12. Ryder
Ryder
Telling Coach is harder than telling Carter.
I wait until after practice,, a practice I watched from the stands, my arm still in the sling, my shoulder still too weak for contact. Watching the team without me is torture, but Maya sits beside me the whole time, her hand in mine, grounding me.
“Just tell him the truth,” she says. “He’ll understand.”
“You don’t know Coach Mitchell.”
“No, but I know you. And I know you can’t keep hiding this.”
I get up and walk over to the office, knocking on Coach’s office door after the team clears out.
“Beaumont. About time. Get in here.”
He’s behind his desk, game footage frozen on his monitor. He doesn’t look surprised to see me.
“You know,” I say.
“Of course I know. Davis told me. I’ve been waiting for you to tell me yourself.” He leans back in his chair. “How bad?”
Coach listens without interrupting. When I finish, he’s quiet for a long moment.
“You’re an idiot,” he says finally.
“I know.”
“You could have permanently destroyed your shoulder.”
“I know.”
“You put the team at risk by playing injured.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Beaumont. You’re supposed to be leadership material. Leaders don’t hide injuries. Leaders don’t put personal glory ahead of team welfare.”
“I’m benching you for the rest of the season,” Coach continues. “Medical leave. No practice, no games, no team activities until you’re cleared by an orthopedic surgeon.”
“Coach—”
“I’m also recommending you to the scouts anyway.”
I freeze. “What?”
“You heard me. I’m sending footage of you from early season, before you were playing hurt. I’m writing a letter explaining the injury, the recovery timeline, your leadership qualities. I’m making sure they know you’re worth drafting despite the setback.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Beaumont, you’re one of the most talented players I’ve ever coached. But talent means nothing if you destroy yourself before you make it to the pros. I’d rather have you healthy and drafted in the second round than broken and not drafted at all.”
“But the Beaumont legacy?—”
“Fuck the Beaumont legacy. You’re not your father. You’re not your brother. You’re Ryder Beaumont, and you’re allowed to be your own person with your own timeline.”
The words crack something open in my chest.
“Thank you,” I manage.
“Don’t thank me. Just heal. Actually heal and when you come back, come back stronger and smarter.”
“I will. I promise.”
I leave his office feeling lighter than I have in months. The season’s over for me, but my career isn’t. The legacy continues, but on my terms.
Maya’s waiting in the corridor.
“How did it go?”
“Better than expected. He’s supporting me. Actually supporting me.”
She grins. “Told you the truth works.”
“You’re annoyingly right about things.”
“Get used to it.”
I kiss her, right there in the empty corridor, not caring who sees. Because I’m done hiding. Done pretending. Done destroying myself for expectations that were never mine to carry.