3
Brooks
Then
Football practice is the usual grind: the sound of cleats hitting the turf, Coach Tyler’s sharp whistle cutting through the air, the sting of sweat running down the back of my neck. Routine. But today feels different.
I jog into position as the new guy steps onto the field. Beckett Rivers. His name has been floating around the locker room, and some of the guys joke that he looks too “soft” to try out for the team. But the second I saw him throw, all those jokes disappeared.
I’d bet he’s been playing his whole life—he has a natural talent. His grip on the ball is confident, his release smooth. Every pass spirals clean through the air, hitting his targets with pinpoint accuracy.
Coach Tyler calls for a few reps, and I line up as his receiver. The chemistry between us clicks immediately. Beckett drops back, eyes scanning the field before launching a perfect pass. I barely have to adjust before snatching the ball mid-stride and taking off toward the end zone.
Removing my helmet, I sling it under my arm and walk toward him, amusement flickering across my face.
“Not bad,” I say, offering a quick nod. “You ever think about playing varsity? We could use a solid QB.”
Beckett wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, then shoots me a sly grin. “That’s the plan, Holland.”
“Coach Tyler would be insane not to put you on the team,” I reply, chuckling as I give him a light push. “Hey, you know what? We’re all heading to a bonfire later. You should come. Everyone’s gonna be there.”
Beckett raises an eyebrow, clearly weighing the offer. “You sure?”
“Why not?” I shrug, motioning toward the team. “It’s a good way to meet everyone. Plus, you’ll fit right in.”
“Alright, I’ll think about it,” Beckett says, the subtle tip of his head giving me the impression that he’s not about to pass up an invitation.
I jog over near the bench, grabbing my phone before heading back. Holding it out to him, I nod. “Here—put your number in. I’ll text you where we’re meeting.”
He takes it, punching in his number before handing it back. “Dope, can’t wait.”
With practice wrapped up and a quick shower behind me, I grab my gear and nod toward Graham and Miles, signaling them to follow me to Ruby’s—our usual post-practice spot.
The bell above the door jingles as we walk in, and the familiar smell of greasy food and fresh coffee hits me. The place isn’t packed, but it’s not empty either. A few locals are scattered around, either chatting or reading the paper.
We slide into our usual corner booth, order our burgers, and settle in. But then, the soft thud of the door pulls my attention, and I glance up.
That’s when I see her.
The owner greets her warmly, and something tightens in my chest. She tilts her head slightly, eyes scanning the menu, and I can’t look away from the way her dark curls sway with every subtle movement. I force my focus back to Graham and Miles, determined to stay present, but it’s no use. My gaze slips back to her, catching fleeting glances when she’s not looking.
Finally, she turns, milkshake in hand, and in an instant, our eyes meet. Time stutters, and for a split second, I’m paralyzed—words hover on the tip of my tongue, but they won’t come. And before I can make a sound, she’s gone, slipping away as if the moment never happened.
I distract myself with my fries, but the curiosity continues to gnaw at me, making it hard to focus. The guys talk, but their words fade into the background, my mind too preoccupied. There’s an inexplicable pull toward her, one I can’t get rid of, even without knowing who she is. It’s like she’s stamped herself onto my soul, a mark that won’t fade, even if our paths never cross again.
Shoving the thought aside, I toss a few bucks on the table for a tip and push myself up from the booth, heading out with the rest of the guys.
When I arrive back home, the house is quiet, save for the low hum of the television in the living room. My dad is there, sprawled out in his usual chair, a half-empty beer resting on the armrest. He glances up as I walk in, turning the volume down, as if trying to make our conversation less awkward.
“Brooks,” he queries with a head tilt, his gaze discerning, even beneath the relaxed expression. “Good practice?”
“Yeah, it was solid,” I reply, setting my bag down by the door.
After sizing me up for a beat, he takes a swig of his beer. “Been thinkin’,” he begins, leaning forward slightly, “you should come by the site with me tomorrow. Start learning a bit more of the ropes. Won’t be long ‘til you’re out of school, y’know. Good time to get serious about your future.”
This isn’t the first time he’s brought this up. My dad’s construction business is his pride and joy, and he’s always expected me to take it over someday. I know it means a lot to him, but the idea of settling into a job in construction—my whole life mapped out in this town, doing the same thing he did—makes everything around me feel smaller, as if there’s no room left for me.
“I don’t know, Dad,” I say, aiming to keep my tone casual. “I mean, maybe…just not tomorrow. I’ve got a ton of homework.”
He grunts, clearly not thrilled with my answer. “Football is fine, but it’s not a career, Brooks. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, but college ball? That’s a long shot. College ain’t for everyone. Just think about it, alright?”
Of course, that’s all he thinks I’d want to go to college for—never mind my actual interests. I nod, though, hoping that’ll be enough to end the conversation. “Alright. I’ll think about it.”
I head to my room and quickly pull off my shirt, the cool air hitting my skin as I slip into my favorite hoodie. It’s the type of comfort I don’t always realize I need until I’m wearing it. I grab a pair of jeans from the pile on the floor—nothing special, just the ones that fit right—and run a hand through my hair. Within minutes, I’m grabbing my keys and heading back out to my truck, pushing the conversation with my dad out of my mind.
By the time I arrive at the beach, the bonfire is already in full swing. Someone has set up a couple of speakers, and the music mixes with the sound of the waves hitting the shore. Groups of people are scattered around, laughing, talking, some with drinks in hand. A few guys are setting up makeshift seats out of driftwood and rocks.
“Brooks!” Colt’s voice carries over the fire, calling me over with a firm grip on his red Solo cup. He brings the same infectious energy to practice as he does everywhere else. “‘Bout time you showed up!”
“Couldn’t miss it, could I?” I reply, clapping him on the back.
“Hell yeah,” Colt smirks, tossing me a beer. “You see the new kid today? Man, we’re gonna have to step up our game.”
Popping the tab, I take a sip, casually glancing around the beach to check if Beckett has shown up yet. “Yeah, he’s got some skill. I think the team could really use someone with his ability.”
“We’ll see. The team’s solid this year, but Coach is a hardass. Hope he can keep up.”
As we talk, I catch sight of Chloe Vance moving toward us through the swarm of people. She’s dressed up more than usual for a beach party—an off-the-shoulder, flowy white blouse, paired with a denim skirt and wedges. Her blonde hair shimmers in the firelight, the loose waves bouncing as she walks. It’s been a while since we broke up, but she still manages to turn up at every party I go to.
She beams when she reaches us, her mood clearly lifted. “Brooks, I was hoping you’d come.”
“Didn’t realize I was in such high demand,” I tease, aiming for a lighthearted tone. The last thing I need is any misunderstandings tonight. I’m not here for her.
She inches forward, her smile never faltering. “Wanna go grab a drink? Just you and me?”
I stall just long enough for Colt’s amusement to grow. Chloe is hard to shake sometimes, and I know she still holds on to the hope we’ll get back together. “Uh, maybe in a bit,” I say, sounding more nonchalant than I feel. “I just got here.”
A frown shadows her expression, but with a reluctant nod, she acknowledges it. “Alright. Don’t keep me waiting too long.” She bites her lip, as if debating whether to stay, then finally gives me one last look before retreating to find her friends.
Colt bursts into laughter as soon as she’s out of earshot. “Dude, she’s still got it bad. You know she’s not giving up anytime soon, right?”
I sigh, shaking my head. “Yeah, well, I learned my lesson the first time.”
Colt claps me on the shoulder. “You dodged a bullet if you ask me,” he says before spotting someone across the beach and jogging off without another word.
I barely acknowledge it, my focus drifting as Miles steps up beside me.
“Tell me that wasn’t as painful as it looked,” he mutters.
I huff out a laugh. “Trust me, it was worse.”
Miles shakes his head, but before he can say anything else, my attention snags on two figures beyond the edge of the sand. Beckett has just shown up—and he’s not alone. I zone in on the girl beside him. Even in the low light, I recognize her from the diner—black curls framing light blue eyes that make it impossible to tell what she’s thinking. Then it clicks. The resemblance between her and Beckett is undeniable. Their shared features, the way they move—it’s obvious. They’re siblings.
I elbow Miles, signaling toward them. “Yo, Beckett is here—and he brought someone along.”
Miles casts a quick glance, intrigue lighting up his expression. “Oh shit, didn’t expect that.”
“Yeah…she was at Ruby’s earlier.” I try to sound indifferent, but the longer I look, the harder it is to ignore the feeling creeping under my skin.
Graham steps up beside us, catching the tail end of the conversation. “Who are we talking about?”
I gesture subtly toward Beckett and his sister, and the three of us weave through the crowd, dodging groups of people sprawled out on blankets and huddled around coolers. Beckett spots us approaching and raises a hand in greeting, a grin spreading across his face. His sister, however, seems a little more reserved. She scans me, then the others, as if she’s already sizing us up.
And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping to pass the test.