Page 105 of The Hearts We Fumble
“Do you want me to come with you?” Wyatt asks after I pull out of the driveway, her voice tentative. “To talk to Coach?”
For a second, I consider it. Having her close by would help. But I don’t know what kind of mood Coach is in, and the last thing I need is another distraction when I’m already bracing for the worst.
“It shouldn’t take too long,” I say, my fingers flexing on the wheel. “I’ll drop you off at my place if that’s okay. I’ll come there straight after.”
She nods with no hesitation, and the tension in my shoulders loosens just enough to breathe.
After dropping her off and changing into something more comfortable, I make the drive to campus, my mind already made up—I’m done for the season. I can feel it. After everything that’s happened today, I’m not feeling particularly hopeful.
But as I pull into a spot outside the football facility, the sight of a sleek BMW parked in front of me makes my stomach turn.
A Hornets logo gleams on the back window.
My father is here. Whether he’s trying to negotiate my punishment down or bracing for the fallout when news breaks that his son is benched for the rest of the season, I can’t say. But either way, he’s already working an angle—he always is.
I cut the engine and climb out, keeping my head down as I trudge inside.
Through the small window of Coach Frye’s office door, I spot him seated with Coach Ferentz, our offensive line coach. But the moment I step inside, my stomach knots.
My dad is there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, exuding the same air of control he always does. He hasn’t even bothered to take one of the empty chairs. His suit is crisp, perfectly tailored, but the unbuttoned cuffs at his wrists are a rare crack in his polished exterior—a small but telling sign that this meeting isn’t just a formality.
He lifts his head as I step inside, his expression unreadable.
“Zane.” His voice is smooth, practiced—like he didn’t just have a hand in getting me suspended from the team I’ve poured everything into. Like he hasn’t been hiding a secret that could change my entire goddamn life.
There are dark circles beneath his eyes, and for a fleeting second, I wonder if they’re from the weight of his secrets or if there’s something more. I’ve seen the way he’s treated my mother over the years, the damage he’s done. Does he even feel guilty for any of it?
“Zane.” Coach Frye’s firm voice pulls me back. “Close the door and have a seat.”
“Yes, sir.” My voice is clipped as I push the door shut behind me and take the seat farthest from my father. He remains standing, arms crossed, posturing as if he still has control over this situation. Maybe he’ll drop the tough-guy act and actually sit down at some point, but I don’t expect it.
Coach Frye leans forward, resting his forearms on his desk. “I wanted to follow up on our discussion earlier regarding the altercation between you and Keaton’s Luca Calloway.”
At the mention of Luca, my father shifts uncomfortably. My jaw clenches. Every muscle in my body tenses with the urge to turn and demand that he just tell the truth already—but I don’t.
This isn’t about him right now. This is about me. About my future.
“Zane deeply regrets his actions that night,” my father interjects, his tone laced with authority like he’s speaking for me. “He’ll take whatever punishment is given, but we’re hopeful he’ll still have the opportunity to play this season. Right, Son?”
I want to tell him to shut up. To get the hell out.
Two hours ago, if you’d asked me if I regretted punching Luca, I would’ve told you hell no. Not after watching him flirt with Wyatt. Not after the shit he said about Myla.
But now? Now, I just feel bad for the guy.
Exhaling sharply, I keep my mouth shut and give Coach a firm nod, waiting for him to get to the point.
“We’ve reviewed the video footage,” Coach Frye continues. “Coach Bluder spoke with Myla regarding Calloway’s comments about her and your family. We’ve taken all factors into account.”
I straighten in my seat.
“We’ve decided to suspend you for next Saturday’s game against the Lions.”
Even though I expected it, the words still hit like a gut punch. My hands clench into fists in my lap, my nails digging into my palms.
“Given that this is the SAC championship and the final game of the regular season, we will still allow you to travel with the team and stand on the sidelines. But I expect you to be on your best behavior.”
I swallow hard and nod. “Yes, sir. You have my word. Thank you.”
