Page 10

TEN

SILAS

T he office of the athletic director is in the same building as the gym, so I take a deep breath as I walk in, catching the girls’ volleyball practice out of the corner of my eye. I wave at their coach out of habit, but my mind’s already somewhere else. The faint smell of sweat and the over-exaggerated grunts from the court fill the air as I make my way down the narrow hallway. I stop in front of the AD’s door, my fist weakly knocking, almost hoping no one answers.

Before I even finish knocking, Coach Jackson opens the door, and his beer gut is the first thing I see. It should be comforting, this familiar sight, but it only makes the unease crawling up my spine worse.

“Morgan! Come on in,” he says with that warm coach’s voice. But there’s something underneath it—pity. I follow him into the office, stepping past the old trophies and faded posters. He has a decent view of the gardens from here, but I can’t focus on that. I’m too busy trying to ignore the tightening knot in my stomach.

Coach Jackson gestures to the chair in front of his desk, and I sit, the fake leather creaking under my weight. I don’t even want to hear the words I know are coming.

“I heard about the final prognosis, son. I’m sorry,” he says, and just like that, the knot pulls tighter.

Sorry. Everyone’s sorry. The doctors, my teammates, not my friends—they all say the same thing, and it does nothing to change the reality that my season, my future, is done. The words are hollow, bouncing around in my head, leaving behind an ache that feels like it’s eating me from the inside out.

“Yeah,” I manage, keeping my voice steady. “It is what it is.”

But it’s not. It’s my whole damn world crashing down. Lacrosse was everything to me. The reason I woke up in the morning, the reason I pushed myself harder every single day. It was the only place I ever felt like I belonged. Now, it’s gone. One wrong hit and my body betrayed me—just like that, it’s over. I’m broken, and no one can fix it.

Coach Jackson nods, and I see the understanding in his eyes, but it just pisses me off more. He’s been around long enough to see guys like me come and go, to know the ones who’ll bounce back and the ones who won’t. And I can tell by the way he’s looking at me that he’s already written me off, already filed me away as another casualty of the game.

“I’m guessing this isn’t just a social visit,” he says, breaking the silence. “What’s on your mind, Morgan?”

I lean forward, feeling the desperation creeping into my voice, no matter how much I try to hold it back. “I want to stay involved with the team. I know I can’t play, but maybe I could help, be an intern or something—assist with coaching in the spring. I know the game; I know the guys. I need something, Coach.”

I need this. I can’t lose it all. If I don’t have lacrosse, what the hell do I have?

But the second I see his face, I know what’s coming. He sighs and leans back in his chair, the damn thing groaning under his weight.

“I appreciate the offer, Silas, really. But we’ve already got our coaching staff locked in for the season. Adding another person—even an intern—just isn’t in the budget.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. I try to keep my face neutral, but it’s taking everything in me not to scream. This was my last shot. Staying connected to the team, to something that mattered. Now it’s slipping through my fingers.

“I understand,” I lie, the words sticking in my throat. I don’t understand. I don’t understand how everything I’ve worked for can just disappear.

Coach raises his hand before I can say anything else. “But I don’t want to lose you altogether. You’ve been a key part of this team, and we could really use a team manager. Someone to handle equipment, logistics, keep the guys in line.”

A team manager. A glorified waterboy. It’s not what I want—it’s not even close—but what else can I do? Walk away? Do nothing? That’s not an option. I’ve already lost too much.

“I’ll take it,” I say, forcing a smile that feels like it might crack my face in half.

Coach Jackson’s relief is obvious, and that just pisses me off even more. “Good man. I’ll let the team know you’ll be sticking around. They’ll be glad to have you.”

I nod, not really listening anymore. My head’s spinning. Everything feels off, like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, and I just took a step forward. I stand up as Coach does, going through the motions, pretending I’m okay with this.

“Thanks, Coach. I appreciate it,” I say, though the words taste bitter on my tongue.

“Anytime, Morgan. And hey, don’t be a stranger. My door’s always open if you need to talk.”

I offer a half-hearted nod, already halfway out the door. The hallway feels narrower on the way out; the walls closing in on me as I step back into the world that’s suddenly too bright, too loud. The weight in my chest feels like it’s crushing me, and I just want to get out, to breathe.

But as I make my way down the hall, I hear voices—loud, obnoxious—the kind that grate on my nerves on a good day. And today is far from a good day.

Three guys round the corner, their OCK football jackets unmistakable. Their eyes lock on me like I’m their next target. I recognize them instantly—Asher Blackwood and his cronies, Tyler Graves and Jason Mills. They’ve always had a beef with me, probably because I never played their stupid games or kissed their asses like the rest of the campus seems to.

Asher’s always the first to step forward, wearing that stupid smirk like he’s a god among mortals. He moves to block my path, and just the sight of him standing there makes me want to put my fist through his face. “Heard you messed up our boy Donnelly pretty bad, Morgan,” he sneers, voice laced with venom. “Coach says he’s out for Saturday’s game. Got something to say about that?”

I meet his gaze, my own anger bubbling up to the surface. I’m not in the mood for this—not today, not after everything else.

“He got a few good ones in, but it was fair. ” The guy’s eyes narrow, but I don’t back down. “Maybe your boy should stick to his own weight class next time.”

“Your lovers stole my girl at fight night.”

I freeze. Sable. His girl? The sheer arrogance of him even thinking that sends a wave of red-hot rage at me. Without a second thought, I’m on him. My hand grips a fistful of his shirt, slamming him against the nearest wall with a force that makes the framed pictures rattle.

“It sounds like you want to pick up where Donnelly left off?”

They bristle at my words, but I’m past caring.

“I’m not scared of you, Morgan,” Asher snarls, trying to save face. “Not like the officers of my frat.”

His words only fuel the fire burning inside me. I lean in closer, so he can feel the heat of my breath on his face, my voice dropping into a low growl. “You should be scared. Because if you so much as look at Sable again, I’ll cut your dick off and make you eat it before curb stomping you in front of your own frat officer’s house.”

I shove him one last time before releasing him, watching as he stumbles back into the wall. Tyler and Jason are frozen, unsure whether to step in or stay put. They won’t touch me. Not unless Asher gives them the go-ahead—and by the look on his face, he’s too shaken to make that call.

Slam through the door of The Manor, the familiar scent of leather and whiskey filling the air. It’s quieter now, most of the guys out doing God knows what. But Levi’s here, lounging on one of the couches, phone in hand, without a care in the world.

“Silas.” He looks up, eyes narrowing when he sees the storm brewing across my face. “What ruffled your pretty feathers?”

I pace the length of the room like a caged animal. My pulse is pounding in my ears, fists still itching to connect with something. Someone.

“Asher Blackwood,” I growl, stopping just short of the couch.

Levi raises an eyebrow, sitting up straighter, his lips already twitching with amusement. “Care to elaborate?”

“He ran his mouth about the Donnelly fight,” I spit. “Said ‘his girl’ was stolen at fight night. Thinks he’s got a claim on Sable.”

Levi’s eyes flicker with mock interest as he leans back, folding his arms behind his head. “I gotta ask: why do you care so much? She’s just a fucking girl.” His lips curve into a smirk. “You’re getting all territorial. And for what? You don’t have anything to do with the girl.”

My fist tightens around the whiskey bottle on the table, but I keep myself in check. Barely. “This isn’t about feelings. It’s about respect.”

Levi chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh yeah, ‘respect.’ Is that what we’re calling it now? ‘Cause I think I heard a little venom in your tone. It sounds a lot like something you’d say if you cared... way more than you’re letting on.”

I shoot him a look.

Levi’s grin doesn’t fade. If anything, it widens. “And what, you’re gonna storm in there and make a dramatic speech? Throw down a glove like an old-school duel? ‘I challenge thee for fair Sable’s honor!”

My grip on the whiskey bottle tightens. “I’ll make sure Blackwood knows exactly who he’s messing with. He won’t touch her. Won’t even think about her again.”

Levi’s smirk lingers, but his eyes sharpen. “Okay, tough guy. I’m just saying, you might wanna figure out if you’re protecting her or claiming her. There’s a difference, and trust me, everyone can see which one you’re leaning toward.”

I stay silent, my jaw locked as I grab the bottle and take a hard swig, the burn doing nothing to dull the fire in my chest. Levi might be an ass, but deep down, he’s got a point. I just don’t want to admit it.

Levi leans forward, more serious now. “Look, Silas. If you wanna go after Blackwood, fine. But don’t get sloppy ‘cause you’re too wrapped up in proving something.”

“I’m not wrapped up in anything,” I snap.

“Sure, man. Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Levi says with a lazy shrug. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you when this blows up in your face.”

I stalk toward the back room, already half tuning him out, the tension rippling through my muscles begging for release. The gym’s dark, except for the dim glow of the overhead lights, but it’s enough. It’s always enough.

As I wrap my hands, Levi’s voice echoes from the doorway. “You know, if you hit the bag as hard as you’re lying to yourself, that thing might actually stand a chance.”

I don’t turn around, but my next punch lands harder than ever, the satisfying thud filling the room. One way or another, Blackwood’s going to learn his lesson.