Page 89 of The Backup

The locker room is quiet, the usual post-game banter replaced by a heavy silence. Coach gathers us together, his jaw tight as he surveys the team.

“We didn’t lose because they were better,” he says, his voice low but sharp. “We lost because we weren’t focused. Some of you are letting distractions get in the way, and that ends now. Got it?”

A few murmured “Yes, Coach” replies ripple through the group, and I keep my head down, knowing damn well I’m the one he’s talking about.

After he dismisses us, Ryan nudges me as we head to the showers. “Rough game, man. You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say automatically, even though it’s a lie.

But I can’t stop thinking about her.

Why did she end things? Was I not serious enough for her? She was the one who wanted to stay my dirty little secret.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair as I slump onto the bench in the locker room. The sting of the loss is bad enough, but the hollow ache in my chest—Sloane-shaped and growing bythe minute—is worse. It just seems unimaginable to me that we could go back to being just strangers passing in the night.

Coach’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, sharp and clipped as he gathers the team around. “Knox, a word.”

I stand, dragging my feet as I approach him. His face is hard to read, but I can tell it’s not good.

“We need to talk about next week,” he says, his voice low enough that the rest of the team doesn’t hear.

I nod, waiting for him to continue.

“You’re distracted,” he says bluntly. “And it’s affecting your game.”

“I know,” I admit, my voice quiet. “I’ll fix it, Coach. I promise.”

He shakes his head, his jaw tight. “I’m putting DeRollo in to start next week.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and for a second, I can’t even breathe.

“What?” I manage to say, my voice cracking.

“You’re not benched,” he says quickly, but it doesn’t feel like it softens the blow. “But you need to get your head right, Knox. Joe’s been working hard, and he’s ready to step up. You’ll get your shot again when you prove to me you’re fully focused.”

I swallow hard, nodding even though every muscle in my body screams in protest. “Got it.”

He claps me on the shoulder and walks away, leaving me standing there, stunned.

Joe. Joe is starting next week.

I can already feel his smug grin burning a hole in the back of my head, and it takes everything in me not to turn around and wipe it off his face.

Instead, I sink back onto the bench, staring at the floor and willing myself to keep it together. But all I can think about is Sloane, the way she looked at me, the way she made me feel likeI could do anything—and how, without her, everything feels like it’s slipping through my fingers.

The frat house is alive with noise by the time I get back. Music thumps from the living room, the sound of laughter and drunken banter spilling out onto the front porch. I shoulder my bag, exhaustion tugging at me, but the buzz of energy inside makes it clear no one else is thinking about tonight’s loss.

As I step through the door, someone shouts my name.

“Knox!” Ryan calls from the kitchen, holding up a can of beer. “We’re planning the Halloween rager! You in?”

I wave him off, heading toward the stairs. “Not tonight, man.”

“Lame,” he mutters, but his attention is already back on the group clustered around the table, debating drink specials and costume themes.

I hear Joe’s voice before I see him, louder than the rest, his tone smug as he leans against the counter with a beer in hand.

“I’m telling you,” Joe says, gesturing with the can, “this party’s going to be the perfect opportunity to fix things.”

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