Page 61 of Catching Feelings

The irony of it brings me to hysterical laughter, my chest heaving so uncontrollably, I wonder if I’m going to cry again. Absolutely nothing has been guaranteed this year, and everything I thought was stable has fizzled out dead.

Except… maybe that quote kinda has it backward. Maybe there’s no guarantee, and my mom is wrong to be looking for one.

Maybe I need to be learning from her mistakes, not her motivational quotes—and maybe there’s more I can do about Tyler than my busted battery.

It hits me with such certainty that I groan and let my head fall to my steering wheel.

Tyler’s the only person I want to call right now. Tyler, with his capable hands and steady gaze and unflinching presence. With his insistence that he wants to help and the way he’s constantly shown up to do so.

I try really hard to be a trustworthy guy. I keep my word. I have my friends’ backs. It kinda hurt that none of that counted for anything in the end.

My reactions are tangled up in all sorts of things that aren’t about Tyler at all. He’s shown me over and over that he’s different—that he listens, and cares, and puts others first—and it still counts. Of course it counts. All he ever wanted was the benefit of the doubt.

He deserved so much more from me.

I should have given him a chance to explain. I should have trusted him.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I dial his number.

27. TYLER

I can barely focus at practice. I fumble the easiest passes, head the wrong way for my blocks, and end up knocked flat on my ass more than once. I do my best to shake off each error, to get lost in the repetitive motion and sweat pouring down my face, but it’s no good. I’m a liability to the team, fuming at myself, and stuck in the worst funk of my life.

I’d talked myself out of skipping—the last thing I want to do when rumors are flying around is ditch my duties to my new team—but maybe that would’ve been better. I’m sure not doing anyone any good today.

“Hey—” Will starts, a worried frown on his face.

“I know,” I snap. “I’m not focused. And you were right about Sabrina. It was a mistake, and I’m paying the consequences. I don’t need to hear it, all right?”

He takes a giant step back, holding up his hands defensively. “I was just going to ask if there’s anything you need.” He raises an eyebrow. “But it doesn’t sound like help is anything you’re up for today.”

A flash of guilt hits me, but I just shrug and turn away, grabbing my water bottle to hide my face. Because truth is, I’m not up for help. What am I supposed to do—tell Will everything that happened? That would mean telling him about my old team and risk getting thrown off this one.

It’s only a matter of time before everyone finds out, but I’m not going to give up a single moment I have left.

I catch Gabe’s worried eye. He’s jiggling his leg up and down, cracking his knuckles the way he does when he’s nervous. “Hey,” he says softly, jogging over to me and grabbing water too. I have a sneaking suspicion it’s just a cover so he can check on me. “You doing okay? You did me a solid listening to all my shit the other day. I’m happy to listen in return.”

“No, thanks.” My voice comes out sharper than I intend. Because where would I even start?

Gabe frowns, seems like he’s about to run away. But then he pauses. “You know, we all need someone to lean on sometimes. You’ve been there for me. Let people be there for you, too.”

I don’t know what to say. So, he leaves me, cracking his knuckles even louder and more brutally than before. For once, his anxiety is only getting worse, not better, the longer practice goes on. And it’s my fault.

Or is it Sabrina’s? A flare of anger flashes through my body, but maybe it’s just disguising disappointment. Disbelief that she jumped to conclusions without even letting me explain.

It’s a relief when practice finally ends. I’m the first one off the field and into the locker room, where I take the quickest shower of my life. The hot water scalds my skin, but I barely notice. I’m too busy regretting every decision I’ve made for, oh, the past six months or so.

It’s not until I’m toweling off my hair that I glance at my phone. I immediately wish I hadn’t.

There are more messages waiting for me than I’ve had since the Incident itself.

Santi: you okay, bro? I heard John’s dad is hiring some fancy lawyers

Dylan: he was pulled out of school early last week, too.

Jared: I guess for rehab?

Dylan: I guess. Not to wish bad things on him, but…