Friday – Inter-school Soccer Finals
"Heads up!"
The ball zipped across the field. Tyler barely had time to twist mid-air and slam it into the back of the net with his head.
Cheers exploded from the sideline. A small crowd of first-years and second-years chanted his name.
"TY-LER! TY-LER!"
He jogged backward, raising one hand, smirking like it was all routine.
Inside?
He felt like he was going to throw up.
Three Hours Earlier – Locker Room
Tyler sat on the bench, lacing his cleats too tight for the third time.
Noah slapped him on the back.
"You're gonna kill it today, bro."
"Yeah, well—let's hope someone brought a shovel to bury the other team."
The joke landed, but just barely.
Across the room, someone mentioned Jay's name. Not with sadness. Not even with confusion.
Just casual.
"Didn't think Markov would show up anyway. Guy probably transferred to some prep academy for billionaires."
Tyler didn't say anything.
He stared at his cleats.
And tied them tighter.
He played like a machine.
Goals. Assists. Slide tackles that made the sidelines cheer.
Coaches whispered to each other.
"He's playing like he's got something to prove."
He did.
But no one asked what.
Final whistle.
Victory.
3–2.
Tyler Monroe, MVP.
Someone handed him the mic.
The student council member smiled and said:
"You get the honor of the final words. Anyone you wanna dedicate this win to?"
Tyler blinked.
One second.
Two.
Jay's face flashed behind his eyes.
Grinning from the stands. Shouting bad advice. Pretending to be coach for the day. Daring him to miss a shot on purpose just for fun.
He tightened his grip on the mic.
"No one."
The crowd blinked. Awkward laughter. Someone clapped too early.
He handed the mic back and walked off the stage.
Post-Game
He didn't check his phone.
Not even when Sofia texted:
Sofia: [GOAL MONSTER]
Sofia: even miles clapped for u
Sofia: that was hot ngl
Not even when Amaya sent him a blurry photo of the game from the stands.
He sat under the bleachers, sipping from a juice box Noah had handed him like it was champagne.
Jay would've made fun of the juice.
I remember that day before the second tournament-
I had been missing easy shots.
Jay leaned against the goalpost, sipping sports drink and watching silently.
"You suck today," Jay had finally said.
"Wow, thanks, Mr. Supportive."
"You'll be fine," Jay replied. "You always find your rhythm when it counts."
"What if I don't?"
"Then I'll fake an injury and sub in for you. Tank the match. Make you look good."
Tyler laughed so hard he almost fell over.
He hadn't realized that would be one of their last full conversations.
He practiced alone in the school field.
Lights off. No audience.
Just him and a ball.
And the moonlight.
"You missed my win, man," he whispered. "But it still felt like I played it for you."