Location: Pasadena High School Timestamp: Senior Year
trigger warnings: Addiction, drug abuse, body image, neglect, and generally a lot of dark teenage Brayden thoughts
“Coach Wymack showed up when Brayden needed him most, interested in the notoriously fast striker that vanished from the court. And what so many others had looked over or disregarded, Wymack recognized, used to seeing the same signs in past recruits: the gaunt cheeks, puffy eyes, the track marks hidden under sleeves—all the telltale sign of an addict. Brayden knew that the Foxes were essentially a halfway house and would usually reject being seen as a charity case, but he was desperate to get away.”
When the principal calls Brayden into his office, he’s sure it’s finally happening. He’s getting expelled. Honestly, he’s surprised it took this long for them to finally kick him out. He barely shows up to class, ignores his homework, and completely abandoned going to exy practice. The bleachers have become almost a second home to him, or at least he spends more time there than his actual home.
It should’ve been better after Landon left, one less person to breathe down his neck, but it’s not. His mom has no one to fond over anymore, so she switches between giving Brayden disgusted looks or completely ignoring his existence. It’s like he’s a ghost. He feels like a ghost, haunting the bleachers, completely numb and barely attached to reality.
The thing is, he knows how fucked up he is. That fourteen year old kid who got high for the first time feels like a stranger to him now. It just escalated so fast from there, and he only gets worse by the day. He’s starting to lose hope that it’ll ever get better. Looking in the mirror terrifies him, because he doesn’t recognize the person looking back at him anymore. And he just doesn’t get how anyone can look at him and not see someone who’s practically a shell of a human. Maybe, they don’t notice. Maybe, they don’t care. There’s fleeting moments where he convinces himself that he can stop using and beat this by himself, but then the cravings kick in, and it’s too hard to resist. Especially when there’s no one to encourage him to stop.
The door shuts behind him as he steps into the office, his hands tremble at his sides when he comes face to face with the principal, his coach, and a man he doesn’t recognize. If they expel him, his mom will definitely kick him out, and then what? He’s left to become some junkie living on the streets?
His coach looks him up and down with a sneer on his face before turning his attention to the other man. “Well, here’s Sykes. I don’t know why you bother, Wymack. The kid hasn’t been to practice in months. I would’ve kicked him off the team, but I haven’t been able to actually track him down,” His coach grumbles. “He’s good, yeah. Not as good as his brother, but one of the fastest strikers I’ve had on the team, but that doesn’t mean much when he doesn’t show up.”
Wymack. As in David Wymack from the Foxes. He’s looking at Brayden so intently that it makes his skin crawl, and he can’t help but scratch at his forearm uncomfortably. Wymack’s gaze follows the movement, and it makes him stop immediately and shove his trembling hands in his sweatshirt pocket.
“It’s a good thing I didn’t ask for your opinion then. Can I talk to Sykes alone?” Wymack asks, and his coach looks like he wants to argue, but he shakes his head and leaves the office.
“This is my office,” The principal points out with a scoff.
“Yeah, thanks for letting me borrow it,” He counters. The two seem to have some kind of staring contest before the principal reluctantly leaves. Maybe, he likes the idea of having two former students on a Class I team too much to put up a fight.
With the other two gone, Wymack crosses his arms over his chest and gives Brayden his full attention, who’s still hovering by the door and trying to curl in on himself to make himself less noticeable, eyes shifting frantically around the room.
The man studies his face for a beat before finally speaking up, “You look like shit, Sykes. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Maybe, that’s just my face,” Brayden replies flatly with a shrug, though his heart is pounding in his chest. Wymack is the first person to ever say anything, and it’s both a relief and terrifying.
“That’s definitely part of it, but you weren’t born that way, kid. I’ve seen enough addicts in my day to know the signs,” Wymack’s face softens a little at that, but it does nothing to reassure Brayden.
“Fuck you, you don’t know anything,” Brayden snaps as he backs up towards the door, readying himself to escape. “Is this a fucking intervention? I thought you were a coach, not a fucking therapist.”
His outburst doesn’t seem to phase the man though as he lets out a short laugh. “Yeah, right. You ever hear of the Foxes?”
Of course, he’s heard of the Foxes. His brother plays for the team that put them through hell years ago. It’d be fucking ironic if Wymack was here to recruit him. Landon would be a Raven and Brayden a Fox, the two teams that always seem to be at war with each other.
“Yeah, you’re like the halfway home of Exy. I’m not interested,” His jaw clenches as he looks resolutely at his worn sneakers.
“I’ve seen your reel, and you’re good. Fucking fast enough to have made a name for yourself, at least. But nobody seems to know why you just stopped playing. Don’t know how though, look at you,” Wymack gestures to him, and Brayden knows exactly what he means--the gaunt cheeks, the sunken, red-rimmed eyes, the dark circles, and pale skin.
He spent the last few years wishing someone would see him, and it looks like he’s finally getting his wish, but now he wants to take it back. He feels too exposed. All it took was one glance for Wymack to understand what his own family either doesn’t notice or ignores. Brayden continues to stare at his feet and avoids meeting Wymack’s expectant gaze. He doesn’t have anything to say to that. He just wants the conversation to end, so he can go to the bleachers.
Sighing Wymack crosses the room and grabs a packet from the desk before shoving it towards Brayden. “I want to sign you on to the Foxes, Sykes. You need a lot of work, but you’d make a good striker. You’d have a full five year scholarship to Palmetto, access to therapy, a meal plan, and you can stay with the staff over the summer if you can’t come back here.”
Brayden hesitantly takes the contract with a trembling hand and stares down at it. He can’t make sense of any of the words, because they just blur together. He never considered college. He figured he didn’t have the grades for it, and he’s not really in a place where can actually function on campus. He always wanted to do something with art, like become a tattoo artist. He could get a degree in art, and he wouldn’t have to come back to Pasadena. It all seems a little too good to be true.
“What’s the catch?” He asks, clearing his throat as he finally looks at Wymack.
“Rehab. I’ve recruited plenty of addicts, but I expect them to try and get sober. There’s a facility in Palmetto you can go to over the summer, and Betsy, our therapist, will work with you too.”
Brayden’s knuckles turn white as he clenches the contract in his hands, the paper practically vibrating in his grip. He’s thought about getting clean so many times, but he always wanted to do it by himself. He doesn’t want help or to talk. He doesn’t want a therapist asking how he feels about this and that and make him feel more pathetic than he already is.
He’s desperate though. He knows if he stays here, he’ll either end up on the streets or continue to feel unwanted in his own house. He doesn’t even like Exy, but he can play for a few years if it means a scholarship and a place to live. Rehab is almost enough to make him refuse. The idea of it alone makes him sick with fear, but it’s only a few months. All the celebrities seem to go, so why not him?
“Fine,” Brayden finally responds, swallowing roughly. “Give me a pen.”
