Chapter 2 Tyler
My old coach always compared football to combat.
Two opposing armies facing off; the language of downs and sacks; even the way it’s a fall game, when everything natural is dying.
Football is about death, he’d say. About fighting for your life and giving it all up on the field. And what could be more noble than that?
I’d never seen it that way. Football was always about life for me—about blood pumping through your veins, and fresh air in your lungs, and teammates supporting you like family.
But this year, I get it. Everything in my life died last spring.
Hamilton Lakes’s field is way nicer than Brownsville’s, but the sweat pouring down my face is the same as ever.
It feels cathartic—almost like a new beginning.
So, I push myself even harder than usual.
I need to prove myself to Coach Herman, and I need the burn in my muscles and salt stinging my eyes.
I run ladder drills like it’s my favorite thing, press into push-up after push-up, and relish the chance to leave every thought behind.
It’s been a while since I felt this much peace. I ignore the Hamilton Lakes guys—many of whom are casting the potential new recruit curious glances—and focus only on my breathing, letting the rest fade away.
By the end of practice, I’m beat. The other guys have a leg up, thanks to summer two-a-days, but even they are panting around me. Coach Herman doesn’t mess around.
I don’t dare to hope he might let me join. I’m just grateful for the chance to play for at least one more day.
I’m ready to hit the showers and head home to sit on my ass for the foreseeable future when Coach Herman beckons to me. “Holloway!”
Gabe Flores, the guy I was running drills with most of the afternoon (and whose nonstop chatter I was doing my best to ignore) shoots me a double thumbs-up.
Will Richards, the starting quarterback, claps me on the shoulder before following the rest of the guys to the locker room.
My heart gives a little twinge of betrayal—he reminds me of my old QB, Santi, always checking in on everyone.
But I shove the feeling aside, nodding back at them before jogging over to Coach, moving quickly despite my leaden legs.
The Hamilton Lakes team has been surprisingly welcoming so far, especially since it’s just a trial practice for me, but I’m not interested in more than a cordial relationship. Not this year. Gotta just keep my head down, figure out my future, and enjoy one more year on the field before college.
If Herman will let me. I gulp, trying to rein in my rising hope.
“That was a great practice.” Coach Herman looks me up and down. “You picked up on our plays faster than a typical new recruit, and your blocks are strong. We could use a guy with your size on our O-line.”
I shuffle from one foot to the other, eyes on the turf, not sure what to do with all that praise.
I’ve been one of the tallest, broadest guys on the team since peewee, so I’m used to comments like that.
But on a new team, after a summer without playing, after everything that went down last year…
compliments about my game mean a lot. “Thank you, Coach.”
“And I got a call from your coach back in Brownsville.”
My head snaps up at that, mouth dry and heart hammering. “What kind of call?”
Coach Herman gives me a weird look. I swallow and try to look normal.
“He said you were one of his best players and he was real sorry to lose you this season. And I said sure, you looked promising, but transfers usually start on JV. And he said I’d put you on varsity if I knew what was good for me. ”
I can barely feel relieved it was a good phone call. I’ve only known Coach Herman a few days, but he’s a lot more talkative than my last coach. I’m gonna be doing plenty of slow and controlled breathing this season. “And…?”
He lets me wait for a long minute. So long, the late-summer roaring of crickets in my ears becomes as deafening as a field full of chain saws. “And I think he’s right. Welcome to Hamilton Lakes Varsity, Tyler.”
The grin breaks across my face before I can hold it back. “Thank you, Coach. You won’t regret it.”
He holds out his hand for me to shake, grinning in return. But then his expression turns serious again. “I better not. Your coach said your last team got… complicated. That won’t happen here, will it?”
And just like that, the cloud of foreboding I’ve been living with for months is back over me. The reminder that last spring I lost everything I thought I could rely on, and it could happen again. “No, sir. Not if I have anything to say about it.”
He regards me for one more moment, then nods. “Good. Now hit the showers. You smell like the inside of a tackle dummy that hasn’t been washed since 1987.”
I jog off with a grin. Not even the reminder of Brownsville can bring me down.
As I rinse off and get dressed in clean sweats, I soak it in.
I’m on another team. And a good one.
I’m not sure I’ll make the cut to play in college—Brownsville didn’t have the connections with top scouts that other schools did, so it was never worth considering—but I’ve always been good enough to exceed the high school bar.
And thank God, because I really need football this year.
The outlet for everything swirling within me, everything I can’t understand unless it’s through my body, through the kinetic catharsis of running and blocking and hitting.
I head to the parking lot with my backpack slung over one shoulder. The sky is turning cotton-candy pink overhead, and the lot is nearly empty, the rest of the team long gone.
In Brownsville, I’d be riding home with Jared and Santi.
Santi would try to discuss the plays we botched in practice, but all Jared cared about was deciphering whether Avery’s new earring means he likes guys or just jewelry.
I have to tilt my head up to the sky to breathe through the punch to the gut.
Are they having the same conversations without me this fall?
I shake my head and quicken my pace. Another reason I’m glad for the Hamilton Lakes team. I need the distraction from what’s happening back home, from the fact that I’m in a new town for my senior year where I don’t know anyone.
Well. Almost anyone.
There’s one car left in the lot, and atop its hood sprawls a guy having a one-man photoshoot. Elbow propped behind him, head dangling back, blond waves brushing the windshield. Phone lifted, angles found. Golden hour glinting off cheekbones.
Ryan only stops snapping photos when I clear my throat. “Oh, hey, man!”
“Am I… interrupting something?”
“Nah, nah.” He waves a hand and holds his phone out to me. “Just taking some pics to send a girl who won’t text me back. What do you think? You can swipe through.”
“Um. Maybe not the shirtless one. Comes on a little strong.”
“You think?” He frowns in disappointment. “I thought the composition was nice, with the sky and everything.”
Ryan and I spend every family holiday together—he’s my closest cousin in both age and interests, and he’s easy to get along with—but I don’t quite know him well enough to gauge his tone. I get the sense Ryan is always both joking and entirely serious. “… yeah. For sure. Your call.”
He studies his screen for another long moment before pocketing the phone. “Okay, you might have a point. We’ll workshop it back home. You ready to go?”
I nod, sliding into the passenger seat. “Thanks again for the ride.”
“Not a problem. It was cool to see Will and Gabe. You meet them today?”
I look out the window at the passing scenery of Hamilton Lakes.
It’s a really pretty little town, all brick buildings and shady oak trees downtown, the white clock tower in the center of the square the tallest thing around.
“Yeah. They seem cool, but we didn’t talk much.
” And no matter how cool they were, I’m not sure how much I want to talk to them.
“Great, great.” Ryan takes a left-hand turn a little too recklessly, and a car approaching from the opposite direction lays on the horn.
Ryan just waves sheepishly before continuing to plow down the street, going about ten over the speed limit.
“Will and I have been tight ever since we had to survive bio together freshman year, and Gabe’s a great guy—he’s on the baseball team too. We’ll introduce you around.”
“Oh, that’s not—”
“You won’t be wanting for friends as long as you’re staying with me! Soon everyone will forget you haven’t been here for three years already!” Ryan beams.
I smile back weakly. Of course Ryan, beloved by all of Hamilton Lakes, wouldn’t understand wanting to lie low.
And I’m too grateful to him and the Thompsons for letting me stay with them for senior year.
It’s no small thing, no matter how many extra bedrooms your McMansion has.
Uncle Mike insisted it would be a favor to have me move in and give the house some life—they just moved Ryan’s older brother, Zach, into the UW dorms for his first year of college.
Still, I’m a whole other mouth to feed, someone in their home who isn’t used to their routines and habits…
and I’m not sure how to tell them I’m not feeling the most sociable this fall.
Mom was initially conflicted about shipping me two hours from home, but Dad convinced her it was the only way for me to get a fresh start somewhere I could have a somewhat normal year.
I can’t imagine the alternative back in Brownsville. The Thompsons are pretty much my heroes. So I say, “Thanks. But what I really need is a job. I want to pitch in for groceries and stuff, and I need to save for next year.”
Ryan shakes his head. “You don’t need to worry about groceries—”
“You play hockey, right?” I raise an eyebrow. “You must have some idea how much a football player eats.”
He grins, glancing at me with a perceptiveness that makes me wonder if he’s not quite as clueless as he lets on. Maybe he knows I need to feel useful and be as busy as possible this year. “Point taken. Well, if you insist, the Lakeside Diner’s probably hiring.”
He points at a low-slung brick building with neon signage and gigantic glass windows. It sits on a corner on Main Street, and it feels like all the other shops are orbiting around it. The curb is packed with cars, so it must be popular. But…
I frown. “There’s no lake.”
“You would not be the first one to point that out.” Ryan waves at the cluster of people gathered on the sidewalk outside as we drive past. “My boy Dawson usually helps his parents out there, but he’s taking off to play for the Chicago Steel in a few days and they’re hiring to fill his spot. You should apply.”
I feel a tiny lift of hope. “Yeah, okay. Sounds great.” That kind of job sounds perfect, honestly—a way to be a part of this town just enough that people don’t regret inviting me to stay, but not so connected that things get complicated. Separated by a counter and an apron and a professional smile.
I turn to look over my shoulder at the diner just as a girl with a high blond ponytail wrapped in a ribbon steps out the door.
She joins the crowd of students milling around outside, throwing her head back in laughter, and that happy group of them almost makes me miss everything I’m giving up this year.