All Chapters of The Quarterback's Roommate : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Chapter 32 – Family Secrets Revealed The drive from the airport to Eli’s house took forty-five minutes—long enough for me to second-guess every decision that had led to me sitting in the passenger seat of his mom’s SUV, duffel bag at my feet, staring out the window at snow-dusted suburbs like I’d never seen them before.Eli was in the back seat with his sister, narrating the entire route like a tour guide: “That’s the park where I broke my arm trying to do a backflip off the swings.” “That diner has the best milkshakes—Eli once ate six in one sitting and threw up in the parking lot.” “Mom, slow down, Dante’s never seen real snow before.”I hadn’t corrected him. I had seen snow—plenty of it during bowl games in colder states—but I let him talk. His voice filled the car, bright and nervous and trying too hard to make everything normal.His mom—Mrs. Summers, though she’d already told me to call her Karen—kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror with the kind of warm curiosity that ma

Chapter 34 – Injury Setback (Dante POV)The first real practice after break was supposed to be light—just conditioning, route timing, a few walk-throughs to shake off rust.It wasn’t.Halfway through the third period, I dropped back to throw a deep out to Jax. The pocket collapsed faster than it should have—freshman lineman got beat inside, I stepped up to avoid the rush, planted my left foot, and felt something pop in my ankle.Sharp. Hot. Immediate.I went down hard.The whistle blew. Coaches yelled. Teammates jogged over, faces shifting from confusion to concern.I stayed on the turf, hands fisted in the grass, breathing through my teeth.Jax was there first. “Cruz—talk to me. What happened?”“Ankle,” I gritted out. “Feels like shit.”Trainer jogged up, knelt, already pressing on the joint. I hissed when he touched the outside.“Likely high ankle sprain,” he said after a quick exam. “We’ll get imaging, but you’re done for today. Ice, elevate, no weight on it.”I nodded once. Did

Chapter 36 – Academic Pressures (Dante POV)The crutches became my new normal faster than I wanted to admit.One week in, and the dorm had turned into a makeshift recovery ward: ice packs in rotation, elevation pillow permanently on my bed, a stack of protein bars and Gatorades within arm’s reach. Eli had taken over logistics like it was his second major—med schedules on a sticky note above my desk, meal-prep containers labeled in Sharpie, even a little bell he jokingly put on the nightstand “in case you need anything and I’m in the bathroom.”I hated needing help.I hated it more that I didn’t hate him doing it.Classes were the real problem.I’d missed two full weeks of in-person lectures already—professors emailed slides and “get well soon” messages, but the material was piling up. Anatomy & Physiology was the killer. Diagrams of tendons and ligaments I used to breeze through now felt personal, mocking me every time I tried to study propped against pillows with my ankle throbbin

Chapter 38 – Making Amends (Dante POV) The fight lingered like smoke in the room for two days. We didn’t yell again. We didn’t need to. The silence did the shouting for us thick, careful, suffocating. Eli at his desk, hunched over his laptop or a book, highlighter moving in slow, deliberate strokes. Me on my bed, boot propped on pillows, tablet balanced on my knee while I pretended to watch game film. Both of us existing in the same twelve-by-twelve feet of space, pretending the distance between us wasn’t growing wider with every hour that passed without words. I hated it. I hated how he’d stop mid-sentence when he caught me looking like the weight of my gaze was something he didn’t know how to carry anymore. I hated how he left for the library earlier each morning, backpack slung over one shoulder, and came back later, eyes tired and shadowed. I hated how the fairy lights still glowed every night soft gold spilling across the cinderblock walls but somehow felt dimmer when he was

Chapter 40 – Public Slip (Dante POV The walking boot was finally gone by mid-February, traded for a sleek black compression sleeve and a set of orders Coach delivered with his usual no-bullshit stare: “Ease back in, Cruz. No hero shit.” He’d said it while tapping my chart against his clipboard, the look in his eyes making it clear he knew exactly how badly I was itching to sling the ball again. I wasn’t stupid enough to push it. I was just… impatient. Every day without full practice felt like sandpaper on my nerves. The team was ramping up—light throwing sessions on the indoor turf, route timing with the receivers, endless film breakdowns in the meeting room. I could jog, plant, cut (with tape and a grimace when the ankle protested), but full-speed drops and throws were still another week away. The backup QB—solid kid, good arm—had held the fort decently while I was sidelined, but everyone, me included, knew the offense ran smoother when I was under center. The rhythm was off withou