Page 2 of The First Play

“Not sure.” Grady shrugged. “I went to bed and just hoped like hell we wouldn’t get some phone call at four in the morning telling us to come to the hospital.”

“What the fuck are we gonna do with him?” I huff. “I thought he’d gotten his shit together after nearly getting kicked off the team last year.”

“Yeah, he definitely improved there for a while. But then summer happened.”

I clench my jaw.

“But he played like a demon yesterday, man. At least he’s lightning on the field.”

“Yeah.” Refilling my mug, I pull out the plates and butter the toast before Grady loads us up.

We eat in silence, Grady scrolling through TikTok videos and smiling at clips of… probably morons in cars or dogs acting crazy. The guy loves to watch mindless shit.

Meanwhile, my mind is racing with all the things I have to get through today. We’re only one week into the school semester, and classes have started with an intensity I wasn’t counting on. I guess no one ever said being a senior would be easy.

“You done?” Grady stands, grabbing my plate and rinsing it off.

“Thanks, man.” I top up with my third coffee and wander into the living area to find The Punisher blowing shit up and Wily snoring in the armchair. His head is tipped back, his mouth wide open, and the laptop is precariously perched on his lap.

I race forward and catch it before it hits the wood, placing it on the coffee table, then plunking down beside Carson.

He grunts and pushes his shades a little higher up his nose.

“How hungover are you?” I mutter.

“Bad enough that I don’t want to fucking talk about it.”

“’Kay.” I nod. “So, noLOUD NOISES, THEN?” I shout into his ear.

“You fucker,” he hisses, trying to punch me in the arm. I laugh, flicking his fist away and getting into a short tussle on the couch as Carson tries and fails to maim me.

I shove him away with a palm to his forehead, and he lunges back, growling like a grumpy dog, his fist raised in the air. I block for the attack, laughing at the look on his face… then we both go still as the front door slams shut.

Wily jerks and sits up with a start, blinking toward the archway just as Tyrell stalks in with a pissed-off scowl… and a milkshake-soaked shirt.

“Whoa.” Grady laughs, standing next to him and doing nothing to try and smother the sound. “What happened to you?”

“Donita happened!” he barks. “I was just trying to do the right thing, and…” He spreads his arms wide.

Carson snickers, then snorts and starts howling like a hyena—the guy has a weird-ass laugh. Tyrell glares at him, which makes me laugh, too, and soon Wily—the most sympathetic guy in the house—is doing his barking laugh that sounds more seal than human.

“Sorry, dude.” Wily struggles to talk. “But that’s epic. A milkshake thrown in your face? That’s like rom-com movie level shit, man.”

And only Wily would know what the hell people do in rom-coms.

“Why’d you break up with her again?” Grady asks, taking a seat on the beanbag while Tyrell strips off his jacket and shirt.

Throwing them onto the wooden floor with a huff, he scrubs a hand down his face and mutters, “Because she was getting too clingy. I don’t want to be with a girl who needs to know where I am every second of every fucking day.”

Carson hisses. “I hear ya, dude. That shit is creepy. This is why I don’t do girlfriends.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having a girlfriend.” Grady rolls his eyes.

“That’s because yours is perfect,” Wily argues. “She’s pretty and sweet, and she respects your training and game schedule. She doesn’t ride you about not having enough time for her, and when you’re together, you enjoy each other’s company. If we all had girlfriends like that, we’d be dating too.”

“Fuck off. No, we wouldn’t,” Carson grumbles.

Wily gives him the finger, then looks to me. “Back me up here, Zan-Man.”

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