Lyla shifts, watching me with that sharp, observant gaze she’s always had. “You’re not going to do that thing where you self-sabotage, right?”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
She lifts a brow. “You know. The thing you used to do. Where someone offers you something good and you act like you don’t deserve it so you can pretend it didn’t hurt when it gets taken away.”
Silence.
Carter’s smile fades into something thoughtful.
Coach Harding looks like he wants to pretend he didn’t hear that because it’s too accurate.
Heat crawls up my neck. “I don’t do that.”
Lyla’s expression is unimpressed. “You used to.”
Carter leans back and smirks. “She’s right.”
I glare at him. “Traitor.”
Carter shrugs. “I was a shithead too. I’m allowed to call it like it is.”
Coach Harding points at Carter. “You still are.”
Carter laughs. “Fair.”
The humor helps. It keeps the heaviness from crushing me.
But Lyla’s words stick anyway.
Because she’s right.
Coach Harding’s voice cuts through my spiral. “Brooks.”
I look up. He doesn’t soften. He’s never been good at softening.
“You have handled more than most kids your age should have to,” he says. “And you’ve done it without quitting.”
My throat tightens.
He continues, “Football will be here as long as your body lets it. But your life, your people, that’s what you don’t get back.”
My chest aches.
Carter’s gaze flicks to me, understanding in his eyes now.
“You’ve got family stuff,” Carter says quietly.
I nod once.
Carter’s voice turns blunt again, like he’s doing me a favor by not making it emotional. “Handle your people. Take the call anyway.”
Coach Harding points at me like he’s calling a play. “You can do both if you stop acting like everything good has to cost you something.”
I swallow hard. “Yes, Coach.”
He nods once. “Good.”
Carter pushes up from his chair. “I’ll text you the contact info.”
