Getting Inside by Serena Bell

Author:Serena Bell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2017-01-03T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

Iona

Something’s wrong with Ty.

You can see it in every inch of him as we review the game film.

It’s the guy, I know it is. His father, his brother, whoever it is, the mystery man who showed up at practice on Thursday. (I blame Coach Thrayne for being lenient about letting family members and friends walk in on practices; in SF no one was allowed on the field, ever.) After the off-sides, Ty never really pulled himself back together, and when the horn sounded to signal the end of practice, he booked it out of there. The mystery man watched him go, then took off after him.

I wanted to follow Ty. I wanted to follow them both, to see what the hell was going on and why it had unsettled Ty so badly, but I was still fresh off promising myself to stay away from being alone with him.

Friday he was fine in practice, so that shored up my resolve. It was none of my business, especially if it wasn’t interfering with his play. His personal life had to stay none of my concern or…

Or…

I let down my guard a quarter inch, let myself think about confronting him, alone, talking to him about what was going on with him. About the intimacy of that kind of conversation. And instantly, my mind was flooded with images. Of comforting him with my arms around him. My body heated, fast.

So, right? His personal life had to stay none of my concern.

Only then on Sunday Ty played like shit, and—not coincidentally in my opinion—we lost for the first time since I’ve been in Seattle.

It was like he was moving in slow motion. Through something sticky and viscous.

Even then, I might have left things alone, counted on Coach Thrayne or Coach Cross to give him a man-to-man sit-down talking-to. But then today, Monday, Cross cued up the film and he’s raking Ty over the coals and—

It’s like Ty isn’t even really here. He watches himself on film with dead eyes and no spark of interest.

I’ve seen Ty watch film of himself so many times now, and he always does it with a kind of critical light in his eyes, leaning forward, taking it in. Constantly wanting to improve.

So alive, even if he is angry or frustrated or confused.

This afternoon he just looks like he’s watching, I don’t know, the shopping channel. While drinking himself into a whiskey stupor. And he looks like that’s exactly what he’s been doing for several days now.

Lost. Defeated.

Not the emotions you want to see on the face of the guy who’s the de facto leader of your defense.

I tell myself any half-decent coach faced with this situation would pin down a player—alone—and say, What the hell is going on?

After the film review, I track him to the ice tub. He’s submerged up to his neck.

“Doing penance?”

He barely glances at me. “Go away.”

I sit on the ledge beside the tub. “What’s going on, Ty?”

“My knee’s sore.”

“Anything we need to be worried about?”

He shakes his head.

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