I walk through down the long hallway and make the various turns I need to in order to land myself right in front of Coach's office. Coach Lee, one of the assistants, stopped me after practice to tell me Coach Quinn wanted to see me immediately. I have no idea why, but if I had to guess it has something to do with the good report I got from Dr. Kramer this morning. I knock and wait for the invitation to enter.

"Coach," I say in greeting. He's seated behind a large mahogany desk. He barely glances in my direction before returning to his tablet, planning the plays for this weekend's game, no doubt. He's always planning or thinking about football.

My mind floats to Camryn, and the pain written all over her face when she showed up at my house the other night. All of it etched in her because she believes her family wouldn't have been there for her. Seeing Coach like this is nothing new, but knowing what I know now makes me believe Camryn even more. She has no reason to lie to me, not like her dad and brother do, apparently.

"Just pulling up this report from Kramer," Coach starts. "Knee looking 90% healed with minimal scar tissue build up. Recommendation to drop to one day of PT a week and increase in team workouts and practices." He is reading directly from the report, but I could have quoted that for him. I've already reread it over and over since my appointment.

"Doc told me you have the final clearance for games?" I question as if I don't already know the truth. I had begged Dr. Kramer to just note that he would clear me for games too, but he knows just as well as I do, that Coach makes the final call for his players. It's his choice whether or not he wants to use me. With the amount of minutes I've been able to practice, or lack thereof, in the last few weeks I'm worried his answer is going to be a hell no. Coach gives one of his unnaturally long pauses as he looks over the report again, scrolling up and down as if he too needs to reread it to fully understand all the medical terms.

"How does it feel?" he asks finally.

"Honestly, it feels good. I'm lifting and running almost the same as before."

"What about plays? You've been working with the third string. That doesn't push you the same as a game would," he pushes. He's testing me, not a physical one, but a mental one. He wants to see where my head is, in terms of my recovery. He's a good coach, he knows that the drive it takes to play the game is much deeper than the agility that comes from a physical game. Precision and excellence on the field is built from a player's mental and emotional headspace.

"I've had some good reps running through the plays with the third string. It's given me a chance to memorize them, let my body ease back into the motions. I'm ready for the challenge of putting it all back together. I've had to push myself in new ways and I think it's only going to make my game stronger, Coach." I'm trying to speak the truth without sounding too eager to be back on the field. I don't want to lead Coach to believe I'm coming back too soon, or that I won't be prepared. We wouldn't be the number one football program in the country if our third string didn't get pushed in practice, but it doesn't give the same strain as playing with the first stringers, and nothing compares to playing in an actual game. I'm itching to get back into that action. I need to get back to moving my body in the way it was meant to move.

I don't speak again, even though I feel like I'm bursting at the seams. Coach's lack of input isn't new, but the look he's giving me feels like he's waiting for more. I'm a traveling salesman and he's the customer still waiting for me to throw in one more free perk to make it worth his while. He continues to just stare at me with his fingers laced together on his desk in front of him.

"You've been attending class and tutoring." He speaks only in terms of facts, hardly ever a question. He gives the impression that he knows it all and only needs a confirmation, not a real answer. It's an unspoken rule, but everyone knows he has access to anything and everything about his players. He has to, it's the only way to make sure all of his player's stay eligible to play. "Also been drinking and partying quite a bit." his eyes flash from his tablet to me. I don't speak yet, instead I wait to see if there is more to this. It's not the first time we've been here, in this type of conversation. Compared to some of the other guys on the team though, my weekly beers or trips to the bar are the least of his concern. I at least try to keep my partying low key, making sure to avoid anything that could risk me not getting back onto the field.

When Coach returns his eyes to me and doesn't continue I take my turn to speak. "Yes sir, but not before games and always responsibly. And you just said, it's not keeping me from my classes or getting my school work done." The palms of my hands are beginning to sweat inside of my clenched fists. I try to relax by rubbing my open hand against the fabric of my sweatpants. I don't know why I'm nervous, I have nothing to hide. If anything, this is the first time our conversation about school is a positive one. The few times this happened last season, I was one missed class away from being benched.

"Keep it that way and you practice the first string this week. Practice goes well, you play in the Homecoming game." Coach remains still at his seat as he says this, his eyes still locked on me. I, however, shoot to my feet immediately. I reach out a hand to shake his as I thank him and let him know I won't let him down.

I move out of his office quickly. I pass a few guys on the way, only half greeting them. I can't stop the calculations rolling through my mind. The Homecoming game is only three weeks away. We have another away game this weekend, our week off, and then I could finally be playing again. It was finally a timeline I could live with, one that was measurable, obtainable. I didn't have to guess anymore, to wonder if and when it would happen. Sure I wished it was still sooner, but this schedule gives me five regular season games before the playoffs. I still have time to get my stats back up before the end of the season. I still have time to get where I need to be.

I attempt to call my mom with the good news but she doesn't answer. Nora is still in school so I shoot her a text to call me when she gets home. I grab my things quickly and set off for class. I'm more than ready to uphold my deal with the Coach to keep things on the straight and narrow. I won't give him any reason to not let me play. While I walk I quickly send a message to Camryn. She hates football, but I need to share the news with someone. She immediately sends back a gif of Jonah Hill screaming with joy. I can't help the smile that takes over my face.

🏈🏈🏈

The bar smells strongly of liquor and sweat. It's a two dollar long island night, which is a staple in our routine. I've been trying to pace myself which is evident on the barely touched drink sitting on the table in front of me. My conversation with Coach is hanging in my mind. This is the type of thing I think he was trying to tell me to stay away from. This night usually ends with someone being entirely too drunk and doing something illegal like taking a drug they shouldn't or stealing a street sign from the campus. It's usually some combination of the two and I'm left to take care of it or pretend I wasn't there.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out to see another message from Camryn. It;s the fifth she has sent me today. It started with me sharing my news, but has since turned into an all out conversation told only in gifs. None of the messages contain any actual words, only a picture to summarize a feeling or a concept. A new one has come every few hours, followed by my reply not long after. Most of hers have dealt with how she feels about classes or studying, or how starving she was earlier. Those are the only things she ever seems to be doing when I'm not with her.

I look to the table next to me before responding. Camryn's roommate is out with us tonight, which has become a regular thing, but Camryn is never with her. Not since those first couple of weekends at the beginning of the semester. I can't say I'm surprised though. Camryn never looked comfortable or like she wanted to be there. I'm tempted to text her back and ask why.

I don't deserve to know the why though. Because with that question comes the memory of her in my kitchen on the dark day. The memory of the next day where she let me in, where she gave me more than I asked for. Where she gave more than I'm willing to give her in return. I can't be curious about her because she can never be more than curious about me. I can't give her the answers. The answers will lead to the truth and that's just not something I can worry about. I have to keep myself focused on what I've already promised to my family.

Camryn doesn't need me like her brother originally pleaded, anyway. From what I've gathered, if she wants something she's going to get it. Be damned anyone who tries to stand in her way. If she wanted to be here with Alyssa right now she would be. It's not my job to make sure she's doing things, it's my job to make sure that she doesn't make any sudden changes. the fact that she isn't here must be what she wants and I can't do anything about that.

It doesn't stop me though, from opening up our message thread and searching for a new gif to send. Before I can get mine sent, she sends another. I bite my lip to stifle the laughter that bubbles in my throat at her selection of a dog falling off a couch. It's stupid, but just the thought of Camryn laughing at it is enough to make me want to laugh at it too.

"Who has you glued to your phone?" Sadie slides up next to me, moving close enough to whisper in my ear. I quickly hit send and slide my phone back into my pocket before wrapping an arm around her. I didn't invite her here, but ran into her by accident. Although sometimes I feel like she already knows where I will be and when I will be there, like she has someone watching me for her. It used to happen a lot more, or maybe I've just stopped noticing. Either way, I don't mind the affection. I have a reason to be celebrating after all, so I might as well celebrate with her too.

Sadie leans in further to me and lets her fingertips begin to rub lazy circles on my thigh. We fall back into the shouted conversation going around the table. It's all about this weekend's game, the schedule, and the travel. It's another game I won't get to travel to unless by some miracle I get cleared in the next few days. Even just knowing that I'm cleared to practice with them is enough to keep me interested though, to keep me giving my input on the best strategies and best plays to set us apart from the opposing team.

I'm about to tell Anderson about how he can get his feet quicker on the hike when my phone starts buzzing in my pocket. I don't even try to ignore it, I want to see what Camryn has sent back. I pull the screen out and tilt it away from Sadie's line of vision. I don't want any more questions that I won't answer.

It's not Camryn though. A picture of my mom in a giant cowboy hat and sunglasses fills my screen. I excuse myself and head for the exit. I walk out the front door, past the bouncers and onto the sidewalk. I answer the call, but still can't hear her voice. I signal for her to hold on as I continue to walk further away. I finally find enough peace a few blocks away in front of a restaurant that's about to close for the night. I sit on the edge of the half brick wall enclosing the patio.

As soon as I speak up again, my mom divulges into a full update of her day. I listen closely as she recaps her lack of treatment today, and her plans to check in tomorrow to see how her body is responding to the trial drug she finally agreed to start. I can't even get a word in before she begins again. Her appetite is back, so she and Nora ate pizza for dinner. It's a way for her to make sure she's still eating plenty of calories even though her stomach can't actually hold much food these days. I do ask if Nora is with her, but my mom tells me she is out with friends. I'm glad to hear that Nora is still living her life, not feeling tied down or overwhelmed by our situation. That doesn't stop my jaw from clenching as I picture my mom at home alone. If she needs something, there isn't someone there to help. I can't mention that to her though, unless I want to hear her tell me that she's been taking care of herself for years now, that she doesn't need a babysitter.

I can't help but think that Camryn would react in the same way, if she knew the truth. Her voice floods my mind, yelling and cursing at me, anything to get it across to me that she doesn't need someone to look after her. And maybe she doesn't on the surface. She's obviously perfected her hard outer shell, built up her armor to hide her scars, but I think underneath it all she's vulnerable. She might even be broken, or at least once upon a time she was. I imagine she's tried hard to build a shield over that fact too, so no one can see it. But I've been witness to the crack in the facade. In a way it makes perfect sense. You can't go through what she's been through and not have one.

"You're being quiet Tay Bear, did you even hear what I just said?" my mom's voice asks through the speaker.

"Hmmm, yeah grandma came and cleaned the house for you. That's nice of her," I answer, still distracted, still thinking about confronting Cal. With every thought of causing him physical harm come ten more of what would happen to me, to my mom. I can't risk him taking the money back, not now, not yet.

"I did say that. Five minutes ago!" My mom's voice comes out in an agitated, but playful squeal so loud I have to move the phone away from my ear. "What is going on over there?"

"I'm just out, mama, with friends." I don't like lying to her, even if it's partially the truth. I am out with friends, but I don't know how good of a friend I actually am. Not the people who matter, anyway.

"Well don't let me keep you," she insists. "I can call you tomorrow..." I stop her and take my chance to gain some female insight. It's something I would normally avoid because it usually turns into too many questions from her and not enough answers to my original one.

"What would you do if you knew you were doing something for someone and if they found out, they wouldn't like it very much?" I try to be as vague as possible to avoid leading my mom in a direction I don't want to go. She doesn't even hesitate before answering."Depends, are you hurting this person?"

"It's not me. I'm asking because a guy on the team asked me," I lie, again. It's just easier this way.

"If you say so... But I think you need to decide if it's worth it. If you're okay potentially hurting this person. You have to be willing to see them hurt, and still live with yourself," she pauses and exhales loudly. "Taylor, please promise me you're making smart choices. I didn't raise you to get into trouble, to even question it."

I assure her it's fine, that I'm fine. I know I made the right choice not telling her any more than this now. She's already not okay with the idea of me borrowing money from someone, but if she knew who and at what cost she would shut it down immediately. But the trial drug is working. That is proof enough of how worth it this is. No matter who might get hurt, at least it won't be her.