember walking here. One minute, I was stumbling away from the hospital, and the next, I’m back on campus, climbing the old metal steps at the practice field, finding myself halfway up the home-side bleachers.
I look down when my feet start to wobble, realizing I’m standing on a chair, and I hop to the next one, nearly fumbling forward and rolling onto my ass, but I catch myself before that can happen, glaring down at my hand, the tape half torn and my fingers red and swollen.
Probably should have used my other hand, but it’s occupied.
What’s it matter, anyway?
I don’t need them for anything. Not anymore.
Shrugging my shoulder, I take a drink.
The golden liquor burns as it goes down my throat, and I laugh, this sad, stupid sound that slips out when I remember how many hours I spent on this field the last four years.
Wasted.
Just like every other minute I have spent on this campus.
All for fucking nothing.
I take another drink.
Across the field, the scoreboard mocks me, dead and black, just like every path forward I thought I had. A shaky breath escapes, and I tip my head back, eyes burning.
It’s not fair, not after how hard I fought, not after everything I gave.
I know I made some mistakes over the years, but I own those. I’ve apologized. I’ve been a better friend. A better brother and uncle.
I learned how to love and I’ve let go of my selfishness.
I’ve grown. I have, I swear it.
So then why?
My shoulders start to shake, and I can’t stop it. I stand suddenly, wobbly on my feet as I make my way down the bleachers. I hop the railing near the bottom and stumble, catching myself before I hit the track.
I make my way to the center, right at the fifty-yard line.
I want to call her. Paige.
I want to tell her that I love her, and I miss her, and I wish she were here.
To beg her not to fucking leave me like everything else in my life has, but what would I even say?
My name echoes faintly behind me, and my eyes clench shut.
Great, now I’m imagining things. But then I hear it again, clearer.
“Chase?”
My head snaps up, eyes narrowing…on the last person I would have expected to see here right now.
“Mom?”
She walks toward me slowly, like she’s unsure if she’s allowed to come any closer, and it’s so fucked up, because I don’t know if I want her to or not.
I swallow hard, the glass in my throat cutting deeper with each step she takes. “How are you here?”
“I came to see you,” she says softly. “You haven’t been answering my calls.”
“Yeah.” My tone is bitter even to my drunken ears. “Because I had nothing to say to you.”
“I’m your mother, Chase. I love you.”
My laugh is harsh and broken. “Love? You love me? Are you sure about that? Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it.”
Her face falls.
“Do you even know what that word means anymore?” I ask. “Because I do now. I thought I did before, but I was wrong and there is no mistaking this feeling. And it’s not whatever the hell it was when you left Dad, when you took everything and walked away like we didn’t matter.”
She flinches.
“When you love someone, you’d give anything to protect them,” I go on, louder now.
“You’d sell your own damn soul just to see them one last time if that’s all you could get.
” I breathe hard, shoulders trembling. “If you love someone…you don’t do what you did.
You don’t hurt them and you never leave them.
” I pause and shake my head. “I don’t even know why I’m trying. ”
“I just want to be here for you,” she whispers. “I want to help.”
I let out a breath, jaw clenched. “You want to help?” My voice cracks. “Then help me.”
The moment the words leave me, I realize that she can, that she’s here and maybe this is what I need. Maybe this is the answer.
Maybe this is why she came.
To save me.
“Mom.” Desperation drives me, and I stumble forward, falling, and crawl the last few feet to her on my hands and knees, the weight of everything too heavy to stand.
She crouches, alarmed, reaching out, but I grab her hands before she can say a word.
“Mom, please.” My voice is ragged “If you want to help me…give it back, the college fund, the one you took. Put it back.”
Her expression wavers, and she starts shaking her head.
“Please.” My grip tightens. “I blew it out there. I don’t know if you saw, but it’s over for me. Football, it’s done. This is all I have left, my only chance to make something of myself.”
“Chase, honey—”
“I worked so hard.” I’m crumbling. “I got good grades. Mom, I can graduate this spring. I can. I can get a degree and be someone.” Tears sting my eyes.
“I can make my friends proud. Make myself proud. I can, I swear to god, but I need what you stole to do that. I don’t even need it all.
I’ll figure out meals and copy books from the library.
That’s what I did this past semester, and no one knew.
I can even figure out housing if I need to.
I’ll…I’ll have more time. I can get a job.
Hell, I’ll sleep in my truck if I have to, but, Mom…
please.” I break off, my voice barely a whisper, “I can’t fake tuition. ”
She’s crying now and hope flares in my chest, but then she says, “I’m so sorry, Son.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
She pulls her hands from mine, and I stumble forward, my palm landing on the cold turf beneath me. My chest starts to cave in, and her hand presses to her mouth.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and then she spins and walks away—leaving me there on my knees.
I stare after her, and with every step she takes, something else breaks.