“You’re such a fucking asshole!” Jordan yelled, pushing Tristan hard enough that he stumbled backward. He caught himself before falling and shook his head at his older brother.
“Nice to see you too.”
“Don’t fuck with me Trist this is bad. Like really bad.”
“Where’s Tessa?” He asks, trying to turn his phone on only to see it out of power.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jordan asked, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.
“What?” Tristan asked calmly, looking into his brother’s eyes. “Seriously, where is she?”
“Is she all you fucking care about?”
“No but I mean, she’s pretty fucking up there on the priority list,” he said with a chuckle. “Does she know?”
“Yes of course she knows, Trist.”
“And now she doesn’t want to talk to me, huh?”
“I don’t fucking know what that girl wants. All I know is that you need to go see Coach Adams, ASAP.”
Tristan sighed and rolled his shoulders, feeling the anxiety and tension coming over his body again.
“How bad is it?”
“It’s bad, Trist,” Jordan said, his voice becoming softer and more solemn. “You need to go see him right now.”
“I have no choice, son,” coach Adams said, sighing, and holding his head down, clearly not enjoying any part of delivering this message.
Tristan was stunned. He could feel the blood rushing into his head and a thin layer of sweat forming on his brow. Off the team? For good? Losing his scholarship? What the fuck was he going to do now?
His teary green eyes stared at the floor blankly, tears quietly rolling down his cheeks, his heart pinching and thumping painfully in his chest.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
“I’m devastated for you and for the team,” Coach Adams says, looking at Tristan’s wilting body. “But there’s nothing I can do about it. You already broke two rules, Tristan. A positive drug test and a failing grade. This was your third strike, and it’s a bad one.”
Tristan exhaled and put his head into his hands and finally let the sobs break from his soul. What the fuck was he going to do now?
Coach Adams tried to hand him some paperwork on resources, counselors, and career options specifically for football players who could no longer play, usually due to a career ending injury, but Tristan pushed them away and walked out of the coach’s office, completely defeated and dejected. He would have to call his dad and tell him. He didn’t think he could handle seeing the disappointment on his dad’s face.
Tristan made his way out of the building, ignoring Jordan who was calling after him and asking if he was okay. He tried one more time to call Tessa, and it went straight to voicemail. He decided he was going straight to her house.
“So then where is she?” Tristan asks the two girls sitting across from him. They had welcomed him in easily, got him situated on their couch with a cup of tea, and were now sitting in the antique armchairs that were across from the couch. The look in their eyes worried Tristan and made him feel like he was going to be sick.
“She went back home, Tristan,” Amber whispered, giving him a sad smile. “She’s in Pennsylvania. She left early this morning.”
He nodded silently, looking at the tiny cup of tea in his hands that he knew wasn’t actually tiny, but in his hands it was.
“When is she coming back?” He asks timidly. “I love her, you know.”
Amber nodded, tears filling her eyes.
“We know, you do” Abigail responded, her tough exterior beginning to break seeing the huge macho man in front of her with tears in his eyes and his shattered heart on his sleeve. “But we’re not sure when she’s coming back. She’ll probably stay for all of Thanksgiving break, but she didn’t really give us a deadline.”
“Her ticket was one way,” Amber whispered, and Tristan let out a long sigh and slumped into the couch.
“I can’t lose her you guys, it would kill me. To lose footballandher?” He shook his head, trying to get the images of such a depressing existence out of his mind.
