Chapter 4 Tyler
Wednesday practice is grueling—we’re practicing hits, since we’re not yet on a Friday-night football schedule and don’t need to worry about battering one another too much.
The first day of full-padded practice was always one of my favorites of the season, second only to the first game.
The thump of pads colliding, the kinetic shock of it, the way it jolts all anxiety from your system… it always made me feel like myself.
But when Coach Herman puts me in against our scout D team to try some of the plays we’ll use against Northview in a few weeks, I’m as hesitant as a rookie.
Scared to hit all over again. I can’t stop thinking about the last time my own strength got away from me.
And I don’t know these guys yet—don’t know what they’re capable of, what they can take.
My chest tightens at the way I miss Santi and Avery and Jared.
“Holloway!” Will calls from across the field, after I phone in a first play. “We all know you can do better than that!”
Gabe nods, hopping from one foot to the other—constantly in motion, and it shows in his wiry frame. “All that muscle can’t be for nothing!”
And Kai pulls off his helmet to run a hand through his hair, fixing me with a challenging grin. “Come on, now. I’ve been on a beach in Hawaii with my auntie for the last two months, and even I’m not that relaxed.”
I can’t quite muster a laugh at their good-natured ribbing. Because they’re right—I can do better than this.
So, I take a deep breath and remind myself: This is a fresh start, a new team. You’re the same player you always were, and you have another chance.
And I bend my knees, sink my hips, keep my head up—and I hit.
Kai whoops. “Attaboy, Holloway! Cap’n Crunch was right about you!”
When Coach Herman blows his whistle for us to set up for scrimmage, Will—Cap’n Crunch?—jogs past and claps me on the shoulder. “I never misjudge talent. Let’s do it again.”
I can’t help smiling as we take our positions.
Hamilton Lakes is a big team—at least forty students, which is the first way I know this school is serious.
Its students aren’t just kids who play football; they’re football players.
They’re prepared for injuries and alternates, have guys to swap out to keep their players fresh.
They went eleven and two last year, and from the serious looks on everyone’s faces, this year they’re trying for an undefeated record.
From what I’m seeing, it seems feasible.
Gabe is one of the fastest running backs I’ve ever seen: nimble and quick on his feet, finding cracks in the pocket no one else seems to spot.
Doesn’t take a genius to figure out why the team nicknamed him Legs.
Will’s just as talented as I thought, and he’s a QB who knows he holds the team’s careers in his hands, throwing to everyone to give them a chance for some ball time.
And Kai’s as good a wide receiver as Jared, which is saying something.
I’m working harder than ever to keep up, both mentally and physically, so when Coach blows his whistle to signal the end of practice, I grab my water bottle immediately.
I’m cooked, and dying to loosen up my muscles in one of those recently renovated showers (a far cry from Brownsville’s mildewy tiles). No interest in staying late today.
Besides, doing that on Monday had… unexpected consequences.
I flush all over again as I remember that tiny blonde nearly colliding with me, eyes wide in shock, hands flying up to fend me off—which resulted in them hovering an inch from my bare chest. It was enough to make a guy want to take another step forward.
Not smart. I shake my head at myself and the memory, following the rest of the guys.
“Tyler!”
I turn to see Coach watching me, and my stomach drops. Am I in trouble? Did he… hear something?
Just like that, I imagine having to leave another team. This time, just as I’m getting started. I’m not even surprised—I just feel the heavy weight of finality deep in my bones.
I stop in my tracks, then slowly reverse my steps. Hands clasped respectfully in front of me, head bowed despite my deep desire to get out of here and just go home already. “Coach?”
“Somebody wants to talk to you before you leave, if you can spare a few minutes?”
My head jerks up. And standing there beaming, like I conjured her from my very own imagination, is the tiny blonde.
Beside her is a tall, lanky guy with a Canon around his neck, but I barely nod a hello. I’m too distracted by the wattage of this girl’s smile.
“Sabrina!” Gabe calls, holding out his fist. She pounds it casually, like she hangs out with the team all the time. “Long time no see! How are we supposed to win without our Spirit Committee president? Where’ve you been?”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on, you can’t blame any losses on me yet.”
I don’t miss the way she dodges his question.
But maybe she does hang out with the team all the time.
Now that I get a proper look at her, I realize she’s the same girl I saw in front of the diner the other day too: small, perky, hair in that high ponytail.
Monday she was more casual—and she definitely looked cute then, too—but today she’s dressed in a blue-and-white floral sundress that makes her skin glow gold.
As I stare, a blush rises to her cheeks. It looks pretty on her—the pink matches whatever gloss she has on her lips.
She lifts her chin determinedly. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Sabrina.” The glint in her eye says, We will not talk about our real first meeting, and I take the hint.
“Tyler.” I hold out my hand to shake, and she grasps it without a moment’s hesitation.
The contact sends a tiny jolt through my fingers and all the way up my spine. Because I was fantasizing about her hands on my chest just a few moments ago? Be professional, Tyler. This girl wants to erase that first meeting from the record. Don’t make it weird.
I clear my throat. “What can I do for you?”
She looks relieved. “We need to add you to the school website. The “Meet the Team” section has a profile on every player, and it will be very embarrassing if we don’t have a section for this year’s newest recruit.”
I blink. “Embarrassing? You mean, people would notice?”
Sabrina’s eyes widen. “Oh yes. We have a very engaged fan base here. I’m honestly shocked I haven’t gotten complaints about my negligence yet.”
The photographer, who I’ve entirely forgotten about, nods as he raises the camera to his face and starts snapping away. I do my best to smile. I keep forgetting just what an intense athletics program I’ve joined. “Then go ahead. What do you need from me?”
“Just a few questions.” Sabrina swipes open her phone and looks up at me expectantly. “For starters, what brought you to Hamilton Lakes? Especially as a senior transfer?”
My mouth goes dry. No way am I telling her the full truth to be blasted all over some school website. But I’m also not here to lie to the girl.
“Hamilton Lakes has a great program,” I say carefully. “Coach Herman has led the team to championships for three years now, and it sounded pretty nice to be one of his players instead of playing against them.” I flash her my best smile for good measure.
All true.
And definitely not answering her question.
Sabrina’s eyes narrow. Damn, the smile didn’t get her? That’s never happened before.
My pulse flutters even faster.
“It’s the best program,” she says. There’s a hint of challenge in her voice. “What would you say are the top three moments that drew you here? If it made you leave your last school, you must’ve been studying for a while.”
I raise an eyebrow. She thinks she’ll get me with that?
I did my homework. “Number three, Tommy Li’s touchdown in ’25 almost convinced me I could be a running back.
Number two, the entire passing game in ’24’s championship game, like they were operating on pure instinct.
Number one, the perfect execution of the flea-flicker last season. ” I hold her gaze. “Enough said.”
She raises an eyebrow right back. “A true scholar of the game.”
I can’t resist. “Indeed. There’s a brain under all these muscles.”
Her gaze flicks down to my chest once more, and when she glances back up, it’s with a tiny smirk. Like she doesn’t mind if I tease her a little about what happened the other day. Like she hasn’t forgotten it either.
But then she looks back at her phone. She scrolls furiously down her screen, frowning. Clearly not satisfied with the answers I’ve given her, but she’s not about to get anything else. I slump with relief, but then her eyes meet mine again.
As I stare into their dark, almost navy blue, I realize: I am not out of the woods yet. This girl’s not letting me go until I give her something worth printing.
“A fun question to wrap it up, then.” She smiles that glittering smile again. “For the fans. You single? Or you leave somebody pining away for you back home?”
I nearly choke on my own saliva, overwhelmed by the surprise of the question and the memories it brings with it.
Kate’s face under the streetlights, worried and farther away than she should be.
The increasing distance between her messages, until she said, maybe we shouldn’t talk as much anymore.
The pictures of her hanging out at all our old places—the school steps and my favorite coffee shop and the playground down the street from her house.
Except this time, I wasn’t there, and she was with Santi and Jared.
And even John. A lot more than she ever used to be.
Sabrina watches as it all flickers across my face.
“Nobody pining for me,” I finally manage. “Only a clean break. So… yeah. I’m single.”
“Good.” She nods, then flushes again. She stammers, “I mean, not that it matters, but good to know. Good for the profile, good for the fans. People are gonna love you.”
She pulls herself together one deliberate move at a time, straightening her posture and tightening the ribbon around her ponytail and fixing her smile. Becoming just the head of the Spirit Committee again.
But her eyes are stuck on my face—reluctant to break eye contact—and I can’t help wondering if it’s more than just stubborn professionalism.
It almost helps me forget the memories stirred up by her interview.
Almost makes me wish I had it in me to fall for another girl this year.