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to anything I’m doing with my physical body.

“Thankfully I can still stretch out an athlete without a balanced diet.” I get quiet then, thinking about how often I had to fend for myself at home, making boxed rice or canned pasta for meals. Anything I could get from the corner store with the change I’d pull from my dad’s pockets. He and mom never seemed to get around to making grocery trips more than once a month, and they both seemed to drink all their meals. Coffee with all the sugar and milk I wanted—that was always available. My parents drank it strong to get through work each day.

I smile at Tim, trying to pound back those unwelcome memories. “So tell me who you’d rather ask to the banquet.”

Tim flushes. He fiddles with his coffee cup. “My family wouldn’t approve,” he says, shaking his head. “That’s putting it mildly.”

Sensing there’s more to the story, I try to get Tim to open up by confessing one of my own secrets. “My family doesn’t approve of anything, anyone, and most especially me being at college.” I tell him about the last fight to end all fights—when I needed them to sign the financial aid paperwork after I’d been accepted on a full scholarship to SCU. All that stood in my way was one of their signatures, even though I was 18. That first year, I needed them to sign off because I was still their dependent, for tax purposes.

Growing up, my parents never noticed that I was quietly excelling in math and science, with special interests in biology. I took all the life sciences classes my high school had to offer and, thanks to Baxter, got to shadow the athletic trainers who worked with the football team. Everything clicked when I started reading medical journals about sports injuries, about treating injuries and healing bodies.

But my parents never understood that world. Their world was limited to physical labor, menial work for low pay. They weren’t expecting to have kids, and I threw a wrench in their gears they never quite seemed to dislodge.

Tim looks on in shock as I tell him how my parents cut me off for heading a different direction from them.

“I guess they thought I’d either get into the factory with dad or get a job answering phones like my mom. I don’t know.” They eventually signed the papers, with the understanding that if I turned away from their roof to chase these high-falutin’ dreams, I shouldn’t bother coming back.

“And I haven’t. Gone back, that is.”

Tim looks horrified. “I can’t imagine my life without my family in it,” he says. “They are everything to me.”

“Well, it sounds like you have imagined it, and it’s not something you’re willing to let happen.” I pat his hand. “If they don’t know how amazing you are, they’re really missing out.”

He snorts. “Oh, they think I’m amazing. But only because they have no idea who I’d—” He pauses. He picks at the rim of his coffee cup, unfurling the waxed cardboard. He leans close and whispers, “They don’t know I’m gay.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Bax

Olive isn’t answering her phone, and when I try to stop by her place later, she’s not even home. I hate that she’s been moved to another sport for her training room rotations, because now our schedules don’t line up at all. Even though I’m on injured reserve, I still have to be at practice, watch game tape, do what I can in the weight room, plus now spend my last free hour of the day getting treatment for my shoulder. I’m getting pretty sick and tired of my schedule not being my own, but I guess that’s the life I’m signing up for if I want this for my career.

I storm into the athletes’ dining hall and of course, the only seat left is next to Kevan. Fucking QB transfer wants to talk my ear off as usual. “What,” I say to him. “No potato chips today?”

He shakes his head. “That’s only for game nights. Helps me focus. So are you in for the banquet?”

I throw my hands in the air, which tweaks my shoulder and makes me groan. “Fuck, man. Fine. Whatever. I’m not getting you flowers.”

“Wouldn’t want you to.”

I raise a brow at him. “What do you know about Olive going to the banquet with some other guy?”

This makes him grin. He points his fork at me. “I’ll tell you if you fess up about why it matters.”

“I told you. Olive’s like family. She’s all I’ve got.”

Kevan twirls the fork. “You know, a lot of romantic shit goes down at these banquets. So I hear, anyway. Hope Olive can handle it.”

I tug at my hair with both hands, trying to calm down. I know that he’s just trying to get under my skin. But it’s been a long week.

He takes a swig of his protein shake and looks at me. “Why won’t you just say you want to fuck her, man? It’s obvious you want to bang the shit out of Olive Hampton. You want to pound her—”

My fist shoots out into his face before I can even control my arm. “Fuck!” I scream as the impact jars my injured shoulder. “Just shut your fucking mouth, Kevan. Jesus. Shut up.”

The cafeteria is silent as everyone stares at us. Kevan pats my face playfully and punches my good shoulder as he works his jaw open and shut. “We’re just screwing around, guys. It’s fine,” he says. Everyone else goes back to their meals. “So,” he says, grinning. “I’m just going to go ahead and assume I’m right.”

“It’s not like that, man. I fucking love her.” The words fall out of my mouth before I can stop to think about it. Before the conscious part of my brain can yell

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