CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 3

TYLER 

The dining room smelled like garlic fried rice, eggs, longganisa.

I sat at the head of the table, still half-sore from yesterday’s game. My shoulders ached. My jaw still clenched from him.

I hadn’t checked my phone since the club. I didn’t want to see anything. Especially not that photo.

The maids moved around quietly. The plates were warm. My coffee was untouched.

And then—

The voice.

 “You’re up early.”

I looked up.

My father walked in, all crisp polo and pressed slacks like he’d just stepped out of a business ad. Not a hair out of place. Always controlled. Always powerful.

“Morning, Pa,” I said softly.

He sat down across from me and gave a tight nod. “How’s your back?”

 “Fine.”

“Your team played well. But you let your guard down. That Grant boy—he’s the one who scored?”

I tensed.

 “Yeah.”

“He’s gotten fast. I'm proud.”

I said nothing.

He took a slice of mango and placed it on his plate with precision. Everything he did was precise. Like the world had to obey him.

 “You need to stay sharp. You’re not like these other players. You don’t have... distractions. You don’t drink. You don’t party. That’s why you’re winning.”

He looked up and smiled faintly. “You’re disciplined.”

“Thanks,” I said quietly, picking at my rice.

A silence settled between us. I hated when he was calm like this. It meant something was coming.

“I spoke to the dean at Hillsbridge,” he said. “They want you to visit the school. Maybe do a talk.”

 “I can.”

“Good.”

He wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“You’re making us proud. Especially your mother.”

 “I’m trying.”

He nodded again.

Then, it came.

 “Just don’t end up like your brother.”

I froze.

Slowly, I set my fork down.

“Pa—”

 “I mean it, anak,” he said, voice still calm. “Gabriel was talented too. Strong. Smart. But he... lost focus.”

“He didn’t—”

“He chose to shame this family,” my father cut in sharply. “That is not something I will ever accept.”

My heart ached in my chest.

 “He didn’t shame anyone,” I said under my breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He leaned back, folding his arms.

 “Even though you and Grant grew up together. You are not like him. You were raised better. You are better.”

I stared at my plate, every muscle in my jaw tight.

He kept talking.

 “Don’t let anyone distract you, anak. Especially not people like him. Stay normal. Stay focused.”

Stay normal.

The words stabbed deeper than they should have.

My father reached across and squeezed my shoulder.

 “You’re all we have left now.”

After he left, I sat at the table in silence.

The food was cold.

My chest was colder.

Later, I stepped outside. The backyard was quiet, breeze soft against my face.

I sat on the swing. The one Gabriel and I used to fight over. He was three years older. Always louder. Always more stubborn.

I loved him.

Still do.

He was the first person I ever told. About me. About how I felt.

He hugged me so hard I couldn’t breathe.

Then he said: “Please don’t tell Dad. Not yet. He’ll never accept it. Trust me.”

And he was right.

Gabriel came out when he was 21.

My father threw him out the same night.

He’s been gone five years now.

No calls. No visits. Just silence.

And now, I was all my father had.

FLASHBACK – 10 YEARS AGO

Toronto. 2015.

We were sixteen. Summer camp tournament. Hot, sweaty, and full of hormones.

Mason and I shared a bunk room. Bottom and top bed. He always had this stupid grin, always making fun of my hair, my laugh, my accent.

We snuck out one night. Sat behind the bleachers, sharing one of Avery’s stolen mini vodka bottles.

 “Your eyes are so dramatic,” Mason teased.

“Shut up.”

 “No, really,” he said, leaning close. “You blink like you're in a soap opera.”

“You’re literally the loudest human being alive.”

“And you secretly love it.”

He was smiling.

I rolled my eyes.

He was closer than I realized.

And then—

 “Tyler.”

 “What.”

 “I wanna try something.”

 “What are you—”

And he kissed me.

Messy. Clumsy. Hot.

I kissed him back.

My heart was beating too fast.

His hand gripped my shirt like he was scared.

I pulled away after ten seconds.

Stared at him.

Then ran.

Avoided him for the rest of the week.

Got assigned to a different room.

Never talked about it again.

Now I sat in my childhood backyard.

A decade later.

And Mason Grant was still under my skin.

Still in my mouth. My blood. My chest.

And I hated it.

I needed to leave here. 

As soon as I got on my bike, the rain started.

The rain hit hard and fast.

It smeared against my helmet, made everything blurry — but not blurry enough.

Not enough to erase the conversation. Or my father's voice. Or that photo blowing up on my phone.

“Stay normal.”

I gripped the throttle tighter, the bike roaring beneath me like a beast unleashed.

I didn’t care where I was going.

I just needed to move.

To breathe.

To get away.

The sky cracked overhead, thunder chasing me down the empty highway.

The streets were slick. My visor fogged. My thoughts louder than the engine.

Gabriel would’ve told him to fuck off. Gabriel kissed his boyfriend at graduation, middle finger up. Why couldn’t I be brave like that? Why am I still hiding?

My fingers ached from how hard I was gripping the handlebars.

Every part of me felt like it was breaking.

And then there was Mason.

That damn smirk.

His hand on my back.

The way I didn’t push him away fast enough.

The way I didn’t want to.

God.

“Same reaction as the first time.”

I growled under my breath and gunned the throttle harder.

The tires hissed on the rain-soaked road.

I leaned into the curve. The city lights were a blur.

Just keep going. Keep—

Headlights.

Too close.

Too fast.

A truck swerved into my lane — maybe didn’t see me.

“Shit—!”

I tried to brake.

The wheels skidded.

I lost control.

My bike spun.

Rain. Screech. Metal.

My body flew.

Everything went black.