Chapter 28
Dante
The field lights blazed against the winter gray, the turf slick from last night’s rain. My breath clouded in the air as I jogged onto the practice field, helmet tucked under my arm.
Noise swelled around me — shouts, laughter, the thud of cleats against rubber. Normal.
I wanted normal.
“Spence, you gonna stand there looking moody, or you gonna throw the damn ball?” Dustin jogged past, shoulder-checking me with a grin.
I shoved him back lightly. “Careful, Slater. You’re nothing without me feeding you.”
Noah’s voice cut in from behind us, dry as ever. “You’re both nothing without the O-Line giving you the time to set it up.”
The three of us lined up, falling into a rhythm we’d built through too many practices to count. Snap, drop back, read. My shoulder tugged when I launched the first ball, but it spiraled clean, arcing straight into Dustin’s hands as he cut downfield.
“Still got it,” he called, jogging back, spinning the ball once before tossing it my way.
Noah smirked. “Lucky throw.”
“Keep talking, Matthews,” I shot back. “You’re just jealous the offense gets all the highlight reels.”
“Offense can’t score if I don’t kill their offense,” he said easily, helmet tilted back just enough for me to see the glint in his eyes.
These guys weren’t just teammates — they were the two people I trusted not to sell me out. Even without this heavy truth between us, they’d believed me when it mattered.
Believed in me on and off the field.
We ran drill after drill, Dustin snagging impossible catches, Noah charging like he was already playing for a pro team, me testing the limits of a shoulder I pretended was fine.
By the time Coach blew the whistle, sweat was running into my eyes and my chest burned — but for once, the ache in my body was better than the one in my head.
We walked off the field together, bumping shoulders, shoving, laughing at nothing. Just three guys on the same team, no whispers, no shadows, no weight pressing down.
And I realized — I needed this. Not the cameras. Not the boosters. Not even the championship glow still clinging to the program.
Just this.
Football was hard work, but it was also the one place where the world made sense. Right now, that was enough.
And for the week I’d had, that was a hell of a lot.
The locker room was a wall of steam and noise, the hiss of showers mixing with the echo of laughter bouncing off tile. I dumped my helmet onto the bench, dragging my jersey over my head and wincing when my shoulder caught.
“Thought you said it was fine,” Noah said, one brow arched as he dropped onto the bench beside me.
“It is fine,” I muttered, reaching for my tape.
“Yeah,” he said with a snort, “and I’m a ballerina.”
Dustin strolled up, towel slung around his neck, shaking his head. “You two sound like an old married couple.”
“Better than sounding like you,” I shot back.
He smirked. “I don’t hear anyone complaining.”
Noah chuckled low, but his eyes stayed on me. Not mocking. Not pressing. Just . . . watching. The kind of watching that said he was loyal first, but would ask questions later.
Dustin wasn’t so subtle. “So,” he started, leaning back against the lockers, arms folded. “You gonna tell us why you really skipped dinner last night and stole my candy?”
Noah smiled but didn’t say anything.
I blew out a slow breath, knotting the tape tighter than I should’ve, hissing when I pulled it off. “Ow.”
Dustin’s eyes narrowed as he watched. “Just go to the PT, get a treatment. They’ll wrap you up properly.”
“Can’t,” I muttered, tape in between my teeth. “Lost the privilege of jumping the waiting list.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Dustin muttered. “Coach Hembry!”
“Dust, shut the fuck up, man,” I growled at him.
“Slater?” T.J. Hembry looked at us from across the room. “What?”
“QB10 needs PT,” he told him easily. “That shoulder isn’t sitting right.”
“Yeah,” Noah piped up, without looking up, scrolling through his phone. “It’s not got as much power as it should.”
Coach Hembry walked over, his clipboard under his arm. He reached up and probed my joint, noting when I flinched slightly. “Why are they telling me, and not you?” he asked quietly.
“I put my name on the treatment form,” I told him easily. “I’m just waiting for my turn. It’s all good.”
“Waiting—” He looked at me with understanding. “Jesus Christ, you’re a stubborn idiot. Move now.” He walked away, and I shot a death glare at my two friends, who both grinned back at me.
I hurried after my coach, out of the locker room, down the white hallway to the PT wing, not caring I was in a practice shirt and pants. My cleats clicked against the tile.
Coach Hembry walked into one of the open treatment rooms when he saw it empty. “On the bed,” he instructed, and left me there to do as I was told.
I wasn’t arguing.
T.J. came back with one of the younger PTs. Her hair was in a tight bun, her eyes were already assessing me, as she rubbed her hands together. The more I looked at her, the more I couldn’t remember seeing her before.
“Hey, just warming them up,” she said with a smile. “Let me take a look.”
Her idea of taking a look was close to dislocation, I was sure of it. When she stepped back, she looked at my coach.
“He shouldn’t be practicing like he has been,” she said simply.
“I’ll schedule an MRI, but I don’t think it’s too serious yet.
We want to keep him from throwing right now, though.
” She looked back at me. “It’s the offseason.
This is when you get to take it easier.” She turned back to Coach Hembry.
“Simple rest and recovery, no throwing for the next week, let’s see how the inflammation settles.
I’ll schedule you in with me for some physical therapy—”
“I think Doug was going to do that,” I cut in.
She exchanged a look with Coach Hembry. My coach cleared his throat. “Diana is here, let’s stick with her, yeah?”
What the hell was that? I nodded, watching them interact.
She smiled. “I know what I’m doing,” she said.
“Yeah, sorry,” I stumbled. “It wasn’t because you’re a woman.” They both stared at me, one in despair that I’d said it out loud, the other with amusement, and I felt my cheeks burn. “I’ll shut up.”
“Do that,” Hembry muttered. “Diana?”
“I’ll give you a corticosteroid injection today,” she continued evenly.
“But physical therapy is where we’ll work on it.
We’ll do a range of motion work, keep it from tightening, but not too strenuous that it will put pressure on it.
Strengthening exercises, work with resistance bands, light dumbbells, not those things I saw you and Matthews fighting over last week.
We’ll work on your core and body strengthening, keep the whole machine working solid. ” She flashed me a smile. “Sound good?”
“Yeah, I’ve been doing a lot of that.”
“Yeah, and you’ve been doing it wrong. Too heavy, too fast.” She looked down at her tablet. “Ice it after every practice to reduce swelling.” Her fingers flew over her pad. “Heat pack before practice, it’ll help loosen the tissue and muscles.”
“We’ll take you off afternoon training,” Hembry said. “More film time.”
“It’s really just a niggle,” I protested.
“Niggles turn into rotator cuff tears. Let’s nip your niggle before it becomes surgery.” Diana looked up. “Your MRI is tomorrow morning. Lay back.”
“What?”
“I’ll give you a massage, then your injection, and when you go back to your room, ice it for fifteen minutes, every hour.”
“Doug didn’t tell me any of this,” I grumbled as I lay back.
“Doug’s old school,” Diana said, keeping her tone neutral. “He deals with the bigger problem, but I prefer to work with the smaller issues before they become the bigger issue.” She glanced over at my coach. “You want your coach to stay? It’s okay if you do.”
I raised my head up and looked at her. “What?”
For the first time, she looked uncomfortable. “It’s okay if you prefer a chaperone.”
My eyes flicked to my coach’s, his face expressionless. “I’m okay . . . But if you want him to stay, that’s okay too.”
She looked down and then back at Hembry. “If you just stand in the corner, Coach.”
“Of course,” he murmured, and I lay back, wondering what the hell was with the subtext in the room. There was something in how she asked. Not embarrassed. Careful.
Coach and I left the treatment room about twenty minutes later. I felt like a marshmallow. Diana was small and short, but dear God, the woman had strength.
“I feel great,” I told him as we walked back down the hallway. “Honestly, point me to the thirty and I’ll have us in the end zone,” I added with a chuckle.
“Yeah, she’s good. She’s new,” he added, his voice low. “Wrighton’s not tarnished her too much, yet.”
I gave him a side look. “Sounding cynical there,” I said, keeping my voice low.
He stopped walking, and so did I. He looked around us, checking for passersby. “I know why you were fighting with those seniors,” he told me quietly. “I know you, Dante, and I know you don’t like it.” He stepped closer. “You’ve one more season here. This boat isn’t the one you want to rock.”
I swallowed. “Are you threatening—”
“I’m warning you. I know it sucks, it really fucking sucks, I know it does.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Trust me, Spence. Keep your head down, don’t make waves about this. You hear me?”
“I only just learned about it,” I admitted. “I haven’t probed.”
“Don’t,” he said with a tight smile. “Keep doing what you’re doing, son. Ignore the rest.” He tapped me on the back as we got to the locker room. “Don’t ignore the shoulder. You should’ve come to me yourself.”
We walked back inside, and I wasn’t surprised to see the locker room was mostly empty, except for my two roommates.
“You okay?” Dust asked, looking up from his phone.
“Yeah, MRI tomorrow, injection and massage today, ice when I get back to the room.”
“Great. Dinner?” Noah asked, standing.
“Yeah, tonight you will eat all your food,” Dustin told me, bending to pick up his backpack. “And none of mine.”
“I need a shower,” I reminded them. “Save me a seat, okay?”
They nodded and left, and I hurried through my shower, the conversations with Diana and Hembry replaying in my mind.
I headed straight to the dining hall. I’d missed too many meals. After standing in line, getting a huge plate of food and two sides, I went and sat with Noah and Dustin.
“When did we start sitting in our own bubble?” I asked them curiously as I sat down. We were at a table of six, and no one else was coming over.
“Since you and Matthews started throwing punches at your own teammates,” Dustin said around a mouthful of chicken.
Noah grinned. “That’ll do it.”
“Well, they were assholes,” I reminded Dustin. “You’d have thrown down with them too.”
“I know,” he said, scooping up some rice. “Didn’t say you shouldn’t have, just that you did.”
“So that’s why we’re pariahs?” I asked, looking over my shoulder at the rest of the dining hall.
Dustin shook his head at me. “I swear you live in a fog,” he chided. “Most people sit with either their teammates or their roommates.”
I frowned as I bit into my roll. “Did we do that last year?”
Noah snorted. “How did you not notice?”
“He’s usually reading,” Dustin told him. “He likes books and shit.”
“Ahh,” Noah murmured. “Makes more sense about the tutor now.”
“So you moved on from just ‘sounding her out’?” Dustin asked, his face carefully neutral.
I could lie, and after the shed, I probably should. “It got complicated.”
My friend watched me from across the table. He gave a slight nod. “Okay. Just don’t do anything stupid.”
That advice may be too late. I decided to change the subject.
I looked over my shoulder, seeing no one behind us. “I had an interesting chat with Hembry.”
Both of them looked at me, and I wondered how much I should say.
“Leave it for the dorm,” Noah murmured. “Yeah?”
I nodded. “Yeah.” I hesitated. “Do you want to know?” I saw his instant nod, but my attention was on Dust. “Dust?”
He toyed with his fork. “I do.” He sighed. “But I also don’t because I like my bubble of ignorance.” He gestured to the empty seats. “I like this bubble.”
“I know.” I ate my dinner, the table falling silent. It made sense. We were here to play. Not dig deeper into shit that didn’t concern us.
What we had on the field mattered more than whatever shadows lurked off it. If I kept my head down, pushed through, it’d be enough. Just like Coach Hembry told me to.
When I was finished, Dustin had already cleared away his tray and Noah’s. He puffed his cheeks out and let out a breath as he scanned the nearly empty dining hall. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” I asked as I stood.
“You need to ice that shoulder, I need to beat Noah’s ass in a rematch on Madden, and you need to tell us what kept you quiet all through dinner.”
“What about the bubble?” Noah asked, shouldering his bag.
“Every bubble bursts eventually,” Dustin said with a tight smile. “At least I get to see this one coming.”
“I changed my mind,” I told him, gathering my stuff up.
“I don’t give a shit, c’mon QB10, let’s go ride and die together, or whatever.”
Noah sniggered. “I’m getting that as a tattoo. Words to live by right there. Ride and die together, or whatever . . .”
Dustin laughed, and we headed up to our rooms. Inside, we dumped our stuff, changed clothes, I got an ice pack, Dust and Noah took up their positions on the couch, and they both looked at me expectantly.
“So, what’s happening?” Dust asked.
My mind was racing. Where did I start? With this afternoon, or the whole truth. I was pulling them into this, and I was still lying to them. Did I tell them what I’d done? What Sav had learned?
Did I deserve to lose their friendship just when I was beginning to rely on them both? Probably. I was about to tell them the program was lying to them, but so was I.
“Alright,” I said, voice flat. “Before we go any further, I need to talk to you both.”
Dustin looked up, dark brows drawn together. Noah didn’t move, but I felt his focus shift onto me like a weight.
I dragged a hand down my face and forced it out. “I’ve not been honest with you, and I’ve been . . . well, a dick. I did something stupid. I’m doing something stupid.”
“The dean’s daughter?” Dustin tried to joke. “I thought everyone said she was smart.”
“Not Sav,” I growled at him. “I’m . . . feeding tips.”