Chapter 27 Tyler
I can barely focus at practice. I fumble the easiest passes, head the wrong way for my blocks, and end up knocked flat on my ass more than once.
I do my best to shake off each error, to get lost in the repetitive motion and sweat pouring down my face, but it’s no good.
I’m a liability to the team, fuming at myself, and stuck in the worst funk of my life.
I’d talked myself out of skipping—the last thing I want to do when rumors are flying around is ditch my duties to my new team—but maybe that would’ve been better. I’m sure not doing anyone any good today.
“Hey—” Will starts, a worried frown on his face.
“I know,” I snap. “I’m not focused. And you were right about Sabrina. It was a mistake, and I’m paying the consequences. I don’t need to hear it, all right?”
He takes a giant step back, holding up his hands defensively. “I was just going to ask if there’s anything you need.” He raises an eyebrow. “But it doesn’t sound like help is anything you’re up for today.”
A flash of guilt hits me, but I just shrug and turn away, grabbing my water bottle to hide my face. Because truth is, I’m not up for help. What am I supposed to do—tell Will everything that happened? That would mean telling him about my old team and risk getting thrown off this one.
It’s only a matter of time before everyone finds out, but I’m not going to give up a single moment I have left.
I catch Gabe’s worried eye. He’s jiggling his leg up and down, cracking his knuckles the way he does when he’s nervous.
“Hey,” he says softly, jogging over to me and grabbing water too.
I have a sneaking suspicion it’s just a cover so he can check on me.
“You doing okay? You did me a solid listening to all my shit the other day. I’m happy to listen in return. ”
“No, thanks.” My voice comes out sharper than I intend. Because where would I even start?
Gabe frowns, seems like he’s about to run away. But then he pauses. “You know, we all need someone to lean on sometimes. You’ve been there for me. Let people be there for you, too.”
I don’t know what to say. So, he leaves me, cracking his knuckles even louder and more brutally than before. For once, his anxiety is only getting worse, not better, the longer practice goes on. And it’s my fault.
Or is it Sabrina’s? A flare of anger flashes through my body, but maybe it’s just disguising disappointment. Disbelief that she jumped to conclusions without even letting me explain.
It’s a relief when practice finally ends. I’m the first one off the field and into the locker room, where I take the quickest shower of my life. The hot water scalds my skin, but I barely notice. I’m too busy regretting every decision I’ve made for, oh, the past six months or so.
It’s not until I’m toweling off my hair that I glance at my phone. I immediately wish I hadn’t.
There are more messages waiting for me than I’ve had since the Incident itself.
Santi: you okay, bro? I heard John’s dad is hiring some fancy lawyers
Dylan: he was pulled out of school early last week, too.
Jared: I guess for rehab?
Dylan: I guess. Not to wish bad things on him, but…
Avery: Kate said he’s going in for another surgery
Avery: if it goes well, he’s out for the season
Avery: (don’t threaten me with a good time lol)
Jared: Avery.
Jared: if it goes badly, he’s done playing for the rest of his life
Jared: wouldn’t wish that on anyone
Santi: we just wanted to be sure you’re okay, T. is any of this shit hitting Hamilton Lakes?
Do they think this is helpful? The new voices—all talking about me—just make the buzzing in my brain even worse. I shake my head, trying to quiet the noise.
This is the first I’ve heard from them in weeks, and the thought stokes my anger even higher as I grab my bag and stride through the twilight to the parking lot.
If they really cared, they would be talking about other things.
They’d know the absolute last thing I want is to hear all the ways people are assuming the worst about me.
“Hey.” Will’s leaning against his car, face impassive. “You need a ride?”
I hesitate. I was a jerk during practice—the last thing I ever try to be, but it’s like the rumors following me are a self-fulfilling prophecy. He doesn’t seem mad, though. And with things strained the way they are with Ryan and Sabrina, I could really use a lift…
“That would be great. Thanks.” I climb in before I can talk myself out of it, and we pull out of the parking lot in silence that I know it’s my job to break. So, after a minute, I say, “I’m sorry for my attitude in practice. I know that’s the last thing you need.”
“It’s the last thing you need,” Will says smoothly. “Whatever was wrong with you today, you were just feeding it. You know you choose your thoughts, right? You can’t give them that power. You were listening to something that’s really not the typical you today.”
I frown. His words touch an unexpectedly tender place inside me. Like he knows who the typical me is. “I know.” My voice is gruff. “Some stuff from my last school caught up with me, and it’s… well, it’s not good, and it messed with my head.”
“That sucks.” Will keeps his eyes on the road, not even shooting me a sidelong glance.
I’m grateful for the sense of anonymity it gives this conversation, like he’s a priest in a confessional booth.
I expect him to give me the same speech from the start of the season about keeping drama off his team, about his guys needing to stay focused.
But instead, he says, “Whatever it is, you know who you are, and so do we. I trust you to figure it out.”
I turn to the window, unable to respond or even look at him. His faith is worse than a reprimand. Should he trust me to figure it out? Or do I owe him—and everyone—more of the truth than I’ve given so far?
“Can I ask about you and Kara?” Maybe my quarterback can at least give me some advice about Sabrina. “You’ve been together for a while, right?”
“Two years.” He nods.
“And you’re serious enough to be coordinating college plans, if you can? You…” I waver. “You trust what you have enough for that?”
Will looks over at me, eyebrows raised. I keep my gaze straight ahead.
“Yeah,” he says easily. “I really do. It’s not like we haven’t had issues in the past. But we worked them out.
Gotta hand it to Kara—no one’s better at sitting you down and forcing you to confront your feelings.
” He chuckles, and the sound is imbued with so much love that it makes me ache.
“If the college thing doesn’t work out, we’ll figure that out too.
We always do. We’re building the future together. ”
I nod silently, falling deeper into thought. Maybe he’s right. Maybe Sabrina and I could have had that too.
But she turned away from me. Believed a rumor before letting me explain. And maybe I don’t even trust her with the truth—maybe I shouldn’t. Who would want to be with a guy who hurt someone and hid it?
Maybe I actually don’t deserve this fresh start.
Will rolls to a stop outside the Thompsons’ and gives me a clap on the shoulder.
I can only meet his eyes briefly, but there’s concern and invitation there.
I nod in gratitude, unable to say anything else as I slip out of the car.
I’m not sure if I feel better or worse after our talk.
There’s something itching underneath my skin.
I used to be the one who gave advice to the guys on my team, not the one who needed to take it.
I should know better: Football teaches you how to master yourself.
That you’re only as good as your last play and that pain is always temporary.
That there’s always another game, that as long as you keep fighting and get your attitude right, there’s a way through.
With the help of Sabrina, and Ryan, and Will, and the rest of the team, I’d started to find my way back to that old knowledge and the ease it brought. I’d started to feel safe enough to think about what could come next.
But I can’t seem to remember that right now. And when I walk inside the Thompsons’, the itching under my skin gets so bad, I wish I could claw it right off my body.
Uncle Mike is waiting at the kitchen island, an empty beer bottle in front of him and another halfway drunk.
Seems like he’s been there a while. He’s not usually home this early—he works late hours doing some sort of financial trading thing I don’t fully understand.
That was half the reason I got invited for senior year, after all—warm up the house a bit, give it some life while they’re out, etc.
Bile rises in my throat. I wonder if they regret their offer yet.
Seeing him here now has me immediately apprehensive.
“How was practice?” he asks, doing his best to smile. I know he’s genuinely supportive and interested, but today it rankles.
“Fine,” I say warily. I’d rather he do away with the small talk and just drop that other shoe. “How was your day?”
“Fine.” He shifts on his stool, then leans forward.
Okay, here we go. Suddenly I’m flashing back to all the other conversations last year when people’s faces got solemn before they tried to break some new horrific piece of news to me.
I hate this. “I’ve been on the phone with your dad, who’s been talking to Coach Herman. They’re going to get this sorted out.”
I shake my head, dread dropping into my stomach. They’re talking about it again? How bad are things? “I didn’t mean to hurt him,” I whisper. I’m embarrassed at how weak my voice is. But I’ve had enough—both today, and this year.
“I know you didn’t.” Uncle Mike stands, crossing the kitchen to lay a hand on my shoulder.
“That boy has no right to press charges. He’s just worried about his own future and lashing out like a lot of adolescents do.
” He looks me in the eye. “Not you, though. Everyone knows you’re the most levelheaded guy out there. ”
I have to look away. “Not everyone.”
Blue eyes, blond hair, a drooping bow. Hurt in her eyes, steel in her spine. Keeping a brave face, pretending she hasn’t been crushed.
He shifts so he’s in my eyesight again, holding my gaze with determination. “The people who matter do.”
His words hit harder than he probably intends. Because how do I know who matters? Does this mean Sabrina doesn’t, and I was wrong?
“Let us handle this. Trust me.”
I nod and do my best to look reassured. As soon as he leaves the kitchen, I make myself a hasty sandwich and flee to my room, my thoughts spiraling out of control.
I can’t believe I’d actually been optimistic about this year—thinking about scouts and playing in college.
Because what happens if Uncle Mike’s wrong and John does press charges?
Do I go to jail? Pay a fine I can’t afford?
Get kicked off another team? Will the Thompsons let me stay?
Do I even want to stay?
It feels like my whole future is on the line, and it’s entirely out of my own control.
When my phone lights up with a call, I jump. My first pitiful but undeniable thought: Is it Sabrina? Is she calling to apologize?
But it’s Kate.
At first I don’t pick up. The last thing I want is another uncharitable story delivered to me from the Brownsville rumor mill, and this can’t be anything good. She hasn’t earned the right to call me out of the blue.
But then she calls again, and I bite my lip. What if it’s important? What if it’s something I really need to know this time?
“Hello?”
“Tyler! Hi.” Her voice sounds… just like always.
I can picture her sprawled across her bed, blue-and-white striped wallpaper above her head.
Carlito is curled up beside her, purring and occasionally lazily batting with a zipper on her hoodie; Tony is guarding the door, ears half-perked as he listens for any threat.
I’ve avoided thinking about her for so long, I expect the mental image to bring a pang of longing with it. But it doesn’t. Just the dim, distant nostalgia for a life that doesn’t belong to me anymore.
She clears her throat to break the awkward silence. “So… How’re you doing?”
I let the long pause answer her. Is she serious? “How do you think?” My voice is calm on the surface, but there’s a current of anger beneath it.
I can almost hear her wince. “Yeah. That’s why I’m calling. So—”
“Listen, Kate.” I interrupt. “If you’re calling to pass on another rumor, let me tell you, that’s the last thing I want to hear tonight—”
“That’s exactly it,” she says, an edge of exasperation in her voice.
“I’m calling because I needed to tell you I’ve listened to the rumors way too much.
John’s been such an asshole this year, okay?
Sure, he can’t play, and that sucks, but he’s taking it out on everyone.
You’re not the only one he’s blaming. He’s saying Dylan came after him last spring—”
“Dylan was provoked.” My voice is hot with anger. “I told you, the things John was saying—you can’t expect a guy to keep his calm when someone’s running their mouth about your sister—”
“I know, Tyler, I remember. And now that it’s all come up again and he won’t let it go, I’m wondering if I was just as much of an asshole for believing his version of events.”
I don’t have a comeback for that one, and the line falls silent between us. Is she saying what I think she’s saying?
She forges on, undaunted by the quiet on my end. “I never should have listened to him. I should’ve believed your side of the story.”
A few months ago, this would have been everything I dreamed of hearing. But now…
I don’t want a word of it. She proved to me over and over that she didn’t believe me when everything went down, no matter how many times I tried to explain to her. It’s impossible to regain any trust after all that.
“Thanks, Kate.” I don’t even care how flat my tone is.
I’m only thinking about today’s fight and how Kate scarred me so badly, I couldn’t be honest with Sabrina until it was too late.
How I let the way Kate disappointed me poison the possibility of something different.
Something better. Someone who took the time to pry beneath my self-protective shell this year, who went out of her way to put me at ease, who was interested in me as a person, not just a football player.
Maybe that was the real self-fulfilling prophecy.
Kate’s still talking, but I’m not listening. Then my phone beeps, and I lift it away from my ear to look at the screen.
My whole heart lifts in hope when I see Sabrina’s name there, glowing like possibility itself.