Page 38 of Catching Feelings

I play so badly, Will actually pulls me over at the end of practice. He frowns, looking me deep in the eye. “Bro. You okay?”

I avert my gaze. “Other than playing like shit? Fine.”

He edges to the right so he’s directly in my line of vision again. “You sure? Because you’re playing like something’s on your mind. You fucked up a bunch of drills that you could’ve done in your sleep last week.”

“Sorry,” I mumble. “I’ll get it together. Trust me. I’m not going to be the weak link.”

“I do trust you.” Will frowns. The words should give me comfort, but they don’t. “And you don’t need to apologize. Seriously, I care about the guys on my team. If something’s getting in the way of your playing, it means something’s getting in the way of your life. And you don’t need to get it together alone. That’s what your team is for.” He pauses, looking me in the eye intently. In a way that almost makes me believe him. “So, I’m going to try again—anything wrong? Anything I can help with?”

I waver for a long moment. Part of me wants to spill it all out—the way Sabrina’s avoiding me, my fear I messed up something fragile between us—but I swallow it right back down. I know better than to get too vulnerable with people I’m not sure I can trust.

But I’ve always known that the biggest battle in football is your own brain. Is my lack of trust getting in the way of my team? Football used to be about responsibility. About doing what you needed for the guys around you. And I was so all in for them, that was always the easy part.

Am I losing that this year?

I shake myself. “I’m fine,” I insist. “I’ll fix it by next practice. I swear.”

Because I have to. I’m not letting this chance slip away.

Will surveys me for a second, disappointment on his face. I wonder if he might push again—but then he shrugs, lets it go. “Okay. But remember, I’m here if you want to talk.”

I leave the locker room wrung out, exhausted, and disappointed.

And then I see Sabrina’s blond ponytail swinging jauntily just a few paces ahead as she makes for the parking lot from the athletics office.

“Hey! Sabrina!” I jog after her without thinking.

When she turns back toward me with a strained smile, I wince. Maybe this was a mistake.

“Hey, Tyler.” She’s wearing a fitted pink sweater, ripped jeans, and an expression that says, I’m having this conversation to be nice and I hope it doesn’t take too long.

Or at least, that’s what I’m afraid it says. But I don’t heed the warnings. In for a penny, in for a pound. “You feeling better?”

Her face flickers. With guilt? Irritation, wishing I’d leave her alone? “Yeah, a lot. Thanks for checking on me.”

“Oh, good.” But like a masochist, I say, “You made a quick turn for the better on Friday, yeah?” When her eyes widen, I add, “Naomi’s story… you felt good enough to go to the diner?”

She starts, then shrugs. Not meeting my eyes. Her arms are wrapped around her waist, and when I glance down, her feet are pointed away from me. Didn’t I read somewhere that’s a sign someone doesn’t want to be near you? “Yeah. Like I said, I started feeling a lot better.”

I watch her for a moment before giving myself a mental shake. Read the room, Tyler. She doesn’t want to explain to you, and she doesn’t owe you an explanation. If she was avoiding you, so be it. Let her.

So I shrug back. “Cool. Well… see you around.”

And I jog past her to catch up with Will. Sabrina’s not the only ride in this town.

17. SABRINA

“Right this way! Standard wash, ten dollars; sparkle wash, twenty!”

I keep my smile firmly in place as I wave cars through the Hamilton Lakes High parking lot. It’s a crisp autumn day, the sky bright and blue and the air balanced between summer warmth and the first chill of fall. I’m wearing a simple, soft T-shirt and faded shorts, my hair beribboned in Hamilton Lakes blue and white.

A perfect day for the annual car wash to raise funds for the Spirit Committee. I’ve been finalizing plans all week—we do it every year, but it’s a crowd-pleaser every time—and so far, everything’s going perfectly. The football team is here in full force, and Ryan even delivered on his promise to bring the hockey guys, so he’s scouring mud off the bumpers of trucks alongside Alex, Sam, and some of the JV players. The line of drivers eager to support the teams spills out onto the street.

I should be happy.

But keeping an eye on the athletes scrubbing cars means keeping an eye on Tyler. And Ryan’s presence isn’t enough to distract me from the fact that Tyler looks even better than usual today. His hair has a few lighter streaks near the temples from all those practices in the summer sun, and the way his muscles flex underneath his plain white T-shirt… well, it reminds me of a lot of things. Of seeing all those muscles on display at our first meeting and kinda wishing I could see them again. Of the kiss I can’t erase from my mind.

Of the totally awkward, fumbling buffoon I was the last time we spoke.