Chapter 10 Silas
TEN
SILAS
The sun’s not even at its peak when we wrap up morning drills, but the heat’s already brutal. Summer training camp never pretends to be anything but relentless, and I don’t hand out breaks easily.
The guys filter off the field, some of them dragging, others still keyed up. Luke and his little group are the last ones jogging in. His shirt is damp, clinging to his lower back, and his smile is all teeth as he tosses a comment over his shoulder that makes Ty bark out a laugh.
I shouldn’t be watching him.
But I am.
His head turns just slightly—enough to scan the field, not enough to be intentional. Still, our eyes catch for a fraction of a second. No smirk. No wink. Just that unreadable look.
But I feel it. That same fucking pull, that hum under my skin that hasn’t shut up since I put my hands on him in the locker room. Since I touched him as though I didn’t know better.
Since I fucked him like I didn’t care.
Then he’s gone, swallowed up by the tunnel.
I close the clipboard and hand it to Harris.
“I’ve got somewhere to be,” I say. “Are you okay with locking up today?”
He doesn’t question it. Just nods.
I don’t usually leave early, so he doesn’t even question me.
Which is good—because I don’t think I could explain it if he did.
I head straight to the parking lot, peeling off my shirt once I’m behind the wheel. The heat has sunk into my bones, but it’s not the weather that’s making me itch.
It’s Luke.
Or more specifically, it’s the ghost of Luke in my hands. His voice in my ear. That lace between his cheeks. That goddamn moan.
I scrub a hand over my face and curse under my breath.
I should’ve known better. I did know better. But knowing and stopping are two different things. Especially when it comes to him.
I take the longer route out of town. Windows down. Music low. Just enough time to convince myself this detour makes sense. That this visit isn’t a reaction to that look on the field. That it’s not because I’m slipping. Again.
It’s nearly silent when I pull into the lot—only the chirp of birds and the slow whir of a lawn crew in the distance. It’s always quiet here, like the world’s been padded in cotton and grief. I pull my shirt back on and climb out of the car.
I don’t bother with the front desk. They know me by now. I sign the clipboard and head down the familiar hall, past pastel walls and patient doors, until I reach the one that still matters.
Xavier Morales. Room 314.
It’s strange how seeing his name in print still makes something twist in my gut.
I push the door open slowly.
He’s in the window seat again, same as always. Posture loose, gaze unfocused. The TV plays softly in the background—some old college game rerun, a decade out of sync with the present.
His hands rest on the blanket folded across his lap. One of his knees bounces faintly—an echo of the energy that used to live inside him. That fire. That drive.
“Hey, X,” I say softly, stepping inside.
No answer. No shift in his eyes. No sign he knows I’m here.
Still, I pull the plastic chair closer and drop into it with a sigh.
“I had to get out of there,” I admit, elbows on my knees. “Practice ended early. One of my players… he—” I break off. “Doesn’t matter.”
Because it’s not like Xavier can respond.
Not like he can call me a goddamn hypocrite. Not like he can remind me how he trusted me once—how he took the hits I let him play through. How I was supposed to protect him, and instead, I missed the signs until it was too late.
“You’d hate him,” I say, lying through my teeth. “Too cocky. Too pretty. Thinks the world should spin around him.” I smile without humor. “No. You’d love him.”
The ache sharpens. I drop my head into my hands.
“I crossed a line. And it’s not just guilt. It’s worse than that. Because part of me doesn’t regret it.”
I force out a breath. Try again.
“I saw you in him,” I whisper. “That edge. That spark. The kind of player who makes you believe again.”
But that’s the problem. Belief is what gets people hurt. Belief is what let me send Xavier back onto that field.
I glance up at him, still staring out the window like there’s something waiting for him on the other side of the glass.
“I’m sorry,” I say, quieter this time. “Not just for what happened. Not just for what I did to you.”
The words catch in my throat, but I force them out anyway.
“I’m sorry that part of me is falling for someone else.”
It feels like betrayal, even spoken into the silence. Even when Xavier won’t respond. Can’t respond.
“I didn’t mean to,” I whisper. “I didn’t think I could.”
But something about Luke cracked the dam I’ve spent years building. The same dam I buried you behind. And now I’m standing here, watching you fade, while wanting someone else who’s still so dangerously alive.
I reach for his hand. Cold. Loose. Unaware.
“It should’ve been you,” I whisper. “It was you.”
The door creaks open behind me, soft footsteps padding into the room. I don’t look up until a hand rests lightly on my shoulder.
“Sorry to interrupt,” a familiar voice says, warm and careful. “Just doing my rounds.”
I glance up to find Nurse Callahan standing beside me, her smile soft. She’s been here almost as long as I’ve been visiting. One of the few people who never asks questions she already knows the answers to. We were all friends once.
“I didn’t mean to break the moment,” she says gently. “But I figured you’d want to hear—Xavier’s had a good week. He’s been calm. No agitation, no overnight episodes.”
My chest tightens. “That’s good.”
She nods. “We even got him out into the courtyard. Sat in the sun for almost an hour.”
I blink hard against the sudden burn behind my eyes. “He always liked the sun.”
“I remember,” she says, voice even softer now. “He used to tease you for hiding in the shade.”
A breath escapes me. Half a laugh, half a wound.
Her hand squeezes my shoulder. “He knows you’re here, Silas. I can’t explain it, but… he always settles more when you’ve come by.”
I stare down at our hands—mine calloused and dark, his loose and pale in his lap.
“I don’t deserve that,” I murmur.
“Doesn’t matter.” Her voice is firm now, kind but steady. “You keep coming. That’s what matters.”
I nod, swallowing the knot in my throat.
She steps back toward the door, pausing before she leaves. “Stay as long as you like. I’ll bring some fresh water in case he gets restless.”
Then she’s gone, the soft click of the door closing behind her. And I’m left in the silence again, Xavier’s hand in mine. My guilt thick in the air.
But, for the first time in a long time, I let it sit there. Because maybe I need to stop hiding from it. Even if I’ll never be free of it.
I stay a while after she leaves, the quiet settling back into the room like a held breath.
“I took a coaching job,” I tell him, voice low, steady. “College program. Summer camp right now.”
I shift in the chair, rubbing my thumb absently over the back of his hand. Muscle memory. Habit.
“They’re good kids,” I go on. “Loud. Cocky. Think they’re indestructible.” My mouth quirks faintly. “You would’ve hated half of them. Loved the other half.”
I watch his face, waiting for something that never comes.
“It’s close,” I add. “The school. Close enough that I can still come see you without driving all night.” A pause. “That mattered to me.”
I swallow.
“I thought… maybe that meant I was doing the right thing. Staying near you. Staying anchored.” I exhale slowly. “But I don’t know if that’s what this is anymore.”
The words feel heavier now that they’re real.
“You’re still here,” I say quietly. “But you’re not—you.” I hate how blunt that sounds, but lying has never helped either of us. “And I think I’ve been pretending that if I just stayed the same, you might come back.”
I squeeze his hand, just once.
“That’s not fair to you,” I murmur. “Or to me.”
My gaze drops to the blanket tucked around his legs, the rise and fall of his chest. Alive. Breathing. And so impossibly far away.
“I loved you,” I say. No hesitation. No qualifiers. “I still do.”
The admission doesn’t break me the way it used to. It aches, yes—but it doesn’t hollow me out.
“But loving you doesn’t mean I stop living,” I continue. “It doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to want something—someone—again.”
My throat tightens.
“I think I’ve been punishing myself,” I admit. “For surviving. For still wanting. For feeling anything that isn’t grief.”
I brush my thumb over his knuckles again. Gentle. Careful.
“And maybe it’s time I stop,” I whisper. “Maybe it’s time I accept that who you were… isn’t coming back. And that doesn’t make what we had any less real.”
I sit back, staring at the far wall.
“It doesn’t mean I’m replacing you,” I add softly. “It just means I’m finally letting myself believe there’s room for something else.”
I look back at him then, wishing with everything I have that he never played injured, that I never let him play injured.
“For love,” I say. “Not guilt. Not a memory of what it feels like. Love.”
The room stays quiet. He doesn’t respond. But for the first time, I don’t feel like I’m waiting for him to.
I stay a little longer. Long enough to tuck the blanket back into place. Long enough to make sure his water is within reach. Then I stand, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead.
“I’ll be back,” I promise. And this time, it doesn’t feel like an apology.
The walk to my car is short, but it feels longer.
The late morning sun has crept higher, warming the pavement, blinding in a way that feels deliberate. Like even the sky’s sick of watching me rot.
I slide into the driver’s seat, shut the door, and just… sit. Engine off. Radio silent. Nothing but the thud of my heartbeat and the weight of what I just said still pressing into my chest.
It’s time.
The words echo like a door creaking open, slow and reluctant, letting in air I didn’t realize I was suffocating without. Because I meant it. Because I finally fucking said it.
And now that I have… there’s only one person who comes to mind.
Luke.
Too bright. Too bold. Too fucking alive.
He’s chaos wrapped in glitter and confidence, and he’s younger than me by more than a handful of years. Hell, I’m not even sure how old he is—twenty-one? Twenty-two? Just enough to make this all more complicated.
Just enough to make me question if I’m out of my depth.
I drag a hand over my face, pressing my palm hard to my mouth for a second.
Jesus.
This is a bad idea. Maybe the worst.
He’s cocky. Unapologetic. He lives in a world of midnights and hookups and not needing anyone—and I’m the one who doesn’t know how to need people anymore.
We’re not the same. And I shouldn’t be thinking about him like this.
But I am.
I keep remembering the way he looked at me after I kissed him. After I claimed him like I had any right to. And worse—I keep wondering what it would look like if he stayed. If I let him in, even just a little.
I shake my head, staring through the windshield at nothing.
You’re a few steps ahead of reality, old man. That voice in my head is Xavier’s. Wry. Gentle. Unforgiving.
Because the truth is, Luke probably doesn’t want a thirty-two-year-old with too much baggage and too many locked doors. He probably just wanted to win the power game. To prove he could make me fall apart.
And I did.
God, I did.
But what if it wasn’t just a game? What if there’s something real there—sparking between the taunts and the tension, buried under the bruised heat of his kiss?
I exhale slowly, the ache in my chest sharper now.
I’ve wasted years waiting. Wasted them on a hope that never turned into healing. On a man who can’t remember my name. On a version of myself that died the day I let Xavier back on that field.
I can’t keep doing that. I can’t keep pretending I’m not lonely. That I don’t want… something.
Not just the relief Luke gives me. Not just the fire.
Connection. A future. Fucking laughter in a room that isn’t silent all the time.
But wanting something and being brave enough to try are two different things. Especially when I’m not sure I deserve it.
I start the car, gripping the wheel tight enough to make the leather groan.
The engine hums low beneath me. Familiar. Steady. Like it’s waiting for direction I haven’t given.
My GPS is blank. There’s no place I have to be.
Practice is over. Xavier’s probably asleep again. The rest of the day is mine. And somehow, it feels heavier than anything else I’ve carried.
The ache behind my ribs twists. I shouldn’t want this. I don’t want this. But I’m still sitting here, engine idling, wondering if I should turn left to go home…or right.
Toward the dorms.
Toward him.
I grab my phone off the passenger seat and scroll through my contacts until I find his name. Stare at it for a few minutes debating with myself. This is crossing a line. My thumbs move anyway.
You mess me up, hermoso.
I don’t hit send. I just stare at the words, glowing on the screen like a wound I opened myself. Then I delete them. Every. Last. Letter.
But the damage is already done, because I’ve finally admitted it to myself.