“He was fired, Luke. After the game.”
I blink. “What?”
“Like, escorted out of the facility fired.”
The floor tilts. My knees nearly give.
“What the fuck—why?”
Daniel’s voice drops, quieter now. “You collapsed on the field. He—he ran out there like his soul was on fire. No hesitation. Just dropped everything and went to you. The crowd. The team. Everyone saw. It was obvious, Luke.”
I sink down onto the bed again, numb.
“He didn’t even get a second chance,” Daniel adds. “No appeal. No meeting. Just… gone.”
Gone.
That’s why he hasn’t come. That’s why it’s been silence. It wasn’t just that he stayed away. It’s that hehad to.
I stare at the floor, heart pounding, every moment of the last three days slamming into me with new clarity. He lost his job. His entire career. Because of me.
And I didn’t even know.
Daniel rests a hand on my shoulder, voice softer. “I’m sorry. I thought someone would’ve told you by now.”
I nod slowly. But it’s hard to speak past the lump in my throat. He wasfired.And still, he didn’t come. Or maybe… hecouldn’t.
We’re silent as I get the all clear to leave the hospital. All the way up until I’m sitting in his passenger seat.
“Can we stop by the field first?” I ask, staring down at my hands like the answer might be written there.
Daniel glances over at me from the driver’s seat. “Locker room?”
I nod. “My phone’s still there. I just… I want it.”
He doesn’t ask why. Just signals and turns, easy as if this is the most normal request in the world.
The stadium’s empty when we pull up. Practice is long over, and besides the one runner on the track, it’s just turf and sun. Daniel pushes open the door and lets me hobble in ahead of him, my steps slow, careful.
The locker room feels wrong without the guys. Too quiet. Too clean. Coach Harris is in his office when I pass, but he doesn’t say anything, just continues to work on whatever he’s working on.
My locker’s exactly how I left it—clothes tossed on top of my open bag, my phone buried beneath them. I pick it up like it might bite me.
Dead. Completely.
“Take your time,” Daniel says, leaning against the wall. “I’ll be… over here. Pretending not to hover.”
I find an outlet, plug in my box and charger, and sit on the bench. The screen stays black for a few minutes.
Then it flickers.
My heart stutters.
Notifications flood in all at once—missed calls, texts, group chats lighting up like I disappeared off the face of the earth. Ty. Micah. Will. My mom.
And then—Prism.
One notification. Time-stamped threedays ago.
