The house goes quiet again.
Beck doesn’t say anything until we’re alone.
Then he lets out a slow breath and looks at me straight.
“How long’s that been happening?” he asks quietly.
I shrug because shrugging is easier than answering. “A little while.”
Beck nods slowly. “He doesn’t look bad.”
“No,” I agree. “Just…off.”
I hate how small the word sounds.Off.Like I’m talking about a bad mood instead of someone’s body failing them.
Beck leans back in his chair, running a hand over his jaw. “Coach Rhodes was always the toughest guy in the room.”
“Still is,” I say.
Beck looks at me. “Yeah. Sometimes that’s the problem.”
The words hang between us.
I stare down at my brace, at the straps digging into my skin. Tough people don’t always ask for help. Tough people don’t always admit when something hurts. Tough people don’t always let you see them weak.
Pops is the definition of tough.
Which means if something is wrong, he’ll carry it until it’s impossible to carry anymore.
“Coach Harding sends his best, by the way,” Beck says after a moment. “Asked me to tell you he’s thinking about you.”
I look up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Said the weight room’s open whenever you’re ready. No pressure.”
Something twists in my chest.
Coach Harding isn’t the type to say things just to say them. If he told Beck to pass that along, it means he meant it.
It also means he’s watching.
Everyone’s watching.
Waiting to see what I become if I’m notLogan Brooks, wide receiver, senior year, draft potential.
“I’m taking the term off, at least for classes,” I say.
Beck doesn’t react right away. Just nods once, like he’d already suspected.
“Smart,” he says finally.
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone else is moving forward,” I say. “And I’m…here.”
Beck studies me. “You’re rehabbing.”
