“Maya, be realistic. You’re both struggling. You’re both in recovery. How is this sustainable?”
“Maybe it’s not,” I say. “Maybe we crash and burn. Maybe this is the worst idea either of us has ever had. But maybe, just maybe, we help each other be better. Maybe we’re stronger together than apart. Maybe you need to trust that I can make my own decisions about my life.”
The room goes silent.
Finally, Carter says quietly, “I can’t lose you again. I can’t go through that again, Maya.”
“Then don’t push me away by trying to protect me from everything. Trust me to know my own limits. Trust Ryder to care about me. Trust that we’re not as fragile as you think.”
Carter looks at Ryder. “If you hurt her?—”
“I won’t. I can’t promise we won’t mess this up, but I can promise I’ll try my hardest not to hurt her.”
“That’s not reassuring.” Carter shakes his head.
“It’s the truth. Which is better than pretty lies.” Ryder jokes.
Carter sighs, looking every bit the exhausted older brother. “Fine. Fine. But I’m watching both of you and the moment this gets toxic or unhealthy or?—”
“We’ll tell you,” I promise. “Because we want this to work, which means being honest even when it’s hard.”
Carter leaves without another word,
Chapter 12
Ryder
TellingCoach is harder than telling Carter.
I wait until after practice,, a practice I watched from the stands, my arm still in the sling, my shoulder still too weak for contact. Watching the team without me is torture, but Maya sits beside me the whole time, her hand in mine, grounding me.
“Just tell him the truth,” she says. “He’ll understand.”
“You don’t know Coach Mitchell.”
“No, but I know you. And I know you can’t keep hiding this.”
I get up and walk over to the office, knocking on Coach’s office door after the team clears out.
“Beaumont. About time. Get in here.”
He’s behind his desk, game footage frozen on his monitor. He doesn’t look surprised to see me.
“You know,” I say.
“Of course I know. Davis told me. I’ve been waiting for you to tell me yourself.” He leans back in his chair. “How bad?”
Coach listens without interrupting. When I finish, he’s quiet for a long moment.
“You’re an idiot,” he says finally.
“I know.”
“You could have permanently destroyed your shoulder.”
“I know.”
“You put the team at risk by playing injured.”
