exploding. “If this is about the way I played in the first half, it was an extenuating circumstance,” I manage to eke out. “Please, let me have another chance.”
Walter shakes his head. “Division One athletics are an incredibly demanding commitment, Ryden. It’s hard enough for our players to manage a healthy balance between academics and athletics. There’s simply no way for someone to manage that while also being the primary parent to a young child. Which, it seems”—he looks at Coach O’Toole—“has already been proven during your season. Your coach said today is not the first time you’ve been late or distracted by personal issues. Plus, we require all our first-year athletes to live on campus, and the university does not offer family housing.” He pauses and looks right in my eyes, like he really wants me to know how much he regrets having to tell me this. “Unless you’ve made some other arrangements? Will the child be staying with her grandparents during the academic year?” He sounds almost hopeful.
I glance at the stands, where Mom is still sitting with Hope and Declan. They look like a perfect little family. My throat suddenly feels swollen. If I left Hope with Mom—if Mom even agreed to it, I mean—they would be fine. But I can’t. Whether I wanted it or not, I have a daughter now. And I’m not going to let her grow up with no parents.
I shake my head.
“Then I’m sorry,” Walter says. “There’s simply no way it could work.” He gives a nod of acknowledgment to Coach and then walks away.
I stare at Coach. He looks uncomfortable, pursing his lips and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “How could you do this?” I shout. “Do you realize you’ve just ruined everything?”
“I’m sorry, Brooks, but I had to tell him. Especially after you showed up late—again—and completely blew the first half of the game. I’ve kept quiet during my dealings with the UCLA recruitment office all summer because I’m expected to see my players off to good colleges. My job is on the line here too. But I could no longer in good conscience recommend you for his team without him knowing your situation. The truth is, you’re distracted and your playing has suffered. That’s the long and short of it, Brooks. I know you think things will be different once you get to college, but they won’t. You’ll be facing the same set of challenges you are now, constantly trying to find the time for everything and coming up short. Mr. Paddock needed to be informed. And since you clearly weren’t going to tell him…” He drifts off. I know the rest.
“Don’t even think about saying ‘this hurts me more than it hurts you,’” I say, each word dripping with poison. “My life is none of your business. And you had no right to tell him anything about me.”
Coach shakes his head sadly. “Then you shouldn’t have put me in a position where I felt I had to.”
“You know what, Coach? I quit.”
I storm toward the locker room. It feels like it should be raining. Thunder, lightning, torrential downpours. Big, fat raindrops saturating every last inch of every last thing in the world with cold, clammy bleakness.
But it’s not raining. The weather is perfectly crisp and dry and autumn-y, which means the number of things that make sense in my life is officially zero.
Mom and her boyfriend and Hope intercept my path. Mom gives me a one-armed squeeze. “You were awesome, Ry! What did the recruiter say?”
I just stare at her.
She must get the message that the news isn’t good, because she quickly moves on to, “Ryden, this is Declan.”
“Ryden, it’s great to meet you.” He holds his hand out to me, but I ignore it. Eventually he drops it. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he tries. “You’re a hell of a goalkeeper, man.”
I turn back to Mom without acknowledging his existence. Something inside of me is breaking. It’s like hundreds of hairline fractures sprouted throughout my body when I read that purple journal—or maybe earlier than that, I don’t know—and there’s been more and more pressure placed on them throughout the night. I’m about to fall apart.
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold myself together a little bit longer. “She did it on purpose,” I say to Mom.
Her eyes narrow. “Who?” she asks.
“You know who. I found the second journal today. She got pregnant on purpose. She did this to me