8. Ryan

8

Ryan

E arly morning practices are my comfort zone. They make me feel alive, and I don’t mind pushing my body to its limit. The pain of my muscles screaming is my drug of choice—the high that I chase every single day. That’s why I don’t drink much. I need to keep my focus on what’s important, and that’s football.

I do a quick scan of the field to make sure Hartley isn’t here yet. I’m not surprised. He rolls up to practice “on time” every day. To me, on time is at least an hour early. I like the peace of working out on my own before the rest of the team shows up. I can’t keep my thoughts clear this morning, though. I feel like the biggest jerk in the world. How do I explain myself last night to Hartley?

You felt bad for her. You didn’t want to hear Locke’s big mouth all week.

I don’t know what I was thinking or who took over my body, but that was not me. I don’t let girls get inside my head. I’m better than that. I’m the Springs U star running back on track to get drafted once I graduate. I’ve worked for this for years and can’t lose my head over a girl I just met. I need to focus so I can finally give my mom the life she deserves. She won’t have to worry about medical bills and can do things she loves. I can bring her on vacation. We’ve never done that before. I had to send that text last night. I couldn’t have naive little Violet getting any ideas in her head that the kiss meant anything other than what it was.

But it did…. I shake my head trying to eliminate the thought.

No, it didn’t, and it will never happen again. Hartley is probably ready to punch my face in, bright and early this morning. Lovely. Violet is his baby sister. No one messes with her. He made that very clear to the whole team, and I crossed the line. Hopefully, I can spin this in my favor. Better me than Locke. She would have been embarrassed, and he would have taken it way too far. His greasy hands would have touched the velvety skin of her back and traced under her bra strap. His hands don’t belong on her. I did the right thing.

But I remember how her lips felt on mine, how she fell into me and allowed me access to her, how I grabbed her hair and made her mine even if it was only for a few minutes….

Right on cue, Hartley’s car screeches in the parking lot of the practice facility. He storms onto the field and fists my shirt. I fly across the bench and onto the grass. Hartley is on top of me and screaming like a maniac.

“I TOLD YOU TO STAY AWAY, BUT YOU COULDN’T HELP YOURSELF!” he screams as he charges toward me with white knuckled fists. The fury burns in his eyes right before he pummels me into the freshly mowed grass. I’m not one to start a fight, but I will finish it. Everyone else just watches. I jump off the ground and flip him to his back. Before I know it, we are punching each other senseless. He gets a cheap shot across my jaw, so I reciprocate and get a few more square in in his chest. Coach blows the whistle, jolting us from the fight.

Great, this is exactly what I need this year.

“HARTLEY! RYAN! OFF MY FIELD NOW. If you two want to fight, take it to the locker room!”

We both drop our hands from each other. Now that the adrenaline rush is over, I can taste blood in my mouth. I’ve never had a fight on the field or at practice before, and Hartley has to lose his cool over a stupid party game. He needs to get a grip. We’re Division One athletes hoping to get drafted sooner rather than later. This behavior won’t cut it in the NFL.

Once we get to the locker room, Hartley starts pacing and running his hands through his hair. He says, “Dude. I’m sorry. She's got a lot going on in her head without you messing it up for her. She came home sobbing last night.”

“I know I crossed a line. I just wanted her away from Locke, but I promise you, man, it will never happen again.”

Hartley takes a deep breath. “Be her friend. She needs that, but don’t do stuff that’ll mess with her head. She needs a fresh start here.”

“I got you.”

“If it had been Locke, I swear to God…” he says with a far-off look in his eyes. We bump fists as we drop our things in the lockers and head to the showers.

After a cold shower and time to think, I pull out my phone to check my messages.

Liza: Wanna meet for lunch?

Ryan: Sure. Where?

Liza: Cafeteria. I’ll grab us a seat close to the window!

Ryan: See ya soon.

Liza is a good friend, and she always reaches out first. I need that push to do anything social beyond parties and practice. She came around the team a lot when she and Locke had whatever they had going on.

I take the short walk from the practice field to the commons area. The smell of fried chicken takes over my brain. After practice meals are huge, even if all I did was get a few punches on Hartley. Liza spots me by the entrance and waves me over to her table. I set my bag down and make a towering plate of carbs. Liza opts for a chicken Caesar salad.

“Long time no see. I miss our lunch meetups. How’s practice been?” she asks as she takes a bite of her salad. Liza used to join in on impromptu team lunches when she and Locke were whatever they were.

“Good. I need to keep my head on straight this season if I want to get drafted in a year. All eyes are on us,” I explain.

“You’ve got it. You know how talented you are,” she says with reassurance.

“Yeah, but talent only gets you so far. When you want to get drafted from a mid-sized school like Springs U, you have to stand out.”

“Soooooo, did you have fun at the back-to-school bash?” she asks with innocence, knowing what she’s about to stir up.

“Yep,” I shrug my shoulders with nonchalance in an attempt to get her off my back.

“That was quite the show you put on with that kiss, Ryan Shane. It was almost like you were… jealous ?” She nudges my shoulder playfully.

“Not jealous. Just trying to save her from Locke.” I scoff, but she’s right. I was jealous, and those aren’t emotions I’m willing to dig up from the grave at lunch.

“Hmm..” She pushes her salad around the plate with mischief in her eyes. “Didn’t seem like she was backing down from the challenge, and I had already offered to take it.” She grins, and her eyes jump to the entrance. My back is facing the door, so I can’t see who she’s frantically motioning to our table. Liza’s bag is occupying the seat next to her, and the only other available spot at our four-person table is next to me.

“Vi, how was class?” Liza asks our new lunch companion, quickly shooting a wink in my direction.

Ryan Shane, your timing is unreal.

She’s standing at the end of our table, gripping both straps of her black Northface backpack. I don’t engage in the girls’ conversation about class in hopes that this will be a short pass by and she’ll leave the table. Instead, I put my head down and continue to finish off my first buffet plate.

“It was okay. Natural Science isn’t my favorite class in the world, but the prerequisites have to get done.” I lift my head from the plate slightly to catch a glimpse of her. She’s zoned in on Liza, trying her best not to look at me.

“Come sit with us. Ryan and I were just catching up about how football is going. Right, Ryan?” She shoots me a death glare. I guess I don’t have much of a choice here.

“Seat’s open.” I gesture to the spot next to me.

“Okay. I have a few minutes before my next class begins.” Being this close to Violet elicits a natural response from my body. Every inch she squirms in her seat sends my eyes in her direction. She mindlessly picks at her nails and keeps her eyes glued to Liza. She seems unsure, and I hate that I put her in an uncomfortable position after the stunt at the party. Hopefully, Liza keeps her mouth shut about the kiss.

“Are you ready for the game this weekend? I’m so pumped. Your first Springs U game is going to be epic.” Liza crosses her hands under her chin and wiggles her shoulders.

“I am. I can’t wait to see Hartley on the field again. It’s been way too long.”

My heart hammers in my chest. Knowing Violet will be in the stands this weekend unleashes a primal need to play well.

“Hartley and Ryan are going to kill it this season,” Liza says with a nod in my direction. I guess that’s my cue to speak since I’ve rendered mute throughout this entire conversation. Every time I open my mouth around Violet, I say something stupid, or my tongue is down her throat.

“Yeah. Should be a good game.” I tilt my neck slightly to Violet, and we catch eyes, but she darts them back to Liza.

“Bust out that jersey, girly, and get ready to scream,” Liza says.

What jersey will she wear to the game? Hartley’s, I’m sure.

Now, I’m consumed with the image of Violet screaming my name in the stands. That’s it. I need to remove myself from this table before I ruin a perfectly normal lunch.

“I’ve got to get to class. Bye, girls.” I jet out before Liza can twist my arm into staying a second more. In the distance, I swear Liza’s voice says, “Smooth, Ryan!”

Violet

Classes were incredibly long and taxing today. It doesn’t help that my ruminating thoughts have taken over. Thoughts like these have been a serious struggle since I was nine years old. Some days are better than others, but they kick up a notch when I’m under a lot of stress.

Lunch was awkward, but I couldn’t ignore my new friend. I couldn’t risk potentially running off someone who was beyond welcoming. Ryan kept quiet for the most part, but that didn’t stop my jitters from surfacing. I tried my best to keep the conversation between Liza and me, but his presence dominates the room. Every inch he moved elicited a response from my body. He’s also extremely easy on the eyes, so avoiding eye contact is that much more difficult.

I’m spent from that unexpected encounter mixed with the stress of my workload, but Liza invited me to dinner tonight, and I don’t want to bail. The walk from my apartment to the dining hall is a short one, and the weather is nice enough in the evening. On the walk, I run through every scenario that could possibly go wrong.

What if Liza invited others to dinner? Will they like me? Will Ryan be there again?

My breathing becomes short, and a fire flames over my cheeks. My hand instinctively darts to my hair and begins twirling repeatedly. Shoot. I need to calm down and manage my stress. Social interactions shouldn’t send me into a spiral. Before entering the dining hall, I take four deep breaths and practice one of my favorite grounding techniques: feel, see, touch. My body’s feeling more regulated than before, so I take the opportunity to walk in before I change my mind and run home.

Luckily, I spotted Liza alone at a window seat close to the entrance. She’s lost in thought, thumbs racing as she types out a text.

“Hey, Liza,” I say timidly.

“Violet! Hi, I’m so happy you’re here!” She jumps up and throws her arms around me.

“Thanks for inviting me.”

“Let’s grab our first plate. Then, we can break down that party,” she giggles and leads the way to the buffet options. I opt for veggie pizza, and Liza chooses chicken fettuccine.

“I absolutely love the food here. The dining plan pays off leaps and bounds,” she says as she shovels a spoon of noodles in her mouth.

“Agreed. I wanted to skip out on it, but Hartley insisted it was a must.”

“How did you two meet? I love that you have each other. Hartley has always given off that crazy papa bear energy,” she gestures every sentence with her hands.

“Well, I’ve known him for pretty much my entire life.” I pick up my greasy pizza slice dipping it in ranch before taking a bite. “We’ve always looked out for each other, so coming to Springs U was a no-brainer,” I explain without giving up too much about our past and why we had to look out for each other younger than anyone should.

“That must be nice having someone in your corner. Gotta respect loyalty.” She sounds almost sad. Does Liza have anyone to look out for her?

“Why did you come to Springs U?” I ask.

“That’s a complicated story, but let’s just say I stuck it to my dad by coming here, and I have no regrets.” She chuckles.

“I’m glad you love it here. The party was a little overwhelming, and I hate being the center of attention,” I admit.

“Get used to it, girl. You were noticed, and when the football team takes note, you can officially retire from wallflower status.”

“I like being a wallflower, though. It’s less complicated.”

“I can help you. I have plenty of experience with cocky football players, one in particular.” I take that as an opportunity to ask about her past with the team.

“How did you get so close with the team? It seems like they love you.” Liza has that energy about her that is addicting. She’s fun to be around.

“I thought you’d never ask! It all started at last year’s back-to-school bash. A few friends from high school invited me, failing to mention that it was a football player thing. When I got there, Locke was the first person to come up to me, and I stupidly engaged.” She rolls her eyes and runs her hands over her face dramatically.

“Was he a jerk or something?” I ask.

“The exact opposite. He’s so smooth and fed me everything I wanted to hear. We were inseparable the rest of the night. My naive freshman self thought he really liked me and was interested in me .” She scoffs. “A few nights later, he invited me out to the bar. One thing led to another, and we ended up hooking up.”

“Oh, no. Please tell me he didn’t ghost you?” I ask with concern.

“Worse. He kept me hanging, but barely. He made me feel like I was special to him but would flirt with girls in front of my face. We’d argue, but he'd charm his way back into my bed. Hence the vicious cycle of liking someone who doesn’t feel the same way.”

“I’m so sorry, Liza. You don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

“He still gets to me from time to time, but I’m in Locke recovery.” She giggles. “And the best part about this is—I can help you avoid making the same mistakes I made, young grasshopper.” She fake bows and elicits a loud laugh from me.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m steering clear from relationships with complicated athletes. I already have one on my hands.”

“Whatever you say, but sexy men with big muscles can be very convincing.” She winks.

Maybe she’s right because I’m still thinking about the taste of one tattooed player in particular.

Ryan

I try my best to keep my head straight all week. I show up early to practice, go to all my classes, keep my partying to a minimum, and avoid Violet like the plague. The first game of the season is this weekend, and I need to focus. Scouts are watching my every move, and I can’t have another fight on the field like last week at practice. Coming from a small school means I need to outperform all the bigger names. It’s a challenge, but I have a way of standing out on the field. My routes are sharp, and I try to keep every play clean.

I keep my distance from everyone except my mom. She grounds me and reminds me what I’m here for. I take the five-minute drive to her house to bring her some of her favorites: grilled chicken nachos from the local restaurant down the street. She used to go there all the time, but she doesn’t get out of the house much on her own anymore.

Sliding my key into the door of my childhood home, I push it open and immediately feel at peace. The warm smell of her favorite cinnamon candle is burning. The house is clean but lived-in, with pictures littering the walls. I’m greeted by my frail and smiling mom at the door. She’s my whole world. Seeing her like this makes me think back to the day I found out when my whole world changed.

Everything changed during the winter of my freshman year of high school. Mom started falling, getting dizzy and weak. Something wasn’t right. I convinced her to get an annual check-up. I thought it was allergies or maybe the flu. She was diagnosed with ALS, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, a month later. ALS is a condition that attacks her nerves and motor functions like her hands and legs. Her body will slowly lose motor function, but her mind will stay intact. It’s almost as if her mind will eventually be trapped in a body that can’t do much of anything anymore. My future ended that day. Her diagnosis rocked my world.

I was angry at everybody and everything. I started making the worst decisions possible and hanging out with the wrong people. I stopped caring. I partied all night and skipped school. I did my best to keep my downfall a secret from my mom. I didn’t need her worrying about me. She had enough to worry about. The medical bills were piling up, and she needed to take off work more to make all of her appointments.

I decided to do quick things to make money. I started reselling some of my things, but that only got me chump change. One of the older guys that I became friends with introduced me to gambling. I started gambling on things here and there under the table through him. My crowd was older than me and had connections to that world. Mom thought I got a part-time job downtown bussing tables. She didn’t need to know the details or where I was spending my time. I was the man of the house. I felt responsible for taking care of her, and I couldn’t let her down. I was already a failure and had no future beyond this town. I wasn’t great in school, my grades were up and down, and I couldn’t afford college. I could at least get this right.

My gambling stint lasted a few months, and the bill stack got smaller. I felt like I was finally doing something right by my mom, but like the quintessential screw-up I am, I got caught. My bookie got arrested, and the names of all of his clients got leaked. Since I was a minor, I didn’t get arrested, but the sheriff gave my name to the principal. I almost got kicked out of school. They called my mom up to the office. When she found out, she cried and begged for them to let me stay in school. I could have cared less. I didn’t need school anymore. I needed money, lots of it. My saving grace that day was my assistant principal, Coach Damiens.

Coach gave me an ultimatum. He said the only way for me to stay in school would be for me to join the football team. Mom and I spoke at the same time, with contradicting answers. She jumped at the opportunity, and I shot it down. I stared daggers into my mom’s eyes. I don’t have time for sports, especially football. School sports were a waste of time and money for someone like me.

“No offense, coach, but I don’t have time to run around the field and play games,” I smugly answered him.

He looked me in the eyes, and I’ll never forget what he said to me after that. “You’re going to make it in football, kid. It’ll be your way out of whatever you’re running from, but it’s up to you to give it a fair chance.”

I don’t know why that hit me so hard. I was running from more than anyone knew. I looked over to Mom, tears pooling in her eyes, losing weight, and arms crossed. I couldn’t stand to disappoint her again. I nodded, wiped away a small tear from my eye, and asked him when I could start.

Once I started playing, everything I thought about football was proven wrong. Coming to Springs U was an easy decision for me. I didn’t even think about college until my junior year of high school. That’s when my high school football coach said I had a real shot at a full ride, and I worked harder than ever to get it. My plan was to go straight to work. Help mom pay the bills and bring her to all of her appointments after I graduated.

Slamming me back from my runaway thoughts, Mom swings the door open and shouts, “Ryan, what on earth are you doing here! It’s Friday! You’re supposed to be having fun, son!” she yells as she squeezes me tight in her frail arms, but weaker than she has in the past. I know it’s coming. This doesn’t get better. It progressively gets worse. That’s what terrifies me the most.

“I was out running errands and figured I’d bring you your favorite.” Lies. I came here to check on her, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

“Come sit with me.” She invites me on the couch. She needs to sit. She’s having a bad day. Her legs are weaker than usual, and she doesn’t want me to know.

“Big game this weekend! I can’t wait to watch you live from this dingy couch!” She laughs it off. I know deep down she wants to be there, but she can’t risk it.

“Look out for my heart after I score the first touchdown of the season. It’ll be for you,” I assure her.

My face heats without permission. “I’ll have my eyes on you.”

“Alright, let’s watch that show where all the people yell and fight at each other, you know, you’re favorite.” She smiles as I turn on her favorite show. I don’t leave until she’s into a deep sleep, and I carry her to her bed.