Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
LUKE
Three days. I’ve been in the hospital for three days.
No clue where my phone is. It’s probably still in my locker, shoved into my duffel under my clothes. No contact with the outside world unless it walks through the damn door.
And Silas hasn’t.
Which, yeah. Secret relationship. Assistant coach. Bad optics. I get it.
But he hasn’t even called the useless phone next to my bed.
And that’s what’s driving me insane.
Coach Harris came by yesterday. He stood awkwardly at the foot of my bed and told me I scared the hell out of everyone. Said I’d probably have a couple weeks of light work ahead. No practice. No lifting. Just rest. His voice was steady, but his eyes—his eyes were too kind.
He knows something.
He didn’t say anything, but… he knows. And it scares me a little.
My parents came in next. Sat politely. Asked if I’d prayed about the pain. My mom brought me a devotional, slipped it onto the nightstand between the painkillers and the Gatorade like it wouldn’t stand out. They didn’t say much about football. Didn’t say anything about the guy who wasn’t there.
Then came the flood.
Ty brought candy. Micah brought an actual plush duck and called it emotional support poultry. Colton snuck in donuts and tried to convince the nurse it was part of my nutrition plan. Will said nothing and just gripped my shoulder a little too tightly when he left.
Daniel and Eli showed up last night with shitty jokes and a handheld fan. Said it was to help cool down the nurses, but I know it was to make me laugh.
I love those idiots.
I really do.
But none of them are him.
Every time the door opens, I look up. Every single time. And every time it’s someone else, the weight in my chest presses down a little harder.
He hasn’t even checked on me.
Not a message. Not a whisper. Nothing.
I try to reason with myself. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe it’s for show. Maybe Coach Harris warned him to stay away.
But even as I think it, I know. Silas wouldn’t stay away unless he wanted to. That thought cuts deeper than the hit did.
I shift on the bed, wincing at the ache in my side. The bruises are healing, the fog is lifting. I stare at the ceiling, arms crossed, throat thick.
Three days ago, he kissed me breathless in his kitchen.
Now I’m here, stuck in a too-white hospital room, wondering if I imagined it all. Or worse… if maybe he’s already decided I was a mistake.
Daniel arrives just after noon, all tousled hair and sunglasses perched on his head. He kicks the door open with his foot, a paper bag in one hand and a smug little grin like he’s proud of himself for remembering I like strawberry Pop-Tarts and orange Gatorade.
“I come bearing snacks and freedom,” he announces. “You, my little slut, are being discharged.”
I huff a laugh and catch the bag he tosses onto the bed. “About damn time.”
He tosses a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt at me next. “From Ty. Clean. Swear.”
I roll my eyes but tug the sweats on carefully, still moving like an eighty-year-old man with a hangover. Every muscle aches, but the bruises are nothing compared to the hollow ache that hasn’t gone away since Saturday.
Daniel grabs my hospital chart off the foot of the bed like he knows what he’s looking for and pretends to read it upside down. “Cleared for light activity, flirting, and mild pettiness.”
I finish pulling the shirt on. “So, a normal Tuesday?”
He grins. “Exactly.”
But the lightness doesn’t stick. Not for me. I glance toward the window, watching the sun spill across the parking lot.
“Hey,” I say, trying to make it sound casual. “Did anyone… say anything? About Coach Gray? He was pretty upset when I—”
Daniel freezes.
It’s subtle—barely a pause in the crinkle of the paper bag—but I catch it. And something cold settles in my chest.
“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. “No one told you?”
I turn. My throat goes dry. “Told me what?”
Daniel hesitates, running a hand through his hair like he doesn’t want to say it. Then his eyes meet mine, and the weight behind them hits like another tackle.
“He was fired, Luke. After the game.”
I blink. “What?”
“Like, escorted out of the facility fired.”
The floor tilts. My knees nearly give.
“What the fuck—why?”
Daniel’s voice drops, quieter now. “You collapsed on the field. He—he ran out there like his soul was on fire. No hesitation. Just dropped everything and went to you. The crowd. The team. Everyone saw. It was obvious, Luke.”
I sink down onto the bed again, numb.
“He didn’t even get a second chance,” Daniel adds. “No appeal. No meeting. Just… gone.”
Gone.
That’s why he hasn’t come. That’s why it’s been silence. It wasn’t just that he stayed away. It’s that he had to.
I stare at the floor, heart pounding, every moment of the last three days slamming into me with new clarity. He lost his job. His entire career. Because of me.
And I didn’t even know.
Daniel rests a hand on my shoulder, voice softer. “I’m sorry. I thought someone would’ve told you by now.”
I nod slowly. But it’s hard to speak past the lump in my throat. He was fired. And still, he didn’t come. Or maybe… he couldn’t.
We’re silent as I get the all clear to leave the hospital. All the way up until I’m sitting in his passenger seat.
“Can we stop by the field first?” I ask, staring down at my hands like the answer might be written there.
Daniel glances over at me from the driver’s seat. “Locker room?”
I nod. “My phone’s still there. I just… I want it.”
He doesn’t ask why. Just signals and turns, easy as if this is the most normal request in the world.
The stadium’s empty when we pull up. Practice is long over, and besides the one runner on the track, it’s just turf and sun. Daniel pushes open the door and lets me hobble in ahead of him, my steps slow, careful.
The locker room feels wrong without the guys. Too quiet. Too clean. Coach Harris is in his office when I pass, but he doesn’t say anything, just continues to work on whatever he’s working on.
My locker’s exactly how I left it—clothes tossed on top of my open bag, my phone buried beneath them. I pick it up like it might bite me.
Dead. Completely.
“Take your time,” Daniel says, leaning against the wall. “I’ll be… over here. Pretending not to hover.”
I find an outlet, plug in my box and charger, and sit on the bench. The screen stays black for a few minutes.
Then it flickers.
My heart stutters.
Notifications flood in all at once—missed calls, texts, group chats lighting up like I disappeared off the face of the earth. Ty. Micah. Will. My mom.
And then—Prism.
One notification. Time-stamped three days ago.
My chest tightens. I open it with shaking fingers.
WhiskeyAndInk: You’re going to be okay, Luke. You don’t need me anymore. Please find love again someday.
That’s it.
No explanation. No goodbye. No I’m sorry. No this is killing me too.
Just… gone.
My vision blurs so fast I don’t even register the tears falling until they’re dripping off my chin, splattering onto the floor between my feet. My lungs lock up. I try to breathe and nothing works. It feels like someone reached inside my chest and ripped something vital out with their bare hands.
You don’t need me anymore.
I curl forward, phone clutched to my chest as if it might break me less if I hold it tighter. A sound tears out of me—ugly and broken and way too loud for an empty locker room.
Daniel’s at my side instantly.
“Luke—hey, hey—”
I shake my head, gasping, sobbing now, full-body, can’t-stop-it sobbing. “He—he thinks I don’t need him,” I choke. “He thinks he’s protecting me.”
Daniel swears under his breath and pulls me into his arms, holding me while I come apart against his shoulder.
All hope drains out of me in one brutal rush.
Because if this is Silas letting me go—
If this is him choosing what he thinks is best for me—
Then I’ve already lost. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I really am too much.
Containment.
That’s the word that comes to mind over the next few days. Then weeks.
Like they’ve boxed me in behind some invisible glass—just close enough to see everyone else moving on, but not close enough to touch.
I go to meetings. Compliance. Admin. “Support staff.” They say things like We’re just making sure you’re supported, and We want you to feel safe moving forward, and This isn’t your fault.
But no one ever asks how I feel.
Not really.
And I wouldn't know what to say if they did. That I miss him? That I feel like a part of me’s been amputated, and they’re all acting as though I should be grateful the surgery was clean?
Ty and Will hover at first. Micah brings snacks. Daniel tries to get me to go out. But eventually, even they pull back—as if they’re afraid one wrong word will crack me open again. Like I’m glass. Fragile. A thing to tiptoe around.
The team follows suit. Everyone’s… polite. Careful. No one jokes around me. No one mentions the incident. No one says Coach Gray or Silas.
And so, I go quiet, too.
I nod when I’m supposed to. Show up when I’m expected. Smile enough that no one worries too loud. And when I’m finally cleared to play again, I don’t ease in or go slow. I don’t coast on reputation or potential.
I run like my life depends on it.
I throw myself into every snap, every route, every tackle like it’s the only thing keeping me standing. I block harder. Cut sharper. I take hits just trying to feel something.
Coach Harris praises my hustle. The guys cheer me on. Colton grins and says I’m a machine. And still, none of it touches the hollow space inside my chest.
Because I’m not playing for fun anymore.
I’m playing to earn it. To earn belonging. To prove—what? That I’m still worth the jersey? That I didn’t ruin everything? Maybe I’m not too much?
Maybe if I run hard enough, fast enough, good enough—someone will finally say it out loud.
That it’s okay to still be me, and my heart will heal someday.
That I’m still here.
And maybe, eventually, I’ll believe it too.