Tyrese was mid-stretch when his phone buzzed—a message from Coach Hoang said he was outside. It was a surprise. He knew they were meeting that day for some training, even if it was Boxing Day, but he'd expected they'd meet at the field.
Ty hurried outside, thankful that the house was mostly empty, everyone already back to their usual routine of trying to get the hell away from the place. Vicky and Precious were out, catching up somewhere; Ty didn't know where Devon or Mother were, though Mother had dropped Meg and the twins off at some kid party or something; and Father was glued to his chair. Ty walked out undisturbed and found Coach Hoang waiting by the road.
'Let's get going, Samuels,' Coach Hoang said. 'No time to waste.'
'Next time, warn me before you show up at my house,' Ty said, getting behind Coach Hoang.
'Just shut up and run, Samuels.'
Ty scoffed as he gripped the handles of Coach Hoang's wheelchair. He pushed the man along the street, running all the way to the school field. They didn't talk much on the way. Coach Hoang asked how Ty's Christmas was, and after Ty explained, Coach Hoang inexplicably said it sounded better than his own. Though when Ty asked how that was possible, Coach Hoang didn't answer.
'You got an invitation to that gala thing, didn't you?' Ty asked.
'No, Samuels, I did not,' Coach Hoang answered. 'That's just for you players and Coach Long. I heard he's bringing Mrs Long to help chaperone all you kids.'
'Huh. I thought he was …' Ty didn't know what he thought because he hadn't given Mrs Long much thought. It's not like she ever came to the games, but Bella and Coach Long didn't act like she was gone either. 'I don't know, I just…'
'They're happily married. She just doesn't come to the games because they're too violent and she can't stand watching the boys lose. Anyway, stop worrying about that and get running.'
Ty grunted and left Coach Hoang by the sideline. He wouldn't ask for a break after running to the field, and thankfully running up and down the stands was preferable to pushing Coach Hoang around, even if Coach Hoang yelling "faster" every ten seconds was annoying.
Up and down. Up and down Ty ran. So much so he memorised the individual steps—the thirteenth had a crack up along the left side; the twentieth had a large splotch in the middle, a deep dark stain that had never been or could never be cleaned away; the thirty-second had fresher paint and polish than all the others; and the forty-first had a heart drawn on it with "S + L" inside it.
'Your legs burning yet?' Coach Hoang asked the next time Ty hit the ground.
'No,' Ty answered between breaths.
'Keep running then.'
Ty put his head down, watched those familiar steps blur as he kept running for another ten minutes before Coach Hoang finally called time. His legs were on fire then, and simply sitting down was as refreshing as an ice bath.
A proper ice bath would've been good. Even in December it was still too hot. The sun was high overhead, perfectly framed but untouched by the few clouds in the sky—such a mocking sky. Thanks to that, Ty was covered in a sheen of sweat. There wasn't even a cool breeze to offer any reprieve.
Coach Hoang was by Ty's side, watching him stretch out his aching legs, eyes fixated on them. 'You really need to eat more, Samuels.'
'The hell are you talking about?'
'Your legs are almost as skinny as mine.'
'Fuck you.' Ty stood, straining to keep his legs from shaking, and to his credit they remained still. 'You gonna take me out to Popeye's or something after this? If you're paying, I'll eat all the chicken legs you can buy.'
Coach Hoang followed Ty's gaze down to his own atrophied legs. He laughed, shaking his head. 'You got more balls than brains, Samuels? You can eat after we're done. Get jumping.'
Ty took a deep breath. 'As you command.'
Coach Hoang watched the boy walk over to the end-zone, line up at the back of it, then leap his way across the length of the field. There wasn't any running starts, just a standing leap, like he was a frog.
Up and down Ty went, replacing running laps of the stands with hopping laps of the field. All so he could get stronger legs, faster legs, springier legs. He had to be better. Faster than Nate Langford, stronger than Denzel Kingston, and twitchier than Lennox Freeman.
Ty nearly wore a track down into the turf. If you looked hard enough for long enough, you would've been able to see his up and down journey along the field by spotting the areas where the grass was flattened under his boots.
Even when he got to the end, and had to turn around to go back the other way, Coach Hoang wouldn't let him walk or pivot; he had to hop and spin in the air. Always hopping. Hopping until the fire reignited in his legs, until his muscles burned so bad he thought they'd melt away.
He felt it first in his quads, then calves, and finally hamstrings. Multiple small fires sparked from the embers of the last, burning so bright and hot until they joined into one raging inferno. Those flames even crept down to his toes, licking at the soles of his feet.
Still, he had to keep jumping. By the time Coach Hoang let him stop, he felt like he'd hopped more than a frog would in its entire life.
Ty lay on his back, legs trembling as they cooled off, much more slowly this time. He thought he'd been jumping for hours, but the sun had hardly moved. It was glaring down at him like it was holding a magnifying glass. The few clouds had dispersed even further, leaving that fiery ball alone in a blue ocean.
'You gonna quit, Samuels?' Coach Hoang loomed over him, keeping just off to the side enough so as not to offer any shade.
'Never.' Ty grunted and sat up, rubbing his legs, focusing his attention on his left knee.
'We're almost done. Get up and push me.'
'Push yourself,' Ty grumbled. And Coach Hoang did, rolling himself further away so Ty couldn't use him as support as he got up. Ty glared at him. 'Aren't guys in wheelchairs supposed to have muscular upper bodies?'
'It's more muscular than yours, Samuels. Less whining and more pushing.'
A snarl flashed across Ty's face, but he got into position behind Coach Hoang. Once more he travelled up and down the length of the field, running instead of jumping.
He was much slower having to push Coach Hoang along. It was even more arduous than their trip to the field, despite the slopes and inclines they had to traverse on that journey. It was like the turf clung to Coach Hoang's wheels and tried to suck them into the ground. Yet the man glided effortlessly along the sidelines and field during games and team practices. He must've been hiding the mother of all sleeper builds under his polo.
The fires were faster to return to Ty's legs, and they burned hotter still. They were so hot he lost feeling in his legs, thought they'd fallen off.
The sun had moved considerably by the time Coach Hoang called Ty to stop. The moment Ty tried to step away from the wheelchair, he collapsed. It'd been the only thing holding him up. The fires still raged, even as feeling returned to his legs, but now they felt like jelly.
'Stay there a while, Samuels.'
Ty rolled onto his back before he was content to lie there and wait for the shaking to cease. He wiped sweat from his eyes, and mercifully, clouds covered the sun for the first time that day. It was still too hot, but he wasn't broiling for the moment. He closed his eyes, finally relaxing.
'Speaking of that gala,' Coach Hoang said, 'do you have a suit?'
'A suit? What kind of stupid question is that?'
'Just say you don't have one.'
'Of course I don't have a fucking suit. Why would I need one?'
'It's an important event, Samuels. Scouts will be there, and news crews. It'll be the first time the nation gets a look at the star that is Tyrese Samuels.'
A small smile touched Ty's exhausted face. 'What did you say?'
'You heard me, Samuels, don't be an idiot.'
'No no no. Go back a bit. What was that part about me being a star?'
'Shut up, Samuels. Don't let it go to your head. Of course you're a star. We wouldn't have won the championship without you. Everyone knows that. The nation will too after this gala, so you need to make a good impression.'
'And you think a suit will do that?'
Coach Hoang shrugged. 'It will until you open your mouth.'
'Fuck you.'
'Look. I'll pick you up in the morning, and we'll go pick out a nice suit. Something simple.'
Ty opened one eye, looking up at Coach Hoang, who was already pulling out his phone to call a taxi. 'What if I don't want a suit?'
'Then you can kiss these private practices goodbye.'
Ty forced himself to sit up. 'You wouldn't.'
Coach Hoang raised a brow, looking at Ty, BEGGING Ty to test him.
Ty looked away, clicking his tongue. 'Just let me know when you'll show up this time.'
Coach Hoang nodded, turning his attention to his phone. When he was done with it, he glanced Ty's way one last time. 'Wait until your legs stop shaking then walk—WALK—home.'
Ty didn't need to be told twice. He lay back down, watching Coach Hoang smoothly roll across the field and towards the carpark. He was still lying there when the taxi picked Coach Hoang up.
As the Taxi pulled away, Ty rolled over; he didn't know how long it'd take for his legs to stop shaking, and he wasn't willing to find out. If anything, keeping the blood flowing in them sounded like it'd do them some good, so he started walking home, his mind wandering to the next day.
"A suit's a bit much, isn't it? I don't need something like that." He didn't want to think about how he'd pay for even a cheap one. Maybe he could rent one. "But I'll be damned if I let Coach—"
A blaring car horn drowned out the thought, leaving it unfinished.
Ty jumped back, head snapping around. He hadn't stepped into traffic; the car didn't shoot past. He was fine. The car was waiting beside him, near the curb.
A black SUV. The windows were tinted and foggy, though even whilst shut he could hear—and almost feel—music thumping from within. The back window rolled down, revealing a red-eyed Devon as wispy smoke trailed out.
'The fuck are you doing, dumbass?' Devon asked, having to shout over the music, though the over-boosted bass made whatever song was playing unrecognisable.
Ty glared for a moment before he turned away and resumed walking. The SUV rolled after him. Laughter emanated from within as the speakers were turned down.
'Yo, why's he limpin'?'
'Maybe the fag is comin' back from his boyfriend's.'
More laughter. Ty shot another glare at the vehicle. He saw more shapes within, but Devon's was still the only face visible.
'Why the fuck you got a fag for a brother, Dee?'
'Just 'cause we came from the same mama don't make him my brother,' Devon said. 'He's just a emo loser.'
'Fuck you, Devon,' Ty snapped. 'I'm a state champion on my way to the NFL. You're a fucking wannabe gangster. A high-school dropout junkie on his way to OD'ing or getting shot.'
Laughter exploded from the car, and the vehicle jerked to a stop. Devon's face was contorted with fury. He shoved his door open and leapt out of the car.
Ty's shock lasted less than a second, his body springing into action; before he even knew he threw a punch, his hand had struck Devon's cheek. But the straight was thrown off-balance, carrying little power. Devon lunged, and if Ty's legs weren't made of jello, he would've avoided it.
The brothers crashed into some bins, spilling them and their contents. Devon was on top, and Ty didn't have the strength to shove him off. 'Get off me, you fat fuck!'
WHAP!
Just as soon as the first heavy blow turned Ty's cheek, another rained down on him, trying to smash one cheekbone through the other. Ty covered up and got a leg between himself and Devon. He kicked his brother off, finding temporarily renewed strength.
'Yo yo yo, Dee, chill!' Others were out of the car, pulling Devon back, but he still got one last kick in, right under Ty's ribs, before they dragged him back into the car.
'Bitch-ass nigga!' Devon screamed. 'You ain't better than me, Reese. You fucking dead next time I see you.'
The door slammed shut after they piled back in. The passenger-side window was rolled down also, and the guy hanging out of it had his phone camera pointed at Ty, the bright light telling him it was recording.
The car sped away, taking the music and laughter with it. Ty picked himself up, throwing off some of the trash that had spilled onto him. He watched the SUV swerve around a corner and disappear from view.
Movement caught his attention in the corner of his eye. A man stood in the window, scowling at him, phone held up to his ear. Ty spat on the sidewalk and started walking away, making an effort not to limp.
He didn't need to prove shit to anybody. When he said he was going to make the league, it was a promise, not a brag. But a new fire had been lit in him, this one in his belly. The familiar flames that drove his engine. He didn't need to prove anything, but he'd show them. He was the best.
Ignoring Coach Hoang's orders, Ty ran back home.