Chapter 1 - The Game Tyler Thought I Had Forgotten
Tyler Grant shoved me into the chain-link fence before I had made it through my first official minute at Hartwell University’s practice field.
The fence snapped against my shoulder blades.
My registration papers were still in my hand.
Tyler ripped them away.
Tore them once.
Then again.
The pieces dropped beside my shoes.
“Pick it up, charity boy. That paper’s the closest you’ll ever get to my team.”
Four players laughed.
Three didn’t.
I noticed the difference.
Tyler stepped onto the papers before I could reach them.
“Go home. We need athletes, not somebody’s pity project.”
I stood.
“Move your foot.”
That irritated him.
“What?”
“The papers.”
He smiled.
“No.”
I should have walked away.
Coach Reed knew I was coming.
The athletic office knew.
My clearance had already been entered into the system.
Those torn sheets were copies.
Nothing Tyler did to them could actually keep me off the roster.
I knew all of that.
Then he shoved me again.
Harder.
My backpack hit the fence.
I caught his wrist.
Tyler’s expression changed one second too late.
I stepped aside, used the momentum he had already committed, and put him on the grass.
Clean.
Fast.
I let go immediately.
Nobody laughed.
Tyler got back up furious.
He charged.
A hand caught his wrist before his fist reached me.
Coach Daniel Reed.
Fifty-two.
Gray at the temples.
The man who had spent seven months calling me every other week when I kept telling him I wasn’t sure I wanted to play football anymore.
He forced Tyler’s arm down.
Then saw the papers.
His face changed.
“Grant.”
Tyler said nothing.
Reed walked to me.
Held out his hand.
“Evan.”
I shook it.
That was when Tyler realized Coach already knew me.
Reed turned toward him.
“Why is my new starting quarterback on the ground?”
The entire practice field seemed to lean toward us.
My stomach dropped.
Tyler’s face emptied.
So did mine.
Coach Reed and I had never agreed to that.
He had promised me a chance to compete.
Nothing more.
Tyler looked from Reed to me.
Then Reed reached for the captain’s band around Tyler’s arm.
He removed it.
“Looks like your first position just opened up.”
He turned toward me with the band.
I didn’t take it.
Reed frowned.
“Evan.”
“You said I’d compete.”
“This isn’t the time.”
“It became the time when you said starting quarterback in front of everybody.”
A few players looked at one another.
Tyler gave a short, ugly laugh.
“See?”
Reed turned.
“See what?”
“He hasn’t taken one snap here and you’re already handing him the team.”
“You put your hands on him.”
“Yes.”
“That conversation is over.”
“No, Coach.”
Tyler pointed toward the torn papers.
“Ask him why he needs the charity transfer in the first place.”
My body went still.
Reed’s voice dropped.
“Enough.”
Tyler looked at me.
He knew.
At least part of it.
I had hoped nobody at Hartwell would recognize my name before I got through practice.
That had been stupid.
College football remembers scandal better than statistics.
One of the younger players behind Tyler finally said:
“Brooks?”
Another looked at me.
“Wait.”
The third one figured it out.
“Northlake?”
The field changed.
Tyler’s anger suddenly made sense to everyone except the people who did not know what happened twelve months earlier.
Reed stepped toward him.
“I said enough.”
Tyler didn’t care anymore.
“He was the quarterback.”
Nobody spoke.
“The conference semifinal.”
A player behind me whispered:
“Oh, damn.”
I remembered the stadium.
Forty thousand people.
Hartwell on the other sideline.
Tyler wearing number seven.
Coach Reed with a headset.
My father in my ear.
Northlake State had won 31–28.
But nobody remembered the score anymore.
They remembered what happened after halftime.
I had walked off our sideline with eleven minutes left in the third quarter.
Never returned.
Northlake called it an emotional disagreement.
Sports radio called me spoiled.
Online clips called me QUITTER even though I had never explained why I left.
Tyler stepped toward me again.
Reed blocked him.
“You want everybody to know who their new quarterback is?”
Tyler asked.
“Fine.”
His eyes locked on mine.
“Tell them why Northlake knew every blitz we sent before the ball was snapped.”
No one moved.
Tyler pointed toward me.
“He didn’t walk away because he was brave.”
May you like
Then he said the part Coach Reed had never heard from me.
“He used it first.”
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