Chapter 169: Chapter 169 - I Love You
The hotel room was too quiet.
Zac sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees and his hands hanging between them. His hoodie sleeves were pushed to his wrists. His hair was still damp from the locker room shower, but the ends had started to dry rough against his forehead.
Across the room, the curtains were half open.
The parking lot lights glared through the glass. Beyond them, the highway moved in dull streaks of white and red. Cars kept passing like the whole world had no idea a season had ended. Like the scoreboard was already old news.
Titans 41.
Ravens 35.
Final.
Zac stared at the window until the lights blurred.
He had cried in the back hall with Roxie’s arms around him.
Now there was nothing left on his face.
That almost felt worse.
His bag sat open on the floor. His cleats were near the wall. His tape, gloves, extra socks, and towel had been shoved into the side pocket without care. The finalist medal the state official had pushed into his hand sat on the bedside table, still in its clear plastic sleeve.
He had not opened it.
Dylan was on the other bed with his ankle propped on a pillow, still dressed in sweatpants and a team shirt. The trainer had wrapped his ankle again before they left the stadium. The wrap looked too clean for how badly he had limped through the last quarter.
For twenty minutes, Dylan had tried to make noise.
He opened a sports drink.
Closed it.
Checked his phone.
Dropped it on the bed.
Turned the TV on.
Turned it off after two seconds.
Finally, he looked at Zac.
"You hungry?"
Zac shook his head.
Dylan waited.
"You should eat."
Zac kept staring at the window. "So should you."
"I ate half a protein bar. Basically healed."
Zac said nothing.
Dylan sighed and leaned his head back against the wall.
The room went quiet again.
Zac knew Dylan was worried. That was strange by itself. Dylan usually handled worry by turning it into arrogance until everyone got tired of him. Tonight, even he seemed too worn down to perform.
A knock came at the door.
Zac did not move.
Dylan looked at him.
Zac kept staring at the window.
The knock came again, softer this time.
Dylan swung his legs carefully over the side of the bed and stood with a wince. He limped to the door and opened it.
Zac heard the hallway before he heard her.
Muffled voices. A vending machine humming somewhere. The distant sound of someone laughing from another room.
Then Dylan said, "Hey."
Zac’s chest tightened.
He knew.
He knew before she spoke.
Roxie’s voice came quiet from the hallway. "Hey."
Dylan shifted in the doorway. "He’s been in here since we got back."
Zac looked down at his hands.
Roxie asked, "Is he okay?"
Dylan gave a short breath. "He’s quiet."
Zac almost laughed.
Quiet.
That was one word for it.
Dylan stepped aside.
The hallway light reached the room in a long strip across the carpet. Roxie stood just outside the door, still in her cheer jacket and black leggings, her hair loose around her shoulders. The glitter near her eye had smudged more since the stadium. She looked tired too. Pale under the hotel lights. Unsure in a way Zac rarely saw on her face.
She was standing outside his door like she needed permission.
That made something inside him ache.
Dylan glanced back at Zac, then looked at Roxie again.
"He’ll let you in," Dylan said.
Roxie looked at him.
Dylan grabbed his phone and hoodie from the bed. "I’ll go bother Mason."
Zac finally spoke. "Your ankle."
Dylan paused near the door.
Zac still did not look at him. "Use the brace."
Dylan stared at him for a second.
Then his mouth pulled into something tired. "Sure. Too much enthusiasm to kick me out."
Dylan stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him.
The room settled around them.
Roxie stayed near the door for a few seconds.
Zac kept his eyes on the carpet.
Roxie came closer, slow enough to give him time to tell her to leave.
He would never tell her to leave.
That was the problem.
She stopped beside the bed. "Can I sit?"
Zac nodded.
The mattress dipped as she sat next to him.
She kept a few inches between them.
He hated the space and needed it at the same time.
For a long while, neither of them talked.
The highway lights moved across the window. Somewhere down the hall, a door opened and closed. A group of boys passed, quieter than they would have been after a win. Their voices faded toward the elevators.
Roxie did not say he played great.
She did not say he had nothing to be ashamed of.
She did not tell him about the record.
Zac looked at his hands.
His knuckles were scraped. His fingers hurt from gripping the ball, from bracing himself when he hit the ground, from holding himself together when Coach Hayes said they had given everything.
Zac leaned forward and dragged both hands over his face. "I keep thinking if I had cut left earlier. If I tucked it tighter. If I got lower. If I saw the safety half a second sooner. If I called the other play."
"Would that help?"
"No."
"Then maybe let yourself hate it before you try to fix it."
He breathed out through his nose. "You sound like you know things."
"I hate that rumor."
His chest moved with the smallest laugh.
It barely counted, but it was there.
Roxie looked at the bedside table. "Dylan said you haven’t touched it."
Zac followed her gaze.
The medal sat where Dylan had left it. Plastic sleeve. Blue and silver ribbon. State finalist printed in bold letters like the word finalist was supposed to feel better than second.
"I don’t want it."
"I know."
"It feels stupid."
"I know."
"I threw for four hundred thirty eight yards and still lost."
Roxie looked back at him. "That must be horrible."
Zac stared at her.
Again, no argument.
No forced pride.
No speech.
Just the truth.
His chest tightened until breathing hurt.
"You’re terrible at comfort," he said.
Her mouth twitched. "I’m actually amazing. You’re just used to fake comfort."
He looked down.
Maybe she was right.
His family had not sent one message.
He knew they had come. He knew they had watched from wherever his mother wanted them to sit. He knew his father had probably stood up before the final handshake was over, already making the loss smaller in his head because disappointment was easier to carry when it belonged to someone else.
Zac wanted to throw his phone at the wall.
Roxie’s hand moved slowly, stopping near his on the bed.
He looked at it.
She waited.
He turned his hand over.
Her fingers slid between his.
The warmth of her hand made something inside his chest shift. He hated how close he was to breaking again, but this felt different from the field. Less like falling. More like finally putting something down.
"I’m scared I’ll only remember losing," he said.
Roxie’s thumb moved once over his knuckle. "Maybe you will for a while."
He looked at her.
"That doesn’t mean it’s the only thing that happened," she said.
Zac stared at their hands.
His voice came quieter. "I don’t know how to be done."
Roxie’s grip tightened.
The words sat in the room longer than he expected.
He had known the season would end. Everyone knew that. Schedules ended. Seniors graduated. Helmets got passed down. Coaches gave speeches about legacy and pride.
Knowing had done nothing.
The ending still came like a hit he had seen coming and failed to brace for.
"I woke up every day thinking about this," Zac said. "Practice. Film. Plays. The next game. Scouts. My dad. Hayes. The team. The record. State." He swallowed. "Now it’s just over."
Roxie leaned closer, shoulder fully against his now. "Yeah."
Zac looked at her.
He had lost a championship.
Roxie had stood in a hallway and held him anyway, like she had room for his pain on top of her own.
That made his throat tight.
"You should be sleeping," he said.
"You should be eating."
"Rude."
"Accurate."
He looked at the medal again. "I can’t."
"You don’t have to tonight."
His eyes moved back to her.
She shrugged one shoulder. "You can hate the medal tonight. You can hate the record tonight. You can hate the ball, the yard, the scoreboard, the whole state of football if you want. Tomorrow you can decide what to do with it."
Zac’s chest pulled tight.
"And if tomorrow sucks too?" he asked.
"Then hate it tomorrow too."
His mouth moved then.
A real almost smile.
Roxie saw it and looked pleased with herself.
"Wow," she said. "I fixed sports."
He huffed out a breath. "You’re annoying."
"I love you."
The words came out of her mouth so easily that for a second, Zac thought he had imagined them.
Then Roxie went still.
Her fingers tightened around his.
Zac stopped breathing.
Roxie’s face changed slowly, like she had realized what she said only after the room had already heard it.
His heart kicked hard.
"What?"
She looked away fast. "You heard me."
Zac stared at her.
The highway lights moved across the window behind her. Her hair fell near her cheek. She looked embarrassed, scared, and stubborn all at once.
"You said..."
"I know what I said."
His throat worked.
He wanted to grab it.
The moment.
The words.
Her.
But something bitter and scared rose first, because that was what his body knew how to do when something mattered too much.
"Are you saying that because I lost?"
Roxie’s head snapped back to him.
Her eyes sharpened. "No, idiot."
The answer came so fast that he almost flinched.
"I’m serious," he said, quieter.
"So am I." Her face softened, but her voice stayed firm. "I’m saying it because you lost and I still came here wanting you. Because you’re sitting here blaming yourself for one yard, and I still know who you are."
Zac could not look away from her.
Roxie swallowed.
"I’m saying it because I wanted to say it before tonight and got scared." Her grip on his hand tightened. "And because if I wait for both of our lives to get calm, we’ll be forty."
A shaky breath left him.
That sounded like her.
That sounded real.
His eyes burned again, but it felt different this time. Still painful. Still too much. But warmer.
Roxie looked down. "You don’t have to say anything back right now."
Zac’s hand moved to her face before he thought better of it.
He cupped her jaw gently, careful around the faint mark on her cheek.
She looked up at him.
He hated that this was the room.
This night.
This loss.
This version of him with swollen eyes, damp hair, and a medal he could not touch.
He wanted to give her a better moment.
Something clean.
Something worthy of the way his whole chest had changed when she said it.
Instead, all he had was this.
A hotel room.
A dead season.
One yard.
And Roxie sitting beside him, loving him inside the worst part.
"I love you too," he said.
Her face went completely still.
His thumb moved once near her jaw. "I hate that this is how you found out."
Roxie’s mouth trembled before she caught it. "That is such a Zac answer."
"What?"
"You made your love confession self critical."
He let out a rough breath. "I’m having a difficult night."
"I noticed."
"I mean it," he said.
Her eyes searched his.
"I know."
Zac leaned his forehead against hers.
For a while, that was all he could do.
Just breathe there, close enough to feel her breath against his mouth, close enough to know she was still here. Roxie’s hand came up to his wrist, her fingers wrapping around him gently.
The room stayed quiet.
The loss stayed with him.
It did not disappear because she loved him.
The ball was still short.
The record was still useless in the exact place where he wanted it to matter.
But Roxie was there too.
That changed the shape of it.
Zac kissed her.
Soft at first.
Careful.
His mouth touched hers like a question he already knew she had answered.
Roxie leaned into him, and the care in him cracked. His other hand moved to her waist, pulling her closer until her knee pressed against his thigh. The kiss deepened slowly, then all at once, because his control had been thin all night and her mouth was warm and familiar and his chest hurt less when she was this close.
Roxie’s fingers slid into his damp hair.
Zac made a low sound against her mouth.
She kissed him harder.
That almost undid him.
He shifted back on the bed, and she followed, one hand braced against his chest. The mattress dipped under them. His hand stayed at her waist, then moved to her back, holding her close without forcing her closer. He wanted too much. He knew he wanted too much. His whole body felt raw from the game, from crying, from hearing her say those words.
Roxie pulled back just enough to look at him.
Her breathing was uneven.
Zac froze.
"What?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Nothing."
"That is never true."
She looked at his face, then touched the corner of his mouth with her thumb. "I just don’t want you to think this is me trying to make you forget."
Zac’s throat tightened.
He turned his face and kissed her palm.
"I won’t forget," he said.
"I know."
"I don’t want to right now."
"I know."
He looked at her. "I just want you here."
Roxie’s expression softened in a way that almost hurt to look at.
"I’m here."
Zac pulled her closer again, but this time he tucked his face against her neck instead of kissing her mouth. Roxie’s arms came around his shoulders. Her fingers moved into his hair, slow and steady.
For a moment, he let himself lean into her completely.
He was bigger than her.
Stronger than her.
Everyone said he was built for pressure.
But tonight, Roxie held him like none of that mattered.
Like he was allowed to be heavy.
Like he was allowed to be ruined for a while.
They shifted until they were lying on the bed, still dressed, shoes kicked off somewhere near the floor. Zac’s head rested against her chest, one arm around her waist. Roxie lay on her back, her fingers moving through his hair, her other hand resting over his arm.
The room stayed dim.
The highway kept moving outside.
Down the hall, someone laughed once, then went quiet.
The finalist medal stayed untouched on the bedside table.
Zac looked at it from where he lay against her.
It still hurt.
Everything still hurt.
The score.
The yard.
The record.
The helmet he had handed to Jace.
The season sitting behind him now instead of in front of him.
Roxie’s fingers moved slowly against his scalp.
"You asleep?" she whispered.
"No."
"Okay."
He closed his eyes.
"I love you," she said again, softer this time.
His arm tightened around her.
The words still scared him.
They still felt bigger than the room.
But he believed her.
"I love you too," he said against her hoodie.
His voice came rough.
Roxie’s hand paused in his hair for a second.
Then it started moving again.
The loss was still there.
The one yard was still there.
The record was still there.
But Roxie was there too.
For the first time since the whistle, Zac stopped trying to carry it alone.
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