Page 91 of Most Valuable Player
“I mean, yes,” I correct myself. “I’m…Yeah. I think I’m excited.”
Beau Rainey’s head leans sideways. He’s observing me fondly like I’m a small woodland animal. “You think?” he asks. “Just nervous, maybe?”
I’m not sure why I said those things. I should be utterly thrilled at the chance to be financially stable and famous in the college sports world. I want to confirm it’s just nerves, but…
It’s more than that, isn’t it?
“Can I ask you something?” I mumble.
He shrugs, swirling his glass of champagne. “Shoot.”
“What’s it like? Being a first-string quarterback for a Division I school. Like…did you have a life outside of football?” I ask quietly.
Beau Rainey laughs but raises his hand apologetically when my face flushes. “Sorry—not trying to tease. I mean, sure, there are classes to attend and meals to eat, but your life is the sport. Working out, treatment, conditioning, NIL obligations, traveling to games, preparing for the next season…Hell, we couldn’t even go home for the holidays because of games. It’s intense. But manageable if you’re passionate, you know?”
My jaw clenches with uncertainty. Maybe he notices my expression, because he props his hands on his hips.
“You don’t love it, do you?”
“I do!” I protest, though I feel a pang of guilt for saying it, and I realize I might be lying. “I like it,” I correct, my shoulders buckling. “I like playing and spending time with my teammates. I like having friends. I like being relied on.”
“Ah.” Beau Rainey massages his chin. “Then what’s the drive to play in college?”
“Money,” I admit. “My parents put a lot of work into getting me to this point. I don’t want to put them in more debt by going to college.”
The man’s face softens, and he smiles again. “There are other ways to pay for college that don’t involve sacrificing your life to a sport you only enjoy playing recreationally,” he says, clapping my shoulder again. “There are hundreds of scholarship opportunities out there. You could try shooting for a Division II school—it’s a little less intensive, and some of them offer partial rides. Division III schools also give you a more well-rounded experience, and you could find some that offer financial aid packages and merit-based scholarships. It’s probably late in your season, but it wouldn’t hurt to reach out to other coaches and send them videos of your performance. You’re not cornered, you know.”
I don’t know what to say. My vision has been so tunneled in, focused on the peak of the mountain before me. Division I. Devoting my life tosportsfor the next four years, despite the fact that I’m only into it for the camaraderie. Juggling publicity and schooling and training and…
I didn’t notice there were other peaks nearby. Not quite as tall and substantial as the one I’ve been watching, but still rewarding. Still attainable.
Football is fun. I want it to stay fun. I want it to be my hobby.
Not my life.
“I…Thank you,” I say, and it’s all I can manage to blurt out among the chaotic tangle of thoughts in my head. “That really helps. Thank you, Beau Rainey.”
He nods with another friendly smile. “Good luck out there.”
The man turns back to the group of people he was fraternizing with. The moment our gazes break, the world comes flooding back to me. The sounds of upper-class folks chatting over expensive booze, of a gentle orchestra pumping music through the room. I’m in a banquet hall. I’m…
At Liam’s graduation ceremony.
I feel like I’ve suddenly been shot through the chest. The breath flies out of my lungs, and I hurtle toward the bathroom, my vision whitening, flinging the door open.
Mason is gone.
Chapter Thirty
Mason
I bend over the sink, allowing cool water to trickle into my hands before patting it gently against my face to alleviate my heightened body heat. I gaze at the empty stalls and urinals behind me as I try centering myself.
I was ready for tonight. I had everything I wanted to say rehearsed. Why am I falling apart? The more people I talk to, the more tense I feel. I know I’m overthinking, but the sensation of eyes scrutinizing my every movement is overwhelming.
The bathroom door swings open. That’s my cue to quit panicking and return to the table so I can save Cameron from awkward interactions with my parents.
I turn to the exit and my feet scrape to a halt. The panic lying in wait reels through me in full throttle. My heart plunges through my body and into my wobbly legs, pinning them to the tile.
