Page 52 of Built To Perform

“I worry that I’m relying on other people too much,” I admitted, finally.

Jefferson ruffled my hair, affectionately. “It’s not a bad thing to have a family, Eoin. Even if we’re not related by blood, that doesn’t mean the bond is any weaker. Your bros on the team, your other friends, we’re here because we want to be a part of your life. To see you thrive, y’know? In all the ways possible. And letting yourself count on that doesn’t make you weak, or less capable. It’s building your success on a foundation you can trust.”

“I trust you.” I smiled at him, then was mortified in how it morphed into a yawn.

He laughed. “I know you do, lil bro. And I trust you too. Now, text your roomie so he doesn’t wait up for you, before you fall asleep.”

Feeling sheepish - and loved, and seen, all in one - I unlocked my phone to send Adam a message.

Chapter Twenty-Six

It was tempting to pretend I hadn’t seen it. That I’d slept right through - reveling in the expansive comfort of Jefferson’s huge bed - and missed the text; hadn’t heard the ping of the message, or seen the notification on my lock screen. Only my finger betrayed me: moving too fast, ahead of my sluggish, wary thoughts. Tapping to open it, to see the summons, before I could think through the possibilities.

I couldn’t leave Coach on read. Even with my brain at its most frantic, I knew that for sure.

“10am. My office.”

Three words that could reshape my future. I wasn’t brave enough to consider it a reprieve, or even the promise of one.

Jefferson pulled the truck up at the curb. The big engine burbled lazily as he turned to me.

A regular guy would probably ask why I wasn’t getting out. But my big bro wasn’t a regular guy.

“Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than what you’ve imagined,” he pointed out.

I made a face, not feeling so convinced.

“He just wants to talk, Eoin.”

“Shout,” I corrected, staring pensively at the dashboard. “He wants to shout.”

“Hey.” Said softly, but there was no ignoring Jefferson’s big hand gripping my chin, no fighting him from turning me to face him. To see his handsome face, and the frown currently creasing it, and feel - despite everything, despite the churn in my stomach and the way my legs felt like they’d crumple beneath me if I even tried to clamber out of the pickup - that stab of guilt at having worried my team captain.

“I’m sorry,” I told him, automatically. Wincing as I said it.

“Don’t be sorry.” Jefferson’s fingertips squeezed in gentle punctuation. “Be brave, lil bro.”

I nodded, or at least tried to. He’d feel the ambition of the gesture, anyway.

The wink suggested he had. That, and the pressure of his hand easing.

Jefferson patted me on the cheek. “You know what I think is so fucking great about you, lil bro?” He chuckled at my shrug. “You don’t give up, and bury your head in the sand. Even when things get tough. Other guys, they’d have lost themselves in their depression. But you, you were marching home to tell your mom and dad the truth.”

“The truth that I’d failed,” I reminded him.

“The truth,” he said, sharply, “that you tried to help a friend, a brother, and it didn’t go like you expected, but you didn’t run away from that. Just like sometimes, when you’re in a competition, it’s not going right and you know it’s not gonna get any easier, either. But I’ve watched you, Eoin. Even when it seems like a foregone conclusion, you never stop fighting.”

My voice came out as a whisper. “I hope I get to compete alongside you again.”

Jefferson patted me on the thigh. “Head up, lil bro. Don’t walk in there like it’s all decided. Maybe you’re pinned, but you ain’t counted out yet.”

#

Perhaps I’d been overreacting, or melodramatic, but I’d not thought I’d ever walk through the locker room again. Coach’s words like a scythe, slashing my life into two parts: when Eoin was a wrestler, and when he wasn’t. A clean, crisp divide, never to be rejoined.

I grit my teeth and kept going, heading toward the corridor of offices. Ignoring the pull of the wrestler’s section of the changing rooms, the out-of-the-way area my teammates had long ago annexed for our own, mostly-private use.

I’d been so terrified to walk in there on my first day. Expecting the seniors to see right through me, to laugh at my inexperience. Cut me down to size: remind me that I was no longer top of the pecking order at my high school, but a minnow among talented whales.