Chapter 31 Tyler #2
I’m only left with more questions. “What do you mean?” I frown. “How exactly did you take care of it?”
Jared snorts. “Oh man, you should see your face! What are you picturing, us showing up at his house with crowbars to the knees?”
Avery blinks. “Now, that actually sounds pretty good. Why didn’t we think of that?”
“Because violence isn’t the answer,” Dylan says earnestly. Jared runs a teasing hand over Dylan’s freshly buzzed head, twisting his mouth skeptically as if he doesn’t quite agree.
“Because we talked to him instead,” Santi continues patiently. Then he looks at me, the small smile on his lips at odds with the solemnity of his expression. “And we told him we would vouch for you and tell everyone it was self-defense. Like we should’ve done a lot earlier.”
My throat gets tight again. I look between them, searching for any sign this is a mirage inspired by all the conversations I dreamed of having for the last few months.
“That’s really why we’re here,” Jared adds. He claps me on the shoulder. “To apologize for not being better friends.”
Dylan grimaces. “We should have been a lot louder about telling everyone the truth of what happened. But I didn’t want to make things weirder on the team, and we were trying to move forward without two of our best players…
It doesn’t excuse it. I’m sorry. Especially not after the way you stood up for me. ”
I nod gruffly, unexpected emotion choking me up. “I forgive you. I should have been a better friend too. Shouldn’t have isolated myself when you all reached out this year. I just figured you guys all thought the worst of me.”
Santi winces. “I’m really sorry. We only think the best of you.” He drapes an arm around my shoulders. As if that wasn’t enough to almost make me break down crying in front of the whole school, he adds, “Because you’re the best of us.”
I laugh to cover up the sudden swell of feelings. I’ve been willing to do anything for this team ever since I became a part of it. It’s really nice to be reminded that they feel the same way about me.
“Okay, you better get back down there before rumors start spreading about football players crying all over the stands,” Jared says gruffly. Almost like he’s holding back some emotions himself.
I pull them close in one more grinning huddle, not quite ready to let go of this feeling yet. I’ve been without it for too long.
“No chance you’re going to come back to play for us?” Santi mumbles into my neck.
I pull back, looking at the sea of blue in the bleachers. At the cheering fans, the roar that vibrates through my chest. The feeling of unity and unquestioning faith in my abilities.
“You know, as much as I love you all… I think I’m finding a pretty good fit here in Hamilton Lakes.
” I can’t help smiling. I glance down to the field, toward the merch table—where one particular blond figure is scowling up at us.
Sabrina makes the universal I’m watching you signal at my friends, and even Santi looks terrified.
I give Sabrina the thumbs-up sign and shout, “Stand down!” even though there’s no way she can hear me from here. She crosses her arms without breaking eye contact, and I have to admit, it’s kind of nice to have her holding a grudge on my account.
Avery squints at me, narrowing his eyes. “Is that Strawberry-Milkshake Girl from your stories? Does this ‘pretty good fit’ have anything to do with her?”
I can only grin. “Maybe. If I’m lucky.”
And then I’m lost to the whooping and back-clapping of the whole pack, and people cheer in the stands around us even though they have no idea what’s going on, just for the joy of cheering for something, and this is all I wanted from this year. I haven’t been so happy in months. Maybe not ever.
When I pull away, it’s with something inextinguishable in my chest. “Okay, I gotta go. You doing anything after the game? Maybe we can hit the diner and I can tell Sabrina we don’t hate you anymore?”
“I could go for a milkshake,” Santi says with a smirk.
“Knock ’em dead!” Dylan roars, thrusting a fist in the air. “Metaphorically, of course.”
I clatter down the bleachers, unable to stop grinning and shaking my head. When I rejoin the team, I’m still dazed, probably looking like a fool.
“You okay, Tyler?” Coach Herman frowns at me.
I snap to attention. “Yes, sir!”
He rests a hand on my shoulder, his frown softening into a half smile. “Good. Because we’re really glad you came to Hamilton Lakes this year, kid. I know you’ve had an unfair go of it, but the fact that it brought you here… well, maybe it all worked out in the end.”
That little ember of belief catches fire in my chest. Thanks to Ryan’s boundless, welcoming enthusiasm; Will and the team’s quiet loyalty; and Sabrina’s passion for community… “Yeah. Maybe it did.”
And then Coach Herman smiles for real, in a goofy, giddy way. Like a man who’s about to have a great time. “Now, get your head in the game. Your Michigan scout’s here, and more besides. This could be the start of something.”
The start, not the end. Life, not death. Blood pumping and muscles burning and sweat pouring down your face. Moving in tandem with your brothers on the field.
Will’s eyes have gone wide as he watches a man on the sidelines. A UCLA scout?
I straighten up and look as serious as I can manage. “Yes, sir. We’re going to play the best game of the season.” I meet Will’s eyes, raising an eyebrow. “Right? Show ’em what we’ve got?”
Will nods, some of his typical confidence stiffening his posture once again.
“If someone doesn’t snatch you up, the world makes no damn sense at all.
” Excitement fizzes in my chest as a slow smile overtakes Will’s face, and he leaves me to make the rounds.
“Kai! How’s the arm? Loose? And Legs—you feeling fast today? ”
That’s more like it. I relax, rejoining the O-line. Joining in on jokes, clapping shoulders, reminding guys of their best plays so far this season. I’m brimming with the support everyone else gave me, and the only thing to do is let it overflow.
It feels really good. Like I’m finally myself again.
Once I’m sure everyone’s feeling okay, I let my eyes drift to the merch table.
Sabrina looks fucking stunning tonight in her simple blue Hamilton Lakes jersey and faded jeans.
Even the streaks of blue paint on her cheekbones emphasize her eyes, make them seem even bigger and glowier than usual.
Gabe nudges me, grinning. “You got a personal Spirit Committee president, number thirteen?”
I shake my head, but I can’t wipe the smile off my face. I should know it’ll take more than that to get Gabe to knock it off.
“Offensive lineman? More like offensive loveman.”
And then Sabrina performs a pretty little pirouette, pointing at the back of her jersey with both thumbs, and my stomach drops right to my cleats.
That’s my number on the back. Loud and proud.
The next thing I know, I’m tearing away from Gabe, ignoring his whistles and catcalls and apologies. (“Okay, I know the joke was bad—hey! Hey, I said I’m sorry!”) The brass of the marching band swells as I cover the distance between us in a few quick strides.
When I get close enough to see her pupils widen, I can also see the ribbons back in her hair. It’s ridiculous—but that detail, more than anything, fills me with the hope that everything is going to be okay.
So, I cup her face in my hands and kiss her. In front of everyone.
She doesn’t hesitate before wrapping her arms around my neck, bending back as I dip her gently.
Her vanilla perfume mingles with the scent of fall leaves and crisp air, and her mouth reminds me of strawberry shakes.
I don’t know how long I kiss her—the band starts a drumroll, I hear distant cheering, and when I finally draw back, Sabrina’s grinning. Eyes fixed on me.
I grin back. We’re finally leaving it all on the field.
And as I jog backward, pointing at her as I rejoin my team, she blows me a final kiss. It flusters me so much I almost stumble. Only a girl like Sabrina, all unshakable confidence and unmatched flair, could get away with a move like that.
I somehow manage to tear my focus back to the field in front of me, ignoring the heckling of the rest of the team as I strap on my helmet.
I can feel it again: the optimism at the start of a game whose ending is a mystery.
The reminder that the heart of football is what you learn about yourself—soul-searching and resilience and life lessons—and the sudden surety that I’ve learned more than I ever bargained for this fall.
My old coach’s voice ringing in my ears: You’re only as good as your last play, and there’s always a chance to redeem yourself.
My last play’s looking pretty good right now.
I hustle to the fifty-yard line and crouch, still smiling like a fool around my mouthguard.
I’m ready for a ball game.