Chapter 212 An offer

Chapter 212 An offer
I typed a quick reply: Okay. Be safe. I’ll call you.

I powered the phone completely off, slipped it into my bag, and handed my belongings over to the hall proctor at the front door.

Taking a long, steadying breath, I walked into the quiet, pristine examination room, found desk number 408, and sat down. 

As the proctor began distributing the thick test booklets and answer sheets, I gripped the expensive fountain pen from my bag, set my eyes on the paper, and let everything else fade into the background.

Two exhaustive, grueling hours later, the final bell rang.

"Pencils down! Stop writing immediately!" the chief examiner called out, stepping to the front of the room.

A collective, massive sigh of relief swept through the rows of exhausted students. I set my pen down on the wooden desk, my fingers trembling slightly from cramp, my brain feeling entirely fried. 

I had poured every ounce of knowledge, every late-night study session, and every piece of my soul into those answer sheets. 

Win or lose, I knew I had given it everything I had.

I gathered my candidate card, turned in my booklet, and collected my bag from the front tables. Turning my phone back on as I walked out into the warm afternoon sun, I bypassed the gathering crowds of students rechecking their answers.

I didn't head out back to meet Declan. I couldn't bring myself to face him—not with my mind spinning out of control. 

Instead, I walked briskly toward the main gates, my chest tight with anticipation as I looked down at my screen, waiting to see if Tobias had called me.

TOBIAS

The sun was beating down hard on the grass, the heat radiating off the turf in waves, but I barely felt it. All I could focus on was the ball in my hands, the steady thrum of my pulse in my ears, and the familiar rhythm of the field beneath my cleats.

I cut sharp to the left, dodged a defender with a heavy shoulder brush, and launched the ball forty yards downfield. It spiraled cleanly through the crisp air, dropping right into the hands of my receiver right at the end zone.

Whistles blew. Cheers echoed from the bleachers.

"Dammit, Tobias! Save some for the season!" Coach hollered from the sidelines, grinning as he scribbled on his clipboard.

I pulled off my helmet, wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm. Usually, a drive like that—a throw that clean—would give me a rush of pure adrenaline. 

It was what I lived for. But today, the second the play ended, the noise faded, and my mind instantly drifted right back to the one person who hadn't left my thoughts for a single second.

Lisa.
I walked over to the bench, grabbing a water bottle and squirting a long stream into my mouth. I couldn't stop thinking about her face two days ago when I dropped her off. 

I couldn't stop thinking about that damn gift basket sitting on her front porch like a ticking bomb.

Nurse Mandy.

The lie had tumbled out of her mouth so fast, so desperately, that it had practically screamed red flags. A nurse from the hospital dropping off a luxury spa basket with an unaddressed envelope? 

It made zero sense. I wasn't stupid. I saw the way her fingers trembled when she snatched that card behind her back. She was terrified, hiding something, and trying to protect me from whatever it was.

Was someone stalking her? Was someone creeping around her house while she was at the cabin with me? The thought made my jaw tighten so hard my teeth ached.

"Tobias! Front and center, son!"

Coach’s loud voice broke through my spiraling thoughts. I shook my head, setting my water bottle down, and walked toward the sidelines where Coach was standing with two men in sharp, charcoal-grey suits. They didn't look like local high school scouts. They looked like money.

"Tobias, these gentlemen are from State," Coach said, his eyes practically gleaming with pride. "They’ve been watching the last three weeks of your practice film."

The taller scout stepped forward, offering a firm, heavy handshake. "Impressive arm, son. Even more impressive spatial awareness. We’ve been tracking your recovery since the accident, and frankly, you’re playing better than you were before the crash."

"Thank you, sir," I said, keeping my voice steady, though my chest felt strangely numb.

"We don't usually make moves this early in the semester," the second recruiter chimed in, opening a leather folder. "But we’re prepared to offer you a full-ride athletic scholarship the moment you graduate. Tuition, housing, performance stipends—the entire package. We want you leading our offense next fall."

A full ride. The exact thing every guy on this field bled for every single afternoon.
"I... I really appreciate that, sir," I said, forcing a polite, grateful smile onto my face. "It’s a massive honor. Can I take a little time to discuss it with my family before making any official commitments?"

The primary recruiter smiled, clapping my shoulder. "Of course. Take the week. Talk to your parents. We’ll be in touch with your coach."

They shook my hand once more and walked off toward the parking lot. Coach clapped me on the back so hard I nearly stumbled. "A full ride, kid! Do you realize what this means? Your future is completely secured!"

"Yeah," I murmured, staring down at my helmet. "Secured."

I should have been celebrating. I should have been calling my friends, screaming at the top of my lungs. But all I felt was an overwhelming weight pressing down on my chest. A full ride meant leaving town. It meant moving miles away. And how could I think about my future when Lisa’s present was drowning in chaos?
Would I be able to leave her behind?

I headed into the locker room, the smell of sweat and leather filling the air as the rest of the team shouted and joked around me. I pulled my phone out of my gym bag, wiping my damp hands on my shorts.

There was a fresh text sitting on my screen.

Mom: Dinner tonight at Le Petit Jardin. 6:30 PM sharp. Don't be late, Tobias. Your father and I need to speak with you.
I stared at the message, my eyebrows drawing together in a deep frown. Le Petit Jardin. It was the upscale, ridiculously expensive French restaurant downtown. The exact place I had taken Lisa on our very first real date.

Why were my parents taking me there on a Thursday evening?

It felt completely off. My parents hadn't eaten dinner together in weeks. For months, our house had been an icy battlefield of slammed doors, heavy silences, and hushed, bitter arguments behind closed study doors. 

They barely looked at each other over the breakfast counter anymore. Now suddenly, an early dinner at a five-star restaurant?

Something was deeply wrong.