49. Chapter 49
Chapter 49
TEAGAN
The future looks pretty dismal from this angle.
Brynn is gone, having left after hovering over me for four excruciatingly long days, my parents left last night, too.
Tommy is at class, which will bleed into practice. If I’m lucky, I’ll see him tonight, which means I’m alone for the next eight hours.
I’m not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse.
I lie in my bed, far later in the morning than I’m used to—but then, I have nowhere to fucking be—and stare at the wall while my thoughts churn.
Come summer, this room will no longer be mine. It’s a hard pill to swallow, one I’ve tried to choke down during the handful of days since I left the hospital on Sunday.
As of this moment, my name on the roster for the Cumberland Wildcats is merely a technicality. I’m no longer a college football player. My days as a Wildcat are over.
Finished.
I’ve worked so damn hard for so long to get to where I am. Most guys dream of playing at the college level, and though I’m grateful for the time I had, it wasn’t nearly long enough. I might not have had dreams of playing beyond college, but it still stings to have it end so soon.
In the blink of an eye, I lost something I loved, and there’s no getting it back.
What will I do without football?
Living the normal life of a college student without athletics was never something I pondered, but one I’m now being faced with.
No more scholarship. No more football.
Next year, I’ll have to figure out financial aid, not to mention changing my living arrangements. I’ll be forced out of the athlete dormitories into regular student housing, unless I got an apartment off campus. My mornings will no longer be filled with conditioning and training. No more afternoons watching game tape. No more two-a-days in the summer or practices into the early evening. What the fuck am I supposed to do with my time?
To say adjusting to a life without sports will be a challenge is an understatement.
My thoughts drift to Lane, and my heart squeezes.
I’m not sure what hurts worse?my fucking back or my heart, but my pride takes a close third.
The one thing I told Lane I needed from her—the only thing—was her honesty. No secrets. No holding back.
And in the end, it was the one thing she couldn’t give me.
I’ve replayed the events of the past two months, along with game day in my head more times than I’d like to admit. All the clues Chance was Sophie’s father were there. I’d suspected as much, and I think the only reason I believed Lane when she said she and Chance had never been together was because I so desperately wanted it to be true.
I wanted to trust her, even if my gut told me I was right.
How could she lie straight to my face?
And, fuck, why did it have to be him? Of all the men in the world to be Sophie’s father, it had to be him.
I already hated the dude, and now I fucking despised him on a level that borders on unhinged. How he could stick around for almost four years and ignore Sophie’s existence, lying to Coach day-in and day-out, is beyond me. It’s in-fucking-comprehensible.
Set aside the fact all the trouble Chance has caused for me was on account of my interest in Lane, I’m not sure where to go from here. How can Lane and I possibly work when I can’t trust her to tell me the truth?
Knox’s betrayal has made me hate liars. I told myself I’d never be fooled again, that I’d never befriend one, let alone be with one. But I can’t seem to put Lane in that category beside him, even though I know she technically belongs there.
My heart can’t seem to let go because I love her.
I fucking love her. And I love Sophie, too. If I didn’t, this wouldn’t hurt so damn much.
I scrub my hands over my face and hiss at the stab of pain the movement causes.
Everything fucking hurts all the damn time. Brushing my teeth, reaching in the fridge for a drink, making a sandwich, taking a shit, showering, putting on my shoes. And the pain is a constant reminder of the heartbreak. They go hand-in-hand like peanut butter and fucking jelly, one reminding me of the other because heaven forbid I forget for even a moment.
Dropping my hands, I grit my teeth and reach for my phone on the nightstand, expecting the electric prod in my back this time.
Once I have it in hand, I open my unread texts. I have about a dozen from the guys in the group chat which I’ve left unread, most of them checking in and asking for updates, worried I might lose my mind between coping with the injury, Lane, and my inability to play football.
The Sunday I was released from the hospital, after my parents went out to grab us all some lunch, I got Brynn alone and told her everything.
I needed to spill my guts about as much as I needed my spine intact.
So, I filled her in on Chance and all the shit he had been giving me. I explained about Lane and how she lied. I told her about the confrontation before the game, how distracted I was, and how I have no idea what the fuck to do about it all now.
The whole time Brynn listened with zero judgment. She didn’t offer me advice I wasn’t ready to hear. Instead, she only asked if I wanted her to tell the guys about everything that transpired between the day I got laid-out on the field and now, and I’d said yes. They knew I’d been hurt, but that was the extent of it, and I just couldn’t bring myself to tell them the rest. I was too tired. Too in my head.
And now, as I scroll through their messages, I’m more grateful for Brynn than ever that I can open my phone and talk to them without having to relive the horror of my injury and everything that happened before it.
Instead, I can focus on now.
Because that’s where my head needs to be. In the present, the future.
I can’t go back and change what happened. All I can do is look forward.
My fingers hover over the keys on my phone, debating what to say to the guys. I only know I need to hear from them, and if I want to reach them before tonight, now is the time. Most of them should be done with football for at least the next couple of hours before practices start back up.
I chew on my bottom lip, trying to decide how the hell to open this conversation when I decide for a little levity because it’s better than the fucking morose thoughts swirling in my head.
Me:
Help, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.
Jace:
That’s wrong on so many levels.
Atlas:
Dude . . .
Chris:
I thought it was pretty funny.
Graham:
Seriously, though, man, how are you?
Leave it to Graham to cut to the chase.
I sigh and tip my head back against the headboard while I think of my answer.
How the fuck am I?
I’m not really sure.
Me:
Angry. Disappointed. Frustrated. Confused. And in fucking pain, both inside and outside.
Jace:
Shit. Tell us how you really feel.
Me:
Brynn filled you in on everything?
Jane:
Some more than others. Perks of being her personal love slave.
Me:
Seriously, dude?
Jace:
What?
Chris:
Yeah, and I heard the evidence of those perks last night. Kept me up for fucking hours.
Me:
I did not need to hear that.
Chris:
You’re telling me. The worst part is I didn’t know whose yelling I was hearing, Jace or Brynn.
Jace:
I don’t sound like a fucking chick in the sack, dude.
Chris:
Whatever helps you sleep at night.
Me:
Can we refocus, please? This conversation is making me sick and I already have a broken fucking back to contend with.
Atlas:
The man has a point.
Jace:
Hey, it could be worse. You could’ve broken your dick. #blessed
Chris:
How do we know he didn’t?
Me:
My dick is fucking fine.
Chris:
You sound defensive.
I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the headboard.
Why did I text them? Why?
When my phone pings again, I’m almost afraid to look at it.
Graham:
So, what’s hurting the most? Your back or this shit with Lane?
Damn. Graham hit the nail on the head.
I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. He went through a hell of a time last fall with his best friend, Mackenzie.
Me:
Both.
Jace:
In all seriousness, I hate this for you on all levels. It sucks ass, man. We’re all just grateful you’re okay, but damn.
Atlas:
Ditto. You might be a pain in the ass, but this could’ve been a lot worse.
Me:
I know. Trust me, I know. To say I’m sick about football is an understatement because I am. The rug was ripped out from under me far too soon, but I’ll deal. Football was never my future the way it is yours. It’s just going to take some reimagining of the next four years.
Graham:
Shit. I get that more than you know.
I’m sure he does. Graham had his whole future mapped out for him since he was a kid. His father played in the NFL and expected Graham to follow in his footsteps. It wasn’t until Graham had his heart broken, then found Skylar and fell in love with her that he had the courage to admit what he really wanted. He turned down an opportunity to play in the Big Ten, walked away from football, and never looked back.
Jace:
And we’re here for you, man.
Me:
The worse part of it all is I just want her. With her by my side, I could handle any-fucking-thing. Losing football means nothing compared to the thought of losing her.
Atlas:
Have you talked to her?
Me:
No. She’s tried calling and texted me dozens of times, but I just can’t bring myself to respond when I don’t know what to fucking say.
Jace:
Maybe it’s time, man.
Me:
Probably. But every time I think about how I asked her point-blank if she and Chance were ever together and she lied straight to my face, I shut down. I can’t even think about it without getting sick to the stomach. All I can think about is how Knox lied right to my fucking face for years. I had no clue he hurt Brynn. No clue he was fucking guilty. Since then, lying is a hard fucking no, and it’s so hard to get past that.
Jace:
Shit, I get it. You’re in a tough spot, bro. Not sure what I’d do if I was in your shoes.
I grimace.
Me:
Helpful.
Jace:
Sorry, man.
Me:
Okay, so if the roles were reversed, and it was your girls. What would y’all do?
Jace:
I’m basically Brynn’s bitch, so unless she cheats on my ass, she’s not getting rid of me that easy. ??
Atlas:
Do you know who you’re talking to?
I frown just as another text comes through.
Jace:
Oh, shit. That’s right. He’s a liar and Mackenzie forgave him. I almost forgot. Bahahahaha!
Atlas:
Asshole.
I scrub a hand over my jaw, thinking about it. I know what happened between him and Mackenzie, but the details are foggy.
Atlas:
I found out my father was responsible for the car crash that killed Kenzie’s mother and didn’t tell her about it even though I knew she wanted to know.
Damn, I almost forgot.
They broke up over it, and it took months and a lot of other shit happening to mend those bridges.
Me:
But I point-blank asked Lane and she lied. You omitted the truth. It’s a little different.
Graham:
Shades of gray, man.
Jace:
True. And though I get it, Lane isn’t Knox. I don’t think she would purposely hurt someone. What Knox did was unforgiveable no matter how you cut it.
He’s right. I know he’s right, but . . .
Atlas:
Do you know why she lied?
Me:
Does it matter?
Graham:
Maybe.
Atlas:
Intention matters, at least with me. I was selfish for not telling Kenzie, but I never meant to hurt her. I was just so damn afraid of losing her, and I thought she wouldn’t be able to look at me without seeing my father.
Jace:
Maybe Lane has a damn good reason.
Me:
Like protecting that asshole, Lockhart?
Atlas:
Maybe. Maybe not. But you won’t find out until you talk to her.
Graham:
You’re hurting anyway, and you have to face this at some point. So sit down and ask her why. Maybe her answer will surprise you and you’ll find a way around it?
Me:
And if I can’t?
Graham:
Are you really ready to lose her?
Chris:
I just want you all to know that I resent all these references to things I know nothing about. It’s rude.