Chapter 10 — Tunnel Silence
The away stadium was smaller than Riverview’s, but the noise was meaner.
The student section sat close to the field, packed tight, faces painted, voices sharp.
Max warmed up like he always did—focused, fast, rigid at the edges.
He didn’t look at them.
They looked at him.
And when he jogged toward the sideline for the start of the match, it started.
A chant.
Not clever. Not original.
Just cruel enough to land.
“DELG-A-DO! DELG-A-DO!”
Then the words shifted.
“WHO’S GONNA SNAP!”
The crowd laughed like they’d invented something brilliant.
Max’s shoulders went rigid.
Sabrina saw it from the sideline—the exact moment his body tried to turn sound into threat.
His neck tightened. His jaw locked. His eyes sharpened like he was about to fight air again.
Coach Price called a name. A teammate clapped Max on the shoulder.
Max didn’t react.
Sabrina kept her face neutral.
She didn’t walk onto the field. She didn’t make a scene. She didn’t become a headline.
She waited.
They played.
Max did his job. Clean touches. Quick decisions. No outburst.
But every time the crowd surged, his body answered like it remembered too much.
They won by one.
It wasn’t pretty. It was necessary.
After the final whistle, the team filed toward the tunnel. The noise followed them like a swarm.
Someone threw a comment that wasn’t even words—just a sound meant to mock.
Max’s hands clenched.
His shoulders rose.
He was walking fast, too fast, like speed could outrun the chant.
Sabrina matched his pace—not beside him at first, but a half step behind, close enough to be useful, far enough to be appropriate.
The tunnel swallowed the stadium light.
Concrete walls. Fluorescent buzz. Echoes.
The chant softened but didn’t disappear.
Max’s breathing went tight.
Sabrina didn’t try to “talk him down” with a paragraph.
She gave him one sentence, low and steady, like a handrail.
“Eyes forward,” she said. “You owe them nothing.”
Max’s head turned a fraction—like he’d heard her even through the roar inside his own chest.
His shoulders dropped half an inch.
He didn’t slow down.
He didn’t look at her.
He just fixed his gaze ahead and kept walking, as if her words had tied him to the next step.
Coach Price glanced back once, clocked the shift, and didn’t comment.
Max’s hands unclenched slowly.
One.
Two.
Three breaths.
Sabrina watched him do it without announcing it.
They reached the locker room entrance.
Max stopped just outside the door, posture still tight but no longer shaking with it.
Sabrina paused at a respectful distance.
Max’s voice came out rough, almost like it hurt.
“Don’t,” he said.
Sabrina didn’t move. “Don’t what.”
Max’s eyes stayed on the floor. “Don’t… make a big thing out of that.”
Sabrina nodded once. “I won’t.”
Max opened the door and walked in.
He didn’t thank her.
He didn’t soften.
But as the door swung shut, Sabrina saw his hand hover for a second like he wanted to slam it.
He didn’t.
He closed it normally.
Like a person choosing control on purpose.
And Sabrina knew he’d remember that, too.