Chapter Seven
TYLER LAUGHEDout loud so abruptly he startled himself. Three Musketeers was way more fun than he’d expected. Classics are classics for a reason.
He leaned back against the sycamore in his sister’s backyard and lowered the book to rest on his lap. He was still wearing his shorts from the run this morning.
The sun was almost overhead. Was it noon already? Wow. He’d come outside, ostensibly to fetch Mr. Poops and stretch a little, but then he’d just plopped down to read and plunged back into Musketeers, not even bothering to shower.
He sniffed his pit. Yikes. Ripe.
A movement across the yard caught his eye. Up on Nadia’s back fence, Mr. Poops was patrolling the top of the overgrown passionflower vines, nose brushing the tendrils.
For a week, Tyler had stayed up most nights reading, and now he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t remember the last time a book took hold of him this way. The story felt like a key unlocking some dusty, rusted part of him. During their run he’d wanted to ask Josh questions, but then he decided that he needed to finish before he made himself sound stupid.
When Josh gave him the book last Saturday, it had felt thoughtful, but once Tyler started reading, it seemed important—as though Josh was trying to tell him something secret and pivotal.
A grin played on his lips as he ran his finger over the pages, pondering Josh’s reasons.
From what he could tell, Musketeers was all about manliness—honor and duty, balls and brains. Obviously that meant Josh’s gift was some kind of a message about football or high school, facing your fears. Tyler wasn’t smart enough to make sense of it.
Seventeenth century or seventeen years old, trying to be a good guy was a mess: expectations and anger, macho posturing and trying not to think with your dick. The merit of all things lies in their difficulty.
Was Athos supposed to be Tyler? Or perhaps cocky Porthos? Tyler chuckled to himself. Which would make Josh into Aramis, scholarly and romantic.
I wish.
He shook his head, amused by his own musing.
Tyler reminded himself that the thing in his lap was a book and nothing more. No need to read too much into it or pick it apart. This trip home to recuperate was just a temporary time-out. Josh was just a nice guy with good taste in fiction. Nothing could happen between them anyway. Drastic career changes aside, in a couple of months, he’d be back in San Diego.
Still, flirting wasn’t hurting anybody.
And yet, Tyler couldn’t help but return again and again to their trip to the farmer’s market. Everything they’d done, said, and seen. He’d leaned into Josh’s calm strength and quiet humor and let him guide him through the stalls and the streets of Ocotillo Heights. Tyler replayed it constantly in his mind, trying to make sense of it: eating tamales and laughing at nothing, the dusty bookstore and that last wild view from the peak. He had a suspicion Josh had even subtly shielded him from the fans.
The whole day echoed inside Tyler, that patient quiet kindness Josh offered so easily. Like Tyler deserved something better than fame.
His time with Josh worked on him in ways he didn’t fully understand, easing his restlessness and doubts, replacing them with a quirky, sturdy hope he’d never felt before. He knew it couldn’t last, but every day felt like gratitude.
Tyler grinned and closed the book with a shushed snap, squinting out at the day as he ran his hand over the binding. How could he show Josh his gratitude? Maybe even return the favor? There had to be some way to help with the library, at least. PR was low-hanging fruit for him. But he also wanted to do something special, personal, for Josh himself, some special gesture to express the exhilaration he felt.
He’d just have to come up with something spectacular. He tucked the book under his arm and stood, twisting to crack his back. Josh deserved so much more than he knew how to give.
“Hey, bud. I think I stink.” Tyler turned to Mr. Poops on the fence. “Wanna go inside?”
Poops blinked at him and flicked his enormous tail. But when Tyler picked him up and carried him into the dim and cool house, he was purring.
Tyler took a leisurely midday shower and even jerked off just to make sure things were operational. He didn’t even bother to feel guilty about his fantasies about Coach Ayres.
Over the past six days, Tyler had fallen into a healthy routine: morning runs, therapy twice a week, reading his Dumas somewhere out of doors or in a café, walking the familiar streets in his hometown, light weights at the Hamilton gym, then quiet evenings with his sister and Poops.
In this tranquil space, Tyler had time to reflect on his heart attack, his stalled career, and life beyond sports. And also on the tender and tenacious connection between himself and Josh.
By degrees, Tyler caught himself opening up about his fears, failures, and secrets he’d kept tucked out of sight a long time. And Josh listened with the understanding of shared humanity, not pity.
With Josh, Tyler didn’t have to be a celebrity or a football hero. He could just be himself, fragile and flawed. If anything, that made him even more confident. Josh had said it a couple of days ago: “Bones are strongest where the break mended.”
At some point, almost by accident, Tyler had remembered how to heal.
The morning runs with Josh were still Tyler’s favorite part of the day, the perfect sync, breathing in unison, stealing glances, talking about stuff he hadn’t even told his therapist. They’d taken a couple short hikes, a couple lunches. Just being near Josh anchored him and energized him. He started to feel confident again, more like himself and less like a cardboard standee held together with masking tape.
After the past weeks, surely Josh had to feel the chemistry between them, even if neither of them wanted anything to happen. Right?
Tell that to his heart. Tyler knew he was falling for Josh, and maybe Josh felt the same way.
NFL players take risks for a living, right? He was determined to take a chance and let Josh know how he felt before reality came crashing back in. He only hoped that Josh felt something close.
THE NEXTday, Tyler pulled a little too fast into the parking lot of Dr. Reynolds’s office, gripping the steering wheel with clammy hands.
So much for swashbuckling heroism.
He slowed as he navigated the lot toward the lobby doors, his stomach knotting with nerves and his hackles raised. A muscle in his jaw ticked with tension because apparently he’d been unconsciously grinding his teeth the whole way. He wiped his mouth.
The past hour had marked the first time he’d driven on the highway alone since the heart attack. No Josh grinning with him. No Nadia riding shotgun, ready to catch him if he stumbled. Just Tyler and the cold open road of I-15. A necessary step, but a stark contrast to his previous visits.
He cut the engine and grabbed his duffel bag, swallowing the stupid anxiety that rose in his throat like bile. He tugged his baseball cap lower. Hardly a disguise, but he felt like he should make an effort. He took a moment to three-three-three himself back into his body.
Keys. Bench. Door.
Engine ticking. Shush of traffic. Two girls chatting by their car.
Wipe hands. Crack neck. Open door.
He closed his eyes and let out a slow, ragged exhale.
What would Josh tell him if they were on the track at sunrise?
Take a breath. Let all the craziness out of you. You got this.Just thinking about Josh’s eyes settled him a bit.
After closing and locking the car door, Tyler strode toward the entrance, slowly letting some of his nerves go. Josh’s voice in his ear: “One step and then another and you can go anywhere, buddy.”
He walked briskly toward the entrance, but before he could reach for the door handle, a voice stopped him in his tracks. “Tyler Fantana!”
Six feet from his cardiologist’s door, a rail-thin woman with unnaturally bright red hair ambushed him from behind a trash can to jam a microphone in his face. “Cilla Miller, Channel Twenty-four Sports.”
“Holy—” Tyler recoiled. His heart slammed against the inside of his ribs, each beat painful as an ax. He struggled to keep his face blank, but his vision blurred with each beat of his pulse. “Warn a guy, huh?”
He didn’t recognize this chick, and after a decade, he knew the San Diego regulars. The helmet-haired redhead looked perky and carnivorous, a glossy shark with threaded eyebrows. Her camera crew scrambled around them, capturing every facet of Tyler’s surprise.
“Care to comment on rumors you’re getting traded away from the Swells this season?” She was flanked by a scruffy cameraman and a stocky soundman holding a mike on a boom over their heads. The men looked bored and maybe a little embarrassed by her strident style. Even the adamant artificial red of her hair felt aggressive.
“No comment, ma’am.” He tried to step past or around them. No dice. She had installed carefully to block his path into Reynolds’s office.
Normally he’d have simply pushed through, but now Tyler vibrated with rage and panic, his mouth dry and his shirt soaked with cold sweat. Why hadn’t he brought Nadia when she insisted? He should have known the press would track him down eventually.
The reporter persisted, shoving the fat foam knob of her mic at him. “How’s the comeback going? What about your heart condition?”
“Ma’am, this is me being polite.” Tyler knocked the boom from overhead, and the sound guy stumbled. He started to push through the scruffy crew. “I asked you to back off.”
Was she really arrogant enough to try and manhandle a 260-pound NFL tank who played offense? She might imagine she was pushy, but pushing giants around was what he did for a living.
Undeterred by the security guard approaching from the lobby and Tyler’s mounting aggression, Ms. Miller jostled closer with the microphone. The capped teeth and the stiff hair made her seem like an angry doll. “Heartthrob to heart slob. Think that bum ticker will hold up? Are you willing to risk your life?”
Tyler’s mouth clicked shut. Fury boiled in his veins. He tried to think like a musketeer: a little brash, a little reckless, and a little more polite than necessary. Panache. Big cocky Aramis grin. “I said no comment, Cindy.”
She didn’t like that one bit. “Cilla.” Her frozen smile cracked. “I’m Cilla. Miller. KSDF. Reporting for Channel Twenty-four.”
He rolled his eyes. “My apologies.” He’d done it on purpose, misnamed her and shamed her so she couldn’t use any of this footage to sleaze her way up the ladder. The only reason he didn’t physically lift her out of his way was because the Swells didn’t need any more reasons to kill his contract.
“We’ve heard reports—”
“Then you’re all set.” And with that, he rammed past them and burst through the doors into the safety of Dr. Reynolds’s office. The receptionist looked up, startled. Tyler’s heart pounded, adrenaline scorching his veins.
Outside, the guard had reached the camera crew, but slender Cilla Miller bulldozed past the poor guy. “Mr. Fantana?” She trailed Tyler, headed straight for the front desk, mic at the ready. “Are the Swells fixing to nix Eighty-six?”
Eighty-six was his jersey.
What Tyler needed right now was a door between him and her. He shouldn’t have come alone. Stupid.
Cilla wouldn’t stop. “Mr. Fantana?” The cameraman trailed behind her, lens looming with the boom swinging and bobbing in pursuit. “Just a few questions for San Diego’s hottest, Tightest End….”
Cilla Miller had sat in her cubicle and planned that crap so she could come stick a mic in his face. Is Fantana getting eighty-sixed? How many junior reporters had pulled this same routine with him the past two months? He wasn’t anything but a headline to them.
“Lady. We’ve been polite.” A bald, thickset nurse in scrubs held open his hands in protest, his arms too wide and visible for her to dodge safely as he advanced at her. “We’ve warned you people several times already.”
“Hmph.” She frowned and flicked the red bob.
The security guard inched inside behind the sound guy. “That was assault.”
The nurse scowled and herded the invading crew back toward the parking lot like an aging defensive lineman. “We got you on tape, lady. And I saw you strike a patient. I’ll testify.”
Cilla gasped. “Ridiculous. That’s a lie.”
“We’ll press charges. I’m happy to call the police again. If you persist, I can guarantee the rest of your afternoon is a thorough cavity search.”
Tyler turned away from the melee to face the desk.
“Limelight, huh?” The receptionist shot Tyler a sympathetic smile and muttered, “Exam room’s open. Number five.”
“Thanks,” Tyler mumbled with a grateful nod. He fled down the hall into an exam room and slammed the door shut.
Tyler leaned against the closed door, allowing the coolness of the metal handle to ground him. His heart raced like he’d run wind sprints at the combine. Damn vultures would kill him if they could, just to climb whatever crappy ladder. All they cared about was the story, not the person they used to prop it up.
His big hands shook as he stripped to his shorts.
Tyler hopped onto the table, his fingers drumming an erratic rhythm on the thin paper covering. Little by little, his eyes adjusted to the bright fluorescent lights of Dr. Reynolds’s office.
His old life left a lot to be desired.
Tyler took a few deep breaths to calm himself as he waited for the doc. Despite the reporter ambush, his relief and anticipation were genuine.
Though he’d dreaded this checkup, Tyler felt lighter and more energetic than he had in years. For the past month, each visit had marked real progress in his recovery, which had stagnated those first two months after the heart attack.
Even the idea of driving this far alone would’ve paralyzed him. Today, he felt stronger than he had in a long time, maybe since his first year with the Swells. His heart beat steady behind his ribs.
All thanks to Josh.
A knock came at the door before Dr. Reynolds entered.
“Mr. Fantana?” Dr. Reynolds closed the door, her brow furrowed in concern. “You look flushed. Everything okay?”
“Ran into a tacky reporter outside,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his sore neck. “Didn’t expect that kind of ambush so soon. I should’ve known.”
She stepped closer. “My apologies. My staff should have been better prepared.”
“Press. Some kid trying to make a name for herself. It’s not her fault, really. They can be… impolite.” He grinned. “I’m fine.”
“You are.” And then Dr. Reynolds seemed to really look at Tyler. “Aren’t you. Hale and hearty.” She glanced at the door. “I am sorry for the excitement out front.”
“No need. It bothered your people more than it did me. Although the shock did get my heart thumping. I’m not used to that anymore. Out of practice.”
“No.” She raised her cold stethoscope to his chest and back to listen. As she began the examination, Tyler couldn’t help but notice how different he felt compared to his last visit. “But your breathing is strong, and your heart sounds great, if slightly elevated, for obvious reasons.”
“I bet.”
“Your vitals are looking good, Tyler,” Dr. Reynolds observed, checking off notes on her clipboard. “And if I’m not mistaken, you seem… noticeably happier. A great deal happier.”
“Guess I’ve been making some changes,” he admitted, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was true. Ever since Josh entered his life, something inside him had shifted.
“Changes?” She raised an eyebrow. “Care to share?”
“Been working out,” he said, avoiding the question’s emotional implications. “Running every morning. Easy weights.”
“Oh! That explains it.” Her face was pinked with pleasure. “Mr. Fantana, congratulations. Truly. That’s wonderful to hear. Your color has improved drastically. Blood sugar. Potassium. Iron. Magnesium. Superb.”
The doctor’s praise filled him with pride. Tyler smiled, thinking of his early morning runs with Josh, the trips and jokes and everything else that had turned his life around so much the past few weeks. “Some easy hikes with a friend. Even strength training a couple times a week. Nothing extreme, but still… I sort of got my blood flowing again.”
“Ah. It’s definitely flowing.” Dr. Reynolds nodded. “You look so much more grounded than you did during our last visit.”
“Feels good,” Tyler agreed with a tickle of pride.
She made some notes and then glanced over his charts again. “Marvelous news on all fronts, it seems. And therapy? How have you been feeling since our last visit? Do I even need to ask?”
“Much better, actually,” Tyler said. “Therapy has been good. I’ve been three-three-threeing like there’s no ma?ana. I’m watching what I eat. I’m learning to cook, even, with a friend.” He stopped himself before Josh’s name came up. Last thing he needed to tell his cardiologist.
“You’ve clearly been taking better care of yourself.”
“Couple gallons of water every day. Bananas. Kale.” Tyler nodded, thinking of Josh pushing him on their runs, believing in him when Tyler didn’t believe in himself. “I’ve had help. A friend has really been there for me through all of this.”
Dr. Reynolds fixed Tyler with a knowing look. “A new relationship?”
“No, actually. An old friend from my high school.” Caught off guard, Tyler had reddened. He pictured Josh’s warm eyes and easy grin but blinked the thought away.
“I assume they get some credit for this remarkable turnaround?”
“Sure. Yes. Josh.” He hadn’t considered how he was supposed to discuss Josh with anyone else.
She raised her eyebrows with a gentle smile of interest. “Someone back home?”
“Exactly. From Hamilton. A coach who still lives there.” He knew she’d assume he meant some old man who’d coached him fifteen years ago, but no harm done. “Really gifted sports medicine guy, as it happens.”
“You mean your coach still works there? What a blessing.” Dr. Reynolds hesitated, squinting. “But nobody else? I could’ve sworn you had that glow about you. Someone special.”
Tyler’s chest tightened, and he swallowed hard. His mind raced. He was wary of saying more than he meant to, so he froze and fibbed. “Josh has been training me, keeping me motivated. Good guy.”
“Great coaches can be life-changing.” Dr. Reynolds patted his knee. “And you seem so… grounded today. I’m thrilled by your progress.”
Though he dodged her questions, she’d noticed plenty. “Thanks, Doc,” he mumbled, still evasive. “I appreciate that.”
Her voice softened, as though she sensed his reluctance. “I only ask because I care about your well-being. Helping you heal is a wonderful thing. Your coach must care a lot about you.”
He felt crappy not giving Josh full credit, but he still wasn’t sure what Josh wanted. Saying something out loud would make it real, and that was a risk he wasn’t ready to take, not with reporters hovering in the lobby. He forced a casual laugh, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Just been focusing on my health, Doc. That’s all.”
“Well, whatever you’re doing, keep it up. And don’t worry about any reporters outside. My staff can make sure you leave without issue. If you’ll wait here, I’ll have someone escort you out.”
“No, Doc. I’m fine now. I’m just out of practice running offense.”
As she left the room, Tyler couldn’t suppress a grin. He felt lighter, stronger, and more alive than he had in months, and he knew exactly whom to thank for it.
He headed down the hall and discovered Cilla and crew had been booted.
“She’s toast.” Standing at the reception desk, the male nurse gave him a nod. “Escorted off the property. We called her station manager for good measure. She’s a nut. Mark my words, she’s got a wall covered with your stats and old socks.”
“Thanks, man.” Tyler extended a hand to him.
The nurse shook it firmly with a big grin and ran a hand over his bald scalp. “Thank you. I’m such a big fan, Mr. Fantana.”
Tyler left Dr. Reynolds’s office. Did his growing fondness for Josh really show that plainly? The thought made Tyler blush. He wasn’t ready to define whatever existed between them, even to himself.
He hated lying, but it also felt wrong to say something to his cardiologist before he worked up the nerve to see if Josh was interested. Whatever he felt, Josh deserved to hear it first.
Still, the doctor’s intuition rang true. Josh had changed everything for Tyler. His encouragement and caring had pulled Tyler from his self-pitying haze, kicked his ass, and steered him right. With Josh, the world seemed full of opportunity, not obstacles. Tyler felt stronger, mentally and physically, than he had in years.
The more he pondered, the more Tyler warmed to the idea. The time they shared already felt so intimate. Surely Josh felt the spark between them.
Pursuing Josh was a risk, but the thought of not trying at all left him with a hollow ache in his chest. Could exploring those feelings jeopardize their friendship? Tyler hadn’t been sure he was ready to risk it. But what if this was his chance at real happiness?
As Tyler headed to the car, his heart swelled with tentative hope. For the first time in ages, he felt eager to embrace whatever the future held, so long as Josh was by his side.
Tyler stepped out of the doctor’s lobby and scanned the parking lot, his eyes darting from one end to the other. He couldn’t shake the feeling that his life was at a critical juncture, and one wrong move could topple everything.
As he drove, Tyler replayed the doctor’s exam. His improvement was undeniable, but the threat of returning to the NFL plagued him.
Just thinking about returning to the Swells stirred up a storm of conflicting emotions. The ruthless competition and media circus felt at odds with the balance Tyler had enjoyed so much lately. Part of Tyler missed the thrill and challenge of the game in his bones. Yet the heart attack had completely undermined his confidence. What if his body failed him again? What if his heart was never going to be strong enough to go back?
If his face was plastered all over the news, would it drive Josh away? Would the pressure of being in the spotlight again wreck any chance for a real relationship? Then again, Josh might not be interested in some average nobody.
“Get it together, Tyler,” he muttered to himself. It was useless to dwell on the uncertainties.
One thing was clear. Tyler refused to waste another minute of the time he had with Josh. Their relationship, no matter what form it took, meant far too much. Tyler just prayed he’d find the courage to face what came next.
Tyler pulled into Nadia’s driveway, his thoughts a tangled heap, and steeled himself for the inevitable questions from his sister. He was relieved to be home, but he knew Nadia would be relentless interrogating him. As he climbed out of the car, the front door swung open.
“There he is!” Nadia called out, bounding through the door. She threw her arms around Tyler in an enthusiastic hug. “One piece, no disasters.”
“Whoa, hey,” Tyler laughed, returning the embrace.
“You did just fine. See? You can drive. Yay!”
“I did. Everything’s cool. Everything is fantastic, actually.”
“Wait, I know that look.” Nadia stepped back, peering closely at Tyler’s face. “You okay? You’ve got your brooding look going on.” She scrutinized him for a moment. “Something is up. What’s going on?”
“What? No, I’m good.” With a casual shrug, Tyler brushed past her toward the house. “Nothing, just a long day.”
Nadia followed on his heels, undeterred. “Uh-huh. So report. How’d the checkup go? Spill.”
“Fine, everything’s excellent,” Tyler said over his shoulder as he walked into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and filled a tall glass with water from the pitcher, avoiding Nadia’s gaze.
“You’re an awful liar, you know that? Like, maybe two out of ten for believability.” Nadia crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. “Pathetic. Lie harder, at least.”
Tyler’s eyes shot up to meet hers. Heat rose in his cheeks. “The doc was over the moon. Muscle mass. Blood pressure. Oxygen. Mineral levels. You name it. Way better than she’d even hoped.”
“Oh, Tyler, that’s awesome.” She squinted. “So what’s eating you?”
Tyler sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced at his sister, then looked away. “It’s nothing, really. Just… thinking.”
“Uh-oh.” Nadia tilted her head. “When is that ever a good thing?”
“It’s… nothing.” He took a long swing of water, feeling its chilly path down his throat and into his belly.
Nadia leaned against the counter and squeezed his wrist. “Talk to me, huh?”
“I don’t think I can… explain.”
“I’m not stupid.” Nadia frowned and laughed.
“I don’t mean that. I don’t think you’re the person I should be talking to first.”
“Oh. Ohhhh!”
He shook his head. “Don’t start.”
“Wait a minute. Tyler Fantana… are you saying—?”
“Everything is complicated. I mean….” Tyler rubbed his face roughly and then tugged on his hair in frustration. “I’m not just me. I’m a contract player with the NFL, with a whole team. I got licensing deals and press calls. I’m a character in three different video games, for Christ’s sake. I’m a machine.” He thumped his pecs.
“Bull. You are a grown-ass man, Tyler Fantana—”
He interrupted her, “I know that—”
But she didn’t let him finish. “And if you are having actual human feelings about another actual human being, then you’d best act like a grown-ass man.”
“It’s complicated, Nadia.”
“Boo-frigging-hoo.” She smacked him and cocked her head. “Tell me something simple. Huh? What in this life is easy? Nothing anybody wants.”
“I don’t want to hurt anybody.” He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed.
“Too late, boo. Life hurts people. You got a big fancy job in a big fancy game for big fancy money that’s nothing but hurting people. You’re a pro.”
Tyler wavered between embarrassment and the trust he had in his sister. He looked up into her earnest eyes and something inside him broke so the words spilled out. “I might… I think I’m falling for Josh Ayres.”
Nadia squealed and pulled Tyler into a hug. “I knew it!”
“You did? I didn’t. I really like him, Nadia. Like, a lot.”
“He’s the sweetest. I knew this would happen. You guys are perfect together, for each other. I knew it. I’m so happy for you.”
“Really? You don’t think it’s… weird?” Tyler asked, seeking reassurance from the one person who knew him best. “I know he’s your friend.”
“Absolutely not. I have too many friends for that to bug me,” Nadia insisted, squeezing his arm affectionately. “If anything, it’s overdue.”
“Easy. Hey.” Tyler laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t even know if he feels the same way.”
“Then ask him, genius.”
Tyler’s phone buzzed on the counter.
Nadia grinned. “I wonder who that might be.”
“Team owner. Or one of the coaches,” he said. “They must’ve just this second gotten the doc’s glowing report on my prognosis.”
Her face fell.
“I still have to decide about going back to the team next season. What if a new relationship isn’t a good idea?” He hadn’t said anything to her about the mounting pressure from the Swells yet. She already distrusted them.
Nadia put a hand on his shoulder. “You deserve to be happy.”
Tyler nodded slowly. She had a point. He picked up his phone, hesitating.
Jarlson’s familiar gruff voice spoke up. “Tyler! How’d that doc appointment go? A little bird told me you’re looking pretty good.”
“Yep. Saw Dr. Reynolds for my checkup.” Tyler grimaced. “Not quite cleared to play, but on the mend for sure.”
“Fantastic, Fantana!” the owner bellowed. “Great work. Great work. The team can’t wait. You just say the word.”
Tyler spent the next ten minutes walking Boris through the doc’s report. To be honest, he seemed more interested in getting Tyler back in front of the cameras than back on the field.
“A couple photo shoots wouldn’t kill you, huh? These cereal guys are busting my balls, and all you got to do is smile and show off your tight end, my friend.”
Tyler nodded, then realized Boris couldn’t see him and said, “Right.”
“But no pressure. Zero pressure from the team, kid. You’re a fighter. We just want you at a hundred percent and bushy tailed. You let us know. You just keep doing what you’re doing.”
“So far so good, huh?” The stupid part was that Josh was the only thing making him better, but going back would probably kill any hopes he had with Josh.
“Trust me, kid, you’ve got this. We’ll talk more soon.” And with that, Boris ended the call, leaving Tyler with unanswered questions and a lingering sense of unease.
He stared at the phone in his hand, his jaw clenched as frustration bubbled within him. The conversation had only served to deepen his conflict about the stark contrast facing him.
Tyler set down his phone. Nadia raised her eyebrows expectantly, but he just shrugged.
After a shower and some grilled trout, Tyler sat alone on the front porch steps, watching the sunset smear the horizon. The past couple of hours had really run the gamut: his sister, Cilla Miller, Boris, even that big bald nurse at Dr. Reynolds’s place trying to help.
For so long, he had kept his feelings bottled up inside, afraid to make himself vulnerable again after all his dumb hookups and fake dates for ESPN. But now, something had shifted. Being with Josh had awakened a part of Tyler he thought he’d lost.
In Josh, he might have found an honest-to-God partner… someone who could challenge him, support him, and perhaps even teach him to see the world through new eyes. Given Tyler’s dodgy track record with dating and commitment, that was no small thing.
Tyler realized he didn’t need absolute guarantees or assurances. He just needed to take a chance. He wanted to help Josh, make him laugh, fight dragons, save the library, and anything else that Josh was willing to accept. Plus, better to know before he did anything about the NFL. For once in his life, he needed to trust his heart no matter how battered or broken it might be. After all, who took hits better than him?
Tyler closed his eyes, enjoying the light breeze over his upturned face.
No need to rush, no dumb gestures, but he would start working toward telling Josh exactly how he felt. Think like a musketeer, man. A proper date maybe, someplace special, something out of the ordinary. He tried to recapture that feeling he had when he was reading: cocky and courteous, with more panache than he had any right to claim. He’d find the right moment and lay himself bare.
When he opened his eyes again, the first stars of evening had winked into view.
Tyler smiled then and bowed to the sky in thanks. He knew exactly what he needed to do.