Chapter 20 - BENCH
Tyler played nine minutes the next game.
Then six.
Then four.
Coach Avery Knox said it was defensive rotations.
Tyler believed him.
Mostly.
By the third week, Caleb didn't.
“You pissed somebody off.”
Tyler tied his shoes.
“Coach decides minutes.”
Caleb laughed.
“Sure.”
Tyler looked at him.
“You know something?”
Caleb hesitated.
That was enough.
“What?”
Caleb lowered his voice.
“My uncle works facilities.”
Tyler waited.
“He heard Wynn in the athletic office.”
Tyler stopped moving.
“When?”
“Last week.”
“What did he say?”
“Couldn't hear everything.”
“Caleb.”
“He heard your name.”
Tyler stared.
“And Coach?”
“Coach was in there.”
Practice started ten minutes later.
Tyler played badly.
Too angry.
Too distracted.
Coach Knox blew the whistle.
“Carter!”
Tyler looked over.
“Bench.”
Tyler laughed.
Wrong choice.
Coach walked toward him.
“You want to explain what's funny?”
“No.”
“Then sit.”
Tyler sat.
After practice he waited.
Coach Knox came out of his office carrying film notes.
Tyler blocked the doorway.
“Is Wynn deciding my minutes?”
Coach stopped.
“No.”
“Did he talk to you?”
“Yes.”
Tyler's chest tightened.
“About me?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Coach put the notes down.
“He wanted to know why you weren't starting.”
Tyler blinked.
That wasn't what he expected.
Coach continued.
“I told him because you don't defend weak-side actions consistently and because Caleb rebounds better.”
Tyler said nothing.
“Anything else?”
“Did he tell you about dinner?”
“No.”
“Did Grant?”
“No.”
Tyler looked at him.
Coach Knox studied his face.
“What happened?”
Tyler told him.
Not everything.
Enough.
Wynn.
The flooring project.
The implied favor.
Coach Knox listened without interrupting.
When Tyler finished, Knox sat down.
Then said:
“You need to report it.”
Tyler frowned.
“To who?”
“Compliance.”
Tyler laughed.
“That's going to go great.”
Coach didn't.
“You think being an adult means nobody can pressure you?”
Tyler stopped.
Coach continued.
“It means the pressure gets paperwork.”
Tyler looked toward the hallway.
“What happens if I report a major donor?”
“Maybe nothing.”
“That's reassuring.”
“Maybe something.”
Coach leaned forward.
“But if you don't report it, then you spend the next four years wondering whether every opportunity has a price you haven't been told yet.”
Tyler stared at him.
Different building.
Different coach.
Same problem.
Only this time nobody was hiding the choice from him.
Coach Knox stood.
“Your minutes are basketball.”
Tyler nodded.
“And Wynn?”
Coach picked up his film notes.
“That's life.”
May you like
Tyler hated the answer.
Because it was true.
