My eyes won’t leave the bench.
He’s still sitting there.
The boy who played every part of this game until his body wore out.
Now he’s at the heart of the chaos.
Students swarm around him, everyone trying to touch him, celebrate him, and shower him with glory.
Nicole tries to make it her moment—hand on his chest, hips angled, wanting to be the next thing he touches.He shoves her off without a word.Doesn’t spare her a glance.
Half of the student section cheers his name as if he’s their king.
But Reece?
There’s no grin.No cocky swagger.None of that usual bullshit confidence he wears when he’s untouchable.He barely reacts at all.He just stands there and lets the noise crash around him.
They don’t realize what it costs.
They didn’t notice him until he refused to quit.Didn’t feel the weight of every hit stacking up until sheer fucking willpower was the only thing keeping him upright.
He didn’t bleed for them.
I saw it.
I saw something break loose inside him out there.Saw how badly he wanted this.Not the cheers.Not the attention.Proof.A reason.A chance to be more than what the no-hoper people label him without even trying to understand.
Reece wanted to be something.
And tonight, it seems like it took something from him in return.
I sit there long after the cheers fade, long after the last drumbeat dies and the band packs it in.
The crowd thins out, gradually leaving the field in waves.People continue shouting, laughing, and buzzing from the win as if it didn’t just cost Reece everything.
Lola and Liz have already left, taking Jace with them.
The field empties.
I stay rooted to the metal bleacher seat until the last drunk senior tumbles off toward the parking lot and the field finally quiets.
Only then do I move.
Quick steps, careful ones, my head ducked as I slide down the rows.I hit the ground and stay close to the fence, circling behind the goalpost and cutting across to the other side.I already know where he’ll be, and that’s the place I am going.
I wait in the long hallway.The locker room door swings open halfway, voices spilling out.Most of the team has already left, half-dressed, shoving each other around like gods who just saved the world.
None of them look broken.
I wait until the last of them leaves, until I hear no more voices.Until it’s just me and the pounding in my chest.Only then do I slip inside.
The air hits like a fist to the face—sweat, testosterone, damp towels, and blood.The room hums with it.
Lockers line the walls, dented and scratched, some with numbers half peeled off.A couple are still cracked open, gear spilling out.The floor’s a battlefield.Mud prints streak across the tile.A towel lies crumpled in the middle, soaked through and stepped on, abandoned without a second thought.
I see Reece at the far end.
He’s sitting with his elbows on his knees, head lowered, and his jersey is gone, with shoulder pads dumped in a heap at his feet.His chest rises and falls slowly, skin flushed, marked with bruises spreading in angry colors across his body.
