Page 50 of Brushed and Buried
I stayed silent.
“You were in, Vince. Full ride. National spotlight. You were supposed to be the next Holloway to make it big. You think anyone wants a hot-headed linebacker with attitude issues and a soft streak?”
The silence stretched.
“I cannot fix everything for you,” he added finally. “I spoke with the boy you punched and his parents. If you want to salvage anything, you walk away from it now.”
That was when I realized he meant something else, everything that was making me feel. He didn’t even acknowledge Adrian, reducing him to “it.”
I told him what Clay said to trigger me, trying to justify what I did. I told him I loved the game, but not to the point of abandoning someone I really cared about, someone who mattered to me. I was firm, telling him I would not let anyone disrespect Adrian like that, especially not the boy I was falling for.
There was a pause on the line, then, “So, you think he’s worth it. Let’s see how long that resolve lasts.”
I didn’t know the worst was yet to come, which was three days later.
My father had arranged a meeting with Mitchell, the GSU scout who knew him personally. They’d played together back in the day, and Dad thought maybe he could salvage something from the wreckage of my recruitment. I didn’t want to do itthis way, that I would rather be considered for my talent, not connections, but Dad wasn’t hearing it. I went along with it to avoid adding to my list of failures. Losing prospect scholarships had bumped up to first place in that list.
We met at the Marriott downtown, the same hotel where Mitchell was staying during his scouting trip.
I was walking through the lobby with my father, heading toward Mitchell’s room, when I saw him.
Adrian.
Coming out of one of the rooms, shirt wrinkled, hair messed up, checking over his shoulder like he expected to be followed. He was gripping what looked like a folder tight against his chest, knuckles white, glancing around like he was making sure no one noticed.
My blood turned to ice.
He didn’t see me. We were a few feet away around the corner, but you could see everything outside the rooms on that side. He was too focused on something in his phone, probably a text or call. But I saw him, saw him straighten his clothes, saw which room he’d come from.
The same room Mitchell was staying in.
My father went very still beside me, clearly taken aback by what we were seeing. We watched Adrian hurry toward the elevators, and something died inside me.
Because suddenly everything made sense in the worst possible way. The timing. The way he’d approached me in art class. The kiss that had felt so spontaneous, so real.
What if it wasn’t?
What if Adrian knew exactly who I was, what I was worth, who my father knew? What if he’d been playing a longer game than I’d ever imagined? I’d known him to be more like a free spirit, someone who flirted easily and moved through life without much of a plan. But seeing him there, in that hotel, looking like he’d just finished some kind of business…
It painted everything in a different light.
Before I could do or say anything, I ran toward the stairs in the opposite direction. I never made it to the meeting with Mitchell. I would have punched a total of two guys in a week.
My dad went ahead without me, but the meeting went nowhere. He told me Mitchell was distant, making it clear that GSU had moved on. My father was furious.
That night, I tore my room apart until my knuckles bled and my throat went raw. The tears came hot and silent, burning tracks down my face while I sat on the floor surrounded by wreckage, fists clenched so tight my nails cut into my palms. I swore on everything I had that I would never let anyone make me feel this small again, that I would never be stupid enough to believe someone could actually want me.
I didn’t ask Adrian about it. I was too caught up in my perception of the truth. It made me bitter, cold, and closed off.
When he called me, I didn’t answer. I managed to avoid art class and other extracurricular activities. When he cornered me at school the Monday before graduation, I looked right through him and kept walking.
I saw the confusion in his eyes turn to hurt, then to anger, then to something that looked like acceptance. But I was too caught up in my own hurt to care, too convinced that I’d been played by someone who was better at this game than I’d ever be. Maybe Dad was right. I lost focus. I got too distracted. I just needed to go back to the time when things were exactly as they were, before Adrian.
The gossip died down eventually. Some other scandal took its place as it always does in high school. But the damage was done to my reputation, future, and ability to trust my own feelings.
I didn’t go to prom or graduation. The scandal had spread beyond just kissing a boy and punching a teammate. Parents were talking, and administrators were involved. It was easier to disappear than face the whispers and stares.
Dad pulled strings, got me into a prep school back east. A fresh start, he called it. A chance to rebuild.
