Chapter 6: Confronting Dex
The locker room emptied in waves.
First the running backs, loud and shoving, towels snapping against bare asses. Then the linemen, slower, heavier, their laughter echoing off the tile. The kickers left together, quiet and pale, clutching their playbooks like shields. One by one, the stalls cleared out, the showers shut off, the smell of sweat and soap and cheap deodorant fading into something quieter.
Ryan stayed.
He sat on the bench in front of his locker, still in his pads, helmet on the floor between his feet. His knuckles were raw from practice—he'd hit the sled too hard, too many times, trying to pound the image out of his skull. It hadn't worked.
The picture was still there.
Bria's face when she'd looked at her phone.
The door to the coaches' office clicked shut. Ryan heard the muffled sound of Coach Hendricks' voice, then nothing. The last assistant had left ten minutes ago. The equipment manager had done his final walk-through, flicking off lights, not bothering to ask Ryan why he was still sitting there.
The room was empty.
Except for Dex.
Ryan had been watching him from the corner of his eye. The linebacker was taking his time, towel around his waist, hair still dripping. He was laughing at something on his phone, some video, some text, some private joke that Ryan wasn't part of.
Ryan stood up.
His legs felt heavy. His hands felt heavier. He walked past the row of stalls, past the cold showers, past the training table where he'd spent so many hours getting taped and iced and put back together.
Dex didn't look up until Ryan was standing right in front of him.
"Hey, man," Dex said, still smiling. "You waiting for a ride? I can—"
Ryan grabbed his towel and yanked.
Dex stumbled forward, caught off guard. The towel fell to the floor. He was naked, wet, his skin still pink from the shower.
"What the fuck?" Dex laughed. "You trying to see something?"
Ryan shoved him.
Dex's back hit the tile wall with a wet slap. The breath left his lungs in a grunt. His eyes went wide, then narrowed.
"The fuck is your problem?"
"You sent that picture."
Dex blinked. The smile flickered, then steadied. "What picture?"
Ryan's fist tightened. "Don't play dumb. You know exactly what picture. You sent it to Bria."
Dex's expression shifted. Something cold slid behind his eyes. He didn't deny it this time. Didn't laugh. Just stared at Ryan with that cold, calculating look he got when he was deciding which play to run.
"She wasn't supposed to see it, man. I was just—"
"Just what?"
Dex pushed off the wall. He was shorter than Ryan by two inches, but thicker—linebacker muscle, the kind that didn't move unless it wanted to. He didn't back down.
"I was just documenting the moment," he said. "You were the one who fucked those girls. I just—"
Ryan's fist connected with his jaw.
The sound was wet. Ugly. Dex's head snapped sideways, spit flying from his mouth. He stumbled, caught himself on the edge of a bench, and turned back with blood on his teeth.
Then he laughed.
Blood bubbled between his lips, dripped down his chin. He wiped it with the back of his hand and laughed harder.
"There he is," Dex said. "The real Ryan. The one who'd rather punch his best friend than admit he's in love with the fat girl."
Ryan froze.
The words hit him like a second punch, harder than the first. They landed somewhere deep, somewhere he'd kept buried for years.
"What did you just say?"
Dex straightened up. Spat blood onto the floor. His smile was gone now, replaced by something harder. Meaner.
"You heard me. Everyone knows, man. We've all seen the way you look at her. The way you talk about her when you think nobody's listening. The way you disappear for hours and come back smelling like her perfume."
Ryan's chest was tight. His hands were shaking.
"We just didn't think you'd actually—"
Ryan hit him again.
And again.
The second punch caught Dex on the cheekbone. The third split his lip. The fourth landed somewhere near his eye. Dex tried to block, but Ryan was bigger, faster, and running on something that felt like grief.
They crashed into the lockers. Metal clanged. Bottles fell. Dex got a hand on Ryan's throat, shoved him back, threw a wild punch that caught Ryan's ear. Ryan didn't feel it. Didn't feel anything except the rage, hot and red and endless.
He grabbed Dex by the shoulders and slammed him into the bench. Dex's head bounced off the wood. His eyes went glassy.
"Say it again," Ryan said. His voice didn't sound like his own. "Say it again, you piece of shit."
Dex's mouth opened. Blood dripped down his chin. He tried to smile.
"Fat. Girl."
Ryan's fist went up.
Then hands were on him.
Strong hands. Multiple hands. Yanking him back, pulling him off, holding him while he thrashed.
"That's enough!"
Coach Hendricks' voice cut through the red haze. Two assistant coaches had Ryan by the arms. The defensive coordinator was kneeling beside Dex, checking his face.
Ryan stopped fighting. His chest heaved. His knuckles were split open, blood mixing with something that might have been Dex's.
Dex was on the floor. One eye swelling shut. Blood streaming from his nose and mouth. But he was still conscious. Still watching Ryan with that cold, knowing look.
"Get him out of here," Hendricks said. "Both of them. Now."
They pulled Ryan toward the door. He didn't resist. His legs moved but he didn't feel them. His hands throbbed but he didn't feel that either.
He felt empty.
Hollow.
Like someone had reached inside him and scooped out everything that mattered.
---
The hallway outside the locker room was quiet.
Ryan sat on a bench near the training room, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. His knuckles were wrapped in gauze. An ice pack rested on his right hand. He didn't remember who'd given it to him.
Coach Hendricks stood in front of him, arms crossed, jaw tight.
"You want to tell me what that was about?"
Ryan didn't answer.
"I've known you for four years. You've never thrown a punch at anyone. Not on the field. Not off it. And tonight you nearly killed your best friend in my locker room."
Ryan looked up.
"He's not my best friend."
Hendricks studied him. The old coach had seen a lot in his decades on the job. Breakups. Breakdowns. Players who couldn't handle the pressure and players who handled it too well. He'd seen Ryan grow from a cocky freshman into a leader.
He'd never seen this.
"What did he do?"
Ryan's jaw tightened.
"Nothing I didn't deserve."
Hendricks sighed. Ran a hand over his face. "Look. I don't know what's going on between you two. And honestly, I don't want to know. But you're the captain of this team. You're the face of this program. And I can't have you throwing punches in my locker room."
"I know."
"Then tell me it won't happen again."
Ryan looked at his hands. The gauze was already staining red.
"It won't happen again."
Hendricks nodded. "Go home. Get some rest. We'll talk more tomorrow."
Ryan stood up. His body ached. His knuckles screamed. His head pounded.
He walked out of the athletic complex and into the cool night air.
The parking lot was mostly empty. His truck sat under a streetlight, the only vehicle in the row. He got in. Started the engine. Sat there with his hands on the wheel, staring at nothing.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out.
Bria.
One word.
Why?
He stared at the screen for a long time. The word glowed in the darkness. Simple. Direct. A question he couldn't answer.
He typed a response. Deleted it. Typed another. Deleted that too.
Then he put the phone down and drove home.
---
His apartment was dark.
He didn't turn on the lights. Just walked to the bedroom, stripped off his clothes, and lay down on the bed. The sheets still smelled like her. Vanilla and something floral.
He closed his eyes.
The picture was there. Waiting for him. The blonde with the nose ring. Carla with her tattoo. His own face, twisted in pleasure.
And Bria's face when she'd seen it.
He rolled over. Pressed his face into the pillow.
Sleep didn't come.
---
The next morning, Ryan woke to sunlight and pain.
His knuckles had swollen overnight. The gauze was crusted with dried blood. His ear throbbed where Dex had landed that wild punch. His head felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton.
He dragged himself to the bathroom. Looked in the mirror.
He looked like shit.
Bloodshot eyes. Bruised knuckles. A cut on his lip he didn't remember getting.
He showered. Dressed. Made coffee he didn't drink.
His phone sat on the counter, silent.
No texts from Bria.
No calls from Dex.
No messages from the team.
He picked it up. Scrolled through his contacts. Stopped on Bria's name.
The call button was right there. One tap and he could hear her voice. Apologize. Explain. Beg.
He put the phone down.
The coffee went cold.
---
Around noon, someone knocked on his door.
Ryan didn't move from the couch. He'd been sitting there for hours, staring at the wall, replaying the fight in his head. The sound of his fist hitting Dex's face. The look in Dex's eyes. The words that had done more damage than any punch.
The knock came again.
"Ryan. Open up."
Marcus.
His teammate. One of the few guys on the team who didn't run with Dex's crowd. A wide receiver with a quiet voice and a reputation for staying out of drama.
Ryan got up. Opened the door.
Marcus stood in the hallway, hands in his pockets. He looked uncomfortable.
"You look like hell," he said.
"Feel worse."
"Can I come in?"
Ryan stepped aside.
Marcus walked in. Looked around the apartment. The empty bottles on the counter. The dishes in the sink. The blanket bunched on the couch where Bria used to sit.
"Everybody's talking about what happened," Marcus said.
"I figured."
"Dex is telling everyone you sucker-punched him. Said you went crazy. Said he doesn't know why."
Ryan laughed. A short, humorless sound.
"That's what he's saying?"
"That's what he's saying."
Ryan sat down on the couch. Marcus sat in the chair across from him.
"What really happened?" Marcus asked.
Ryan stared at the floor.
"He sent a picture to Bria. A picture he shouldn't have taken. A picture he knew would hurt her."
Marcus was quiet for a moment.
"The one from his basement?"
Ryan looked up.
"You knew?"
"Everybody knew, man. Dex was bragging about it. Showing people the picture before he sent it. Laughing about how you were too drunk to notice."
Ryan's stomach turned.
"He showed people?"
"A few guys. The ones who think he's funny." Marcus leaned forward. "Look. I'm not here to pile on. I'm here because I've known you for three years, and I've never seen you like this. You're not the guy who throws punches. You're not the guy who gets drunk and fucks random girls."
"I was."
"That was one night."
"It was enough."
Marcus sighed. Ran a hand through his hair. "What are you going to do?"
Ryan didn't answer.
About Bria?"
"I don't know."
"Have you talked to her?"
"She texted me. Asked me why."
"What did you say?"
"Nothing."
Marcus stared at him. "Nothing?"
"I couldn't. There's no answer that makes it better. No excuse that makes it okay. I fucked up. I fucked up worse than I've ever fucked up in my life. And I don't know how to fix it."
Marcus was quiet for a long time.
"Maybe you don't fix it," he said finally. "Maybe you just tell her the truth."
"The truth?"
"That you're in love with her. That you've been in love with her for a while. That you were scared and stupid and you made a mistake. That you'll spend the rest of your life making it up to her if she'll let you."
Ryan's throat tightened.
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because—" He stopped. Swallowed. "Because if I tell her that, it's real. And if it's real, then everything Dex said is true. Everything he did. Everything I've been hiding. It all becomes real."
Marcus leaned back.
"It's already real, man. You just haven't said it out loud yet."
Ryan looked away.
His phone buzzed on the counter.
Both of them turned.
Ryan got up. Walked to the phone.
Bria's name on the screen.
He picked it up.
Can we talk?
Three words. Simple. Direct. A door, cracked open.
Ryan stared at the screen.
His thumb hovered over the keyboard.
Marcus watched from the chair.
"You going to answer?"
Ryan didn't move.
The phone buzzed again.
Please.
He closed his eyes.
Then he typed.
Where?
Her response came fast.
The park. By the fountain. One hour.
Ryan's heart pounded.
He typed.
I'll be there.
He put the phone down. Turned to Marcus.
"I have to go."
Marcus stood up. Nodded.
"Good luck."
Ryan grabbed his keys. Walked out the door.
The hallway was quiet. The stairs were steep. The parking lot was bright with afternoon sun.
He got in his truck. Started the engine. Drove toward the park.
And tried to figure out what he was going to say.
---
She was already there when he arrived.
Sitting on the edge of the fountain, hands in her lap, watching the water. She was wearing jeans and a hoodie. Her hair was pulled back. No makeup. She looked tired.
Ryan parked. Got out. Walked toward her.
Each step felt like a mile.
She looked up when he was ten feet away. Her eyes met his. And for a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then she stood up.
"You look like shit," she said.
"I know."
"Your hands."
He looked down. The gauze was still there, dirty now, loose. "It's nothing."
"Did you fight him?"
Ryan didn't answer.
She nodded. Like she already knew.
"Sit down," she said.
He sat on the edge of the fountain. She sat beside him. Not too close. Not too far.
The water trickled behind them. Birds chirped in the trees. A jogger passed, earbuds in, oblivious.
"I shouldn't have sent that picture," Ryan said.
"You didn't send it. He did."
"I know. But I—" He stopped. Took a breath. "I shouldn't have been there. I shouldn't have been with those girls. I shouldn't have—"
"Why were you there?"
The question hung in the air.
Ryan stared at the water.
"I don't know."
"You don't know."
"I thought I could fix things. I thought if I went to his house and talked to him, I could make him back off. I could protect you. I could protect us."
"But you didn't."
"No."
"So what were you protecting?"
Ryan closed his eyes.
The truth was right there. It had been right there for months. Years. Buried under layers of fear and ego and the desperate need to be liked.
"I was protecting myself," he said.
Bria didn't respond.
"I was scared." His voice cracked. "I was scared of what people would think. What Dex would think. What the team would think. I've spent four years building this—this image. This person. The guy who doesn't care. The guy who fucks whoever he wants. The guy who's above all of it."
"Above me."
He looked at her.
"I never thought I was above you. I thought I was protecting you from them. From Dex. From the jokes and the comments and the shit they say."
"I've been hearing those jokes for three years," Bria said. "I've been hearing them since before you even noticed me. And I survived. I didn't need you to protect me. I needed you to stand up for me."
Ryan's chest ached.
"I know."
"Do you? Because it doesn't seem like it. It seems like you were more worried about your reputation than about me."
"That's not true."
"Then what is true?"
He looked at her. Really looked at her. The tiredness in her eyes. The hurt. The patience that had finally run out.
"The truth is I'm in love with you," he said.
Bria's expression didn't change.
"I've been in love with you since the first time we talked. Since that night at the library when you told me to stop pretending to study and just ask you out already. Since then."
"Then why didn't you?"
"Because I was scared. Because Dex would have—"
"Fuck Dex."
Ryan blinked.
"I don't care about Dex," Bria said. "I don't care what he thinks. I don't care what he says. I care about you. I cared about the guy who showed up at my apartment three months ago and told me he wanted to be with me. I cared about the guy who held my hand in the dark and said I was different."
"I meant it."
"Then why did you cheat on me?"
The words hit him like a punch.
Not because they were cruel. Because they were true.
"I don't know," he said. "I was drunk. I was angry. I wanted to punish myself. I wanted to prove that I was still the guy everyone expected me to be."
"And did it work?"
"No."
"Did you feel better?"
"No."
"So what did you get out of it?"
He looked at her.
"Nothing. I got nothing. I lost everything."
Bria was quiet for a long time.
She looked at the fountain. At the water. At the sunlight dancing on the surface.
"I don't know if I can do this," she said.
Ryan's heart stopped.
"Do what?"
"This. I don't know if I can trust you again."
Ryan didn't speak. He couldn't.
"I want to," she continued. "I want to believe that you love me. I want to believe that this was a mistake. But I saw that picture. I saw your face. And I can't unsee it."
"I know."
"I'm not saying it's over. I'm not saying it's not over. I'm just saying I need time."
Ryan nodded.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"I'll wait. However long it takes. I'll wait."
Bria looked at him.
"What if I don't come back?"
"Then I'll still wait. I'll wait forever."
She stood up.
"I have to go."
Ryan stood too.
"Can I call you?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
"Can I see you again?"
She hesitated.
"I don't know. Maybe."
She turned. Walked toward the parking lot. Didn't look back.
Ryan watched her go.
The fountain trickled. The birds chirped. The sun hung low in the sky.
He stood there until she was gone.
Then he walked back to his truck. Got in. Sat in the driver's seat.
His phone buzzed.
Dex.
You're done, Mitchell. You hear me? You're fucking done.
Ryan stared at the message.
Then he typed a response.
Come find me whenever you're ready. I'll finish what I started.
He hit send.
Put the phone down.
Started the engine.
Drove home.