Chapter 5: Bryson

Bryson's POV

"Gray! What the hell was that?"

Coach Williams' voice boomed across the practice field, and I realized I'd just let what should have been an easy completion slip right through my fingers.

Again.

"Sorry, Coach," I called back, jogging to retrieve the ball from where it had bounced harmlessly into the end zone.

"Sorry doesn't win games against North Ridge!" he barked. "Get your head in the game or get off my field!"

I gritted my teeth and got back into position. Third time I'd fucked up a simple throw in the last twenty minutes.

My timing was off, my focus was shot, and everyone could tell.

"Dude, what's going on with you today?" Mason asked as we huddled up for the next play. "You're playing like you've never seen a football before."

"I'm fine," I muttered, avoiding his eyes.

But I wasn't.

Every time I tried to focus on the play call or read the defense, my mind wandered back to that moment in the chemistry hallway. The way Avery had looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time in two years. The careful politeness in her voice when she'd said my name.

The way she'd walked away without looking back.

"Blue 42! Blue 42! Hut!"

I took the snap and immediately scrambled to the right, looking for an open receiver. Coop was running a post route, wide open, but as I pulled my arm back to throw, I caught sight of the parking lot beyond the practice field.

A dark blue Honda was pulling out. It was the same color as Mrs. Whitmore's car.

Was Avery in there? Had she stayed after school for something? Maybe student activities sign-ups, or—

The tackle came out of nowhere, blindsiding me completely. I hit the ground hard, the ball popping loose and rolling away as I gasped for air.

"GRAY!"

This time Coach Williams stormed over to where I was lying in the grass, his face red with fury.

"I don't know what planet you're visiting today, son, but it sure as hell isn't Earth! Hit the showers! Now!"

The humiliation burned worse than the bruised ribs. I'd never been kicked out of practice before. Ever. In the two years of playing varsity, I'd been the most reliable player on the team.

Now I couldn't even complete a simple handoff without my mind wandering to a girl who wanted nothing to do with me.

---

An hour later, I was sitting in a corner booth at Scoops & Dreams, nursing a chocolate milkshake I didn't want while Brooke chattered about her day.

Coop and Carter had claimed they were too tired for ice cream after practice, but I suspected they just didn't want to deal with my mood.

"...and then Chelsea had the nerve to suggest that we change the entire routine just because she can't nail the dismount," Brooke was saying, gesturing with her spoon for emphasis.

"I mean, we've been working on this for weeks, and now she wants to switch everything up because she's having trouble with one little flip? It's so frustrating," she continued, rolling her eyes.

"Mmhmm," I said absently, watching a family with young kids at the counter. The little boy reminded me of my brother Danny, all messy hair and gap-toothed grins.

"Babe? Are you listening to me?"

I forced myself to focus on Brooke's face. She was looking at me with those perfectly lined blue eyes, a small frown creasing her forehead.

"Sorry," I said. "I'm just tired. Coach worked us pretty hard today."

It wasn't exactly a lie. Getting kicked out of practice was definitely working me hard, just not in the way she'd think.

"Poor baby," she cooed, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. "You work so hard. That's why you're going to demolish North Ridge next week."

"Yeah," I said. "Definitely."

But my mind was already wandering again.

How could I get Avery to talk to me?

Really talk to me, not just that polite stranger bullshit from earlier.

I could try cornering her after classes again, but she'd probably just brush me off like she had today. I could text her, but I didn't know her number anymore.

I could show up at her house.

Ring the doorbell until someone answered, demand that she at least hear me out. Tell her everything I should have said two years ago, everything I'd been carrying around like a weight in my chest.

But even as the thought crossed my mind, I knew it was wrong.

She'd made it clear she didn't want to talk to me.

Showing up at her house, forcing my way into her space, would just prove that I hadn't changed at all. That I was still the same selfish asshole who'd prioritized my own comfort over her own safety.

She didn't deserve that. She deserved better.

"Bryce? Seriously, what is wrong with you today?"

Brooke was staring at me now, her expression shifting from concerned to annoyed.

"Nothing's wrong," I said quickly. "Just thinking about the game."

"You're lying." Her voice was flat. "You've been weird all day. Ever since this morning when Carter mentioned that Avery came back."

My stomach clenched. "Brooke—"

""You guys were friends or whatever, weren't you?”She picked at her nail polish, not meeting my eyes. “Before she left?"

The casual way she said it made me want to laugh. But it was my fault. All my fault.

"We knew each other," I said carefully. "It was a long time ago."

"But you're upset that she's back."

"I'm not upset."

"Then what are you?"

I looked at her across the table. She had no idea what she was asking. No idea that the answer might destroy everything she thought she knew about me.

"I'm fine," I lied. "Everything's fine."

---

By the time I got home, it was almost eight o'clock. The house was warm and bright, filled with the smell of Mom's famous lasagna and the sound of Danny's laughter echoing from the living room.

"Bryce! Finally!" Danny came barreling around the corner, still in his grass-stained soccer uniform. "Mom said you'd help me with my math homework when you got home."

"Hey, buddy." I ruffled his hair, grateful for the distraction. "What kind of math are we talking about?"

"Long division. It's stupid and I hate it."

"It's not stupid. It's just tricky. Come on, let's see what you've got."

We settled at the kitchen table while Mom bustled around, putting finishing touches on dinner. Danny spread out his worksheet, covered in eraser marks and frustrated scribbles.

"See? I don't get it," he said, pointing to a problem. "Why do you have to do all these steps? Why can't you just guess?"

"Because guessing doesn't work," I said, taking his pencil. "You have to think it through step by step. Look—"

As I started walking him through the problem, something clicked in my brain. Danny was right that long division seemed complicated and overwhelming when you looked at the whole thing. But if you broke it down into smaller steps, if you were patient and methodical, you could solve even the hardest problems.

Maybe that's what I needed to do with Avery.

Stop trying to fix everything at once, stop looking for some grand gesture that would magically make her forgive me. Maybe I needed to think smaller. One step at a time.

"Ohhh," Danny said suddenly, his face lighting up. "I get it now! You do the little parts first, and then they add up to the big answer."

"Exactly," I said, grinning at him. "Smart kid."

"I know," he said with typical ten-year-old confidence. "Can we do another one?"

As we worked through the rest of his homework, I found myself thinking about Avery's schedule. Chemistry, obviously.

But what else?

What other classes was she taking? Where did she eat lunch? Did she have study hall?

If I was patient, if I paid attention, I could figure out her patterns. Figure out ways to talk to her without pushing it. Prove that I'd changed, that I was worth her time, that I deserved a second chance.

One step at a time.

"Bryce?" Danny was looking at me expectantly.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said I'm done. Can we play video games now?"

"Sure, buddy. One round of Mario Kart, then it's dinner time."

As Danny raced off to set up the game, I stayed at the kitchen table for a moment, staring at the completed math worksheet. All those little steps, carefully worked out, leading to the right answer.

I could do this. I could figure out how to get Avery back.

I just had to be smarter about it this time.