Coffee first. Family never.
The hallway was dark when I stepped out of my room, but light leaked from under Tanner’s door. I paused, listening. The soft click-clack of his keyboard filtered through. He’d probably been up all night, buried in whatever data he’d collected yesterday while I was getting my ass handed to me.
I didn’t knock. Tanner hated being interrupted when he was working, and I’d learned over the past two months that sometimes the best way to take care of him was to leave him alone until he surfaced on his own.
The kitchen was clean from last night—we’d washed the dishes together after dinner, standing shoulder to shoulder at the sink. I started the coffee maker and wiped down the counter that didn’t need wiping, just to have something to do with my hands. The machine gurgled to life, familiar and grounding.
My phone buzzed on the counter where I’d left it. Another call from home. I watched it ring through, then turned the phone face down.
“You’re up early.”
I turned. Tanner stood in the kitchen doorway wearing an old T-shirt with a hole near the hem and flannel pants that hung low on his narrow hips. His hair stuck up on one side. He had pillow creases on his cheek.
He looked about seventeen years old and completely exhausted.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I said, which was only half true. I’d slept fine until my body decided six a.m. was late enough and every bruise needed to file a formal complaint. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
I pulled down two mugs while the machine finished brewing. Tanner moved past me to the fridge, close enough that I caught the scent of his shampoo—something clean and generic that shouldn’t have made my chest do strange things.
He grabbed the creamer, added it to his mug, then leaned against the counter beside me. Our shoulders didn’t quite touch. The gap between us was maybe six inches—close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off his skin, far enough that it felt deliberate.
“How’re the ribs?” he asked.
“Fine.”
His fingers tightened on his mug. I watched it happen—the small tell he probably didn’t know he had. Tanner noticed everything,cataloged it, and filed it away for later analysis. I’d learned to read him the same way.
“Seth.”
Just my name. One syllable, soft and certain, and something warm unfurled low in my gut. Everyone else called me Landry—teammates, coaches, even Hunter. But Tanner had taken one look at me when we’d first met and said, “I’m not calling you by your last name like you’re just another player.”
So I’d told him. Seth. The name my family used, the one I’d spent years trying to distance myself from because it came with expectations I never wanted to meet. But when Tanner said my name, it didn’t feel like an anchor pulling me under. It felt like being seen as something other than a jock or a disappointment.
He was looking at me now with that expression, the one that made me feel like he could see straight through every wall I’d ever built. His eyes dropped to my side, tracking the way I held myself, the careful angle of my torso.
“They’re sore,” I admitted because lying to him felt impossible. “Nothing serious. I’ve had worse.”
Tanner’s jaw tightened. He took a long drink of his coffee, eyes on the window over the sink instead of on me. Morning light caught in his hair, turned it almost auburn where it was longest.
I wanted to touch him. The urge hit me suddenly and sharp, my hand halfway to his shoulder before I remembered this wasn’t that. We were roommates. Friends, maybe, in the deliberate way you built friendship around shared space and mutual avoidance of hard topics.
I dropped my hand and reached for my own coffee instead.
“You get your work done?” I asked.
“Most of it. I’ve got a report to finish today.”
“Need any help?”
His eyes cut to me, something surprised flickering across his face before he hid it. “You’ve got film review tomorrow.”
“Not until the afternoon. I’m free all day today.” I wasn’t sure why I’d even made the offer. I was the one barely making grades one semester after the next.”You know, it might be good to have a player who understands what you’re trying to do and where you’re coming from look over things. Make sure you’re not missing anything from the sports angle.”
Tanner studied me like he was trying to figure out if I meant it. After a few seconds, he said, “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know. But your work connects to mine. Understanding impact distribution helps me understand injury patterns.”
