Brody should be sitting next to Fish, across the aisle and one row down from where I’m sitting with Cade. Jay and Aaron are in front of Fish, and Roman and Sean are behind me and Cade.
“Mr. Miller decided to head back separately,” he says, giving us the only information that he can—Brody is safe and accounted for.
I open my mouth to ask for more, but Coach shakes his head. Now isn’t the time or place. Before he continues down the aisle to his seat, he nods at the guys behind me. It feels cryptic. I turn and make eye contact with my co-captains, then look around at our friends. His friends, and mine, and the friends we share who are concerned for him.
He should be here. I should be keeping my face pointedly angled away and refusing to make eye contact in case he tries to eye fuck me where everyone can see, not avoiding the empty space next to Fish because it makes me want to scream and I’m barely holding myself together.
A hand lands on the back of my seat. I turn my head to find Roman leaning forward.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
I almost laugh. The sound that comes out is closer to a cough. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Then I shake my head. “No. This is fucked up. Brody might not be my favorite person, but he doesn’t deserve to lose everything like this,” I lie.
He nods once, like that’s the only honest answer he expected. “Sean and I had an idea that we wanted to run by you. Some of the other guys have mentioned being upset about the likelihood of Brody getting kicked off the team.”
“Out of school entirely, you mean,” Aaron says, leaning across the aisle to chime in. “If he loses his scholarship, he’ll lose everything. He won’t be able to continue going to school at all.”
Bile rises in my throat. I cut my eyes to the front of the plane where Pierce is leaning back and listening to headphones, watching something on his phone. He looks perfectly relaxed.
“That’s right,” Sean says, nodding at Aaron. “If there’s anything we can do, we want to try. I ran this idea past Coach last night, and he thinks it might help.”
“What are we doing?” I ask, impatient to get to the damn point. I’m ready to do something about this. I need a plan, or at least the beginnings of one that I can focus on to keep myself sane.
“Not one person that we’ve spoken to, even the freshies who follow Pierce around, were cool with what happened yesterday. I saw them physically backing away when he was going off on Brody. So we’re going to get as many statements together as possible from teammates in support of Brody, and to confirmthe harassment he’s been dealing with since the year began.” Sean has the kindness not to stare directly at me when he says that, but Aaron doesn’t bother holding back his pointed glare. I show him the decency of lowering my eyes and acknowledging his unspoken words.
This is on you, Beckett.
I nod. “I’m in. I’ll help any way I can.” Thinking of something I might be able to do, I pull out my phone to type out a text message. “My, um, my girlfriend’s mom is on the Board of Directors for the school. I’ll see if there’s anything she can do to help.”
“Most of the trainers and admin are willing to speak up in support of Brody as well,” Roman adds. “Everyone’s sick of Pierce’s bullshit, and most of the team really likes Brody.”
“I’m in,” Matt Young says, turning around from his seat in front of Cade.
“Hell yeah,” Cade says, throwing his hand over the back of Matt’s seat to give him a fist bump.
Matt’s seat partner, a freshman named Sebastian, throws his fist into the mix as well. “Pierce is a dick, and I might know how Brody’s tires got slashed,” he says, looking uncomfortable. “I’d be willing to report that to admin if it helps keep Brody on the team.”
“Thanks, man,” I say, as if I’ve taken the lead on this project. Face hot, I turn back to my co-captains. “What else we got?”
CHAPTER 28
BRODY
I don’t cry much. Not that I have anything against crying. Honestly, I sometimes wish I did it more often. It can be cathartic. It was when I finally released the knot in my throat after realizing I wouldn’t be headed back to the University of Nebraska.
But now I can’t stop.
This isn’t like me. Even the times I’ve needed to take a step back to reevaluate or process something—my dad’s death, my brother’s overdose, transferring to a school of people who resented me for sullying their status quo. I’ve been able to take all that in stride. It doesn’t take long for me to stand up, put on the carefree mask I’ve perfected, and move forward. Even when it still hurts, or when people or circumstances are breathing down my neck, I’ve just always been able to shut it down and keep going. Compartmentalizing is my lifeblood.
So why can’t I pack this up now? Especially when there are people staring at me in obvious concern, I can’t pull my shit together.
I cried and screamed my rage out enough yesterday that I don’t really have any actual tears left. But I can still feel the sadness and disbelief weighing me down. My body weighs too much. Even the skin on my face feels heavy.
After leaving the sports complex yesterday, I ran straight for the Mabel Lee Fields, where I used to jog and knew I was likely to not run into anyone. I trudged through the frozen sludge that had melted from the night before and stood in the middle of the open field and screamed until my vocal cords gave out, fell to my hands and knees, and heaved.
Eventually, I realized my skin was numb with cold. My knees were red and raw from the sludge I’d been kneeling in for too long. I was still wearing my wrestling uniform with nothing but a zip-up hoodie, in the middle of December in Nebraska. I stood up and walked in my soaked-through wrestling shoes to the residence hall where Leo and Eric live.
Leo was expecting me, although I was late because of the impromptu walk I took across campus. The moment he opened the door, his eyes widened.
