The coaching staff for the Dons always exchanged emergency contact info with the players—one of Coach Long's ideas—hence how Ty ended up sitting in Coach Hoang's living room, on a firm, shallow couch; he was beginning to think Coach Hoang regretted signing up.
Luke Hoang was in the kitchen of his special little flat, getting them both another glass of water. He'd refused Ty's help in the matter.
Ty had told the story of his day and how it culminated in his arrival on Luke's doorstep. Luke had listened mostly, and questioned some parts—like why he was getting into fights at school, and why he hadn't told anybody things were so bad at home—he hadn't liked the answers he'd gotten—because the other guy deserved to be punched in the mouth, and because it hadn't been THAT bad—but Ty was sure he hadn't liked the story altogether.
Now they were dealing with the aftermath. Luke needed to think, or otherwise he was pumping the water by hand from a well, and Ty gave him his space. Ty looked around the quaint room, taking it in properly.
There was a lot of space between everything. A faded rug styled like a football gridiron covered part of the wooden floor, and a low, glass coffee table took up the centre of the room. The couch Ty sat on was comfortable enough, though it'd seat only two, maybe three skinny folks if they squished in. There was a large, throne-like sofa chair directly across from the wall-mounted TV. Below it was a set of low cabinets full of DVDs and video games, and Ty assumed the console sitting atop them was the latest Xbox, but those things looked, and were named. weird. The sofa chair itself was made of dark brown leather that looked exquisitely soft, and was quite bulky. A remote, attached to a cord, hung out from a pocket on the side of its base. Recline, vibrate, warm, the chair could probably do it all. There was a stand table set next to it, spacious enough for a lamp while still having room to spare.
Ty didn't know what he'd been expecting when entering the little home. He'd known Luke lived alone, or else he wouldn't have come. A helper or something would've made things too strange—things were strange enough as they were.
The house must've been specially built. The sinks and counter tops in the kitchen were shorter than usual, making it easy for Luke to use them in his chair, and Ty didn't mind stooping. Obviously, there was a ramp out front leading to the door rather than a front step, but other than those specific things it was much like any other small house.
He was sure the bathroom would be much different, but based on the time his father had taken him into an accessible restroom when the lines were too long at the game, he was sure he'd manage.
There was no guest bedroom, but again, Ty could live on the couch… if Luke didn't decide to just throw him out right then. It was growing dark, but Luke was the type to do what he thought best for someone no matter if it was hard; if he decided it was best to call up Ty's parents, or anybody else, and make Ty their responsibility, even if he had to toss the boy out into the dark, he'd do so… and Ty wouldn't hold it against him.
It was a big thing Ty was asking, and so out of the blue, but what other choice did he have? He couldn't spend another second in that damn house. Not after everything his piece of shit father had said.
But then, what else could he do? It's not like he could stay with Luke forever, he might not even be able to stay one night. So where? Coach Long would maybe put up with him for a night… a week… the bastard was so generous he might even let Ty stay a month, or at least until his leg was good enough he could be walking around, but that still wasn't a permanent solution.
Would he have to go to the police? And tell them what? 'My father beat me because I broke a window so I ran away?' Yeah, that'd get them to help him. Even then, the only "help" they could offer him was the foster system, or juvie. Neither was an option Ty would accept.
But maybe that's what was keeping Luke. Maybe he was talking to them right now, explaining everything regarding the crazy kid who'd just appeared on his doorstep. Ty leaned from his seat, trying to see further around the corner and into the hallway leading deeper into the house, just when Luke rolled back into view.
'Sorry I took so long,' he said. 'I could've sworn I had a spare set of linens.' In his lap was a bundled up sheet and blanket, with a pillow resting atop it.
Ty got to his feet. 'You could've said something. I would've helped you—'
'—If I needed your help, I'd have asked for it, Samuels.'
'Samuels? I thought that was saved for the field.'
'Hah. No. I'll call you Ty when we're equals, and you sure as shit aren't "equal" as a guest in my house. This is MY house, Samuels, and I live in it just fine on my own. I don't need anyone's help.'
'Aye, aye, Coach.' Ty said, taking the pillow and blanket Luke offered.
'I'm serious, Samuels.'
Ty sat back down, the bundle now in his lap. Luke's expression turned sombre, matching the seriousness of his voice—it didn't carry the same bravado as when they were on the gridiron, but it was even heavier.
'This house, even more than football—especially more than football—is my one refuge from the world, and from who I am.'
'I didn't mean to—'
'—Goddammit, Ty! LISTEN.'
Ty's mouth clamped shut.
'I know I'm stuck in this chair, and I know that's changed some things, but it hasn't changed ME. I can still look after myself. Just 'cause I'm in the chair, doesn't mean I'm any different. And I know you don't mean to think of me as different, but you do. You don't say it, but it's in your eyes. It's in EVERYBODY'S eyes.
'When I'm on the sidelines it's the worst, but I've accepted the gridiron isn't the place for me. I mean, I wasn't like you; I was never gonna make it. I would've ended up as a coach sooner or later, the fact it was a lot sooner probably helped me, 'cause I'm gonna be the best damn coach you'll ever see.'
Any sombreness was gone, replaced by resolution. A smile flicked across Ty's face. Luke was well on his way to his goal with speeches like that.
'In this house, what I say goes,' Luke continued. 'If I need your help, I'll ask for it. I've taken care of myself in here for years, and I can look after a guest for one night.'
The words carried a sort of finality to them. They weren't having a discussion, least of all an argument. This wasn't a negotiation, and it was barely even a conversation. Luke was laying down the law… and Ty didn't have a problem with it.
The silence must've dragged out too long for Luke's liking, however, as he turned around, muttering how he'd forgotten the glasses. Ty didn't offer him help, and he soon returned with two full glasses on a little tray.
Ty took his, then said: 'So I'm only staying here for one night?'
Luke set the tray, which was still carrying his glass, on the table next to his throne, then paused. He didn't look at Ty, though Ty didn't need to see his face to know the consternation painted over it.
'We'll see, Ty. There's a lot going on right now. For tonight, I think we should just relax, and get some rest. I'm fine to let you spend the night as long as your parents, or the police, won't come knock my door down. After we've slept on it, we'll figure out something more concrete.'
They sat for a while. Luke turned on the TV, which was already on ESPN—most of the talk was taken up by basketball, the NBA right in the midst of playoffs, but there was still some chatter of the recent NFL draft and how it could shake up the following season.
There was still a tension throughout the room. A sort of pervasive restlessness, punctuated by the fact Luke stayed within his wheelchair, rather than shift himself over to his throne. Neither he, nor Ty knew what to do or say in the moment, so they sat there in awkward silence, until Ty's empty stomach decided for them, and let out a hungry growl.
Luke sighed. He hadn't been expecting a guest, so he didn't have dinner planned for one; if this became a more permanent thing, they'd have to go shopping.
'What kinda pizza do you like?' Luke asked.
'Uhh… whatever one has everything on it.'
'Pizza with the lot… I'm getting rid of the olives.'
Luke rolled out of the room to make the call, though was back within a minute. He noticed Ty's disinterest in the television, though didn't know what else would captivate him if not sports talk.
'We could play something while we wait,' Luke suggested. 'It's usually a thirty minute delivery at least.'
'You don't have to entertain me like some kid.'
Luke laughed, moving over to switch the Xbox on and grab two controllers. 'That's funny, because you're wrong. You are a kid, and you also gotta be the only teenage boy who isn't thrilled to be getting free pizza and playing video games.'
'I just don't get it. Never have. Why play a fake version of something I could be doing for real?'
Luke paused, his hand hovering just over the latest Madden. Before he looked back over his shoulder, he made sure he was giving his best passive-aggressive "really?" stare—Ty wilted under its pressure later than most, looking away.
'Okay, I get why YOU would play it.'
'WOW! Smooth, Samuels. You know, if you said that to a less understanding person, they'd ram your shins, and the way you are already… well, people would see why YOU would play Madden, too.'
'I didn't mean it like—'
'—You did, but it's fine. We don't have to play Madden.' Luke's scanned lower among the rack, then came away with a game called Borderlands 3. He showed it off to Ty. 'You can't do anything like this in real life.'
Ty looked at the colourful cover, frowning. He'd not seen it before. He wasn't the most social guy around (big surprise there), and, as he didn't play himself, had limited experience with games, but most of the talk he heard from the other Dons had just been about Madden, 2K, or Call of Duty. This Borderlands game had the 2K logo in the corner, but somehow he didn't think it was what the boys had meant.
But he didn't stop Luke from booting it up. They started a new game at level one, and Luke explained things quickly, with his main bit of advice being "if it's moving, shoot it."
They got through the tutorial area at the start of the game, and while Ty didn't get the weird robot that wouldn't shut the fuck up, the rest of the game was alright. The violence was so cartoonishly gratuitous it was… charming.
After the first boss was fried thanks to a convenient puddle plus live wire combo, the pizza arrived, and Ty was ordered to get up and get it, finding money for it right by the door on the same stool where Luke kept his keys.
They switched back to TV as they ate, but it didn't really keep their attention for long—Ty had something else on his mind. It was something he really should've taken into account before coming… maybe he had subconsciously.
He swallowed his mouthful of cheesy, middle-of-the-road pizza, and looked at Luke. 'Didn't you say before that you and your parents had a falling out over football? Did they throw you out, or did you leave?'
Luke paused mid bite. He finished what was in his mouth, setting his slice down. 'Wow, Samuels, you really know how to treat a host who so graciously let you stay at their house on zero notice.'
'Sorry I—'
'—No, no, you're fine. It's only fair that's where your mind would go on a night like this… don't worry, you're not alone in this.'
Luke sighed. Even after saying all that, while it was a pertinent topic to be brought up that night, it still didn't thrill him. But yes, he couldn't blame Ty. Sharing the experience of being cast out from home was probably the one thing that kept him from calling Ty's parents and getting them to pick the boy up; he knew better than most how bad familial relationships could get, and how separation—temporary or not—could be the healthiest thing for all involved, but especially the child.
Yet digging open those old wounds was still was shockingly painful. He'd thought they'd healed to the point you'd never even know he was hurt so grievously in the first place, but the scars ran deeper than he imagined.
'I guess, being Vietnamese, even if they were born here, my parents never really liked much of the "American" sports, football least of all. Mostly they were concerned for my safety, both physically, mentally… socially too, I guess. Of course, their worst fears became reality.'
Ty once again sat in silence, listening intently to every word spilling from Luke's mouth. There was a far away look on the defensive coordinator's face. He could've been talking to no-one, his closest friends, or one-hundred strangers.
'I already told you about my injury,' he said, 'so I won't bore you with it again, but everything was shit after that, as I can imagine you know. It was the worst time of my life, and everything was crumbling around me, on top of the fact I was struggling to accept I'd never WALK again, let alone play football. It was made even worse when the two people I thought I could always rely on walked away from me. They didn't throw me out, but they cared more about winning arguments and proving how right they were, and how they'd "told me so." It's like they wanted me to feel as if my injury was some sort of karmic justice because I went against their warnings. Like I DESERVED to be in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. All because I didn't give up playing the sport I loved.
'I thought, maybe after they got it out of their system they'd chill out and be more supportive, but it just didn't stop. There was always this resentment. They hated me for making THEM look worse. How dare I make them the parents who have to look after their crippled son. I couldn't take it. I didn't want to be a burden, not to them, not to anyone. So if there wasn't any support or love left me for there, I thought I may as well be living on my own, and that's what I did. I wheeled my ass out of that house and never looked back. Why would I? All'd I see were a couple of monsters who took every opportunity they had to look down at me in revulsion and anger; who would always remind me how horrible the rest of my life would be.'
Luke shuddered. He angrily wiped at his eyes with the back of a fist. It'd been so long since he'd thought about his parents; would he ever stop crying over them?
'The following days were pretty dark. I didn't really have anyone to turn to back then. I had friends, but not anyone who could help someone like me. So I was homeless for a little bit. Eventually a support worker tried to set up with some special housing, but that whole process is a real fucking pain, too… I uh… for a while there I could only see two ends, well, one really, the other was just a temporary escape. I was taking the scenic route through a haze, but I was convinced the only end for me would be suicide… I didn't really see the point in anything else.'
Ty's hands curled into fists in his lap. Their pizza was long forgotten, sitting cold on plates and in the box. Even listening to the story, he still couldn't imagine how terrible it must've been to lead Coach Hoang down such a path. The man, young as he was, was always so reliable and steady on the sidelines.
But then Ty remembered some of Dr Goggins' words, about what he would do if he could never play football again. What would the point be? That… it had to be impossible. There would be some way. Stem cells, or something. ANYTHING to get back on the field. He shuddered; the room was as cold as the arctic all of a sudden.
Luke smiled, however. 'Then I remembered Coach Long. I'd been in college when the injury happened, and I don't know, I must've seen something in the local news about the Dons losing out on their bid for State, AGAIN, but there was a snippet from an interview with Coach Long, and he was still so proud of them all. Even in just one sentence you could tell he saw every player as one of his kids, and how heartbroken he was FOR THEM.
'It wasn't just his warmth and kindness, and overwhelming goodness, but he showed me a new purpose, one that was staring me in the face the whole time, but one young guys never have to think about normally—coaching. If I couldn't step foot on the gridiron, then I could at least guide others who could. I'd make damn sure they achieved their goals, and had fun doing it… and if I could, I'd do my best to make sure the same thing never happened to them. Every athlete deserves to have their career end naturally, and smoothly, at the end of a LONG road instead of being cut short… of course, that's stupid. My injury was a freak accident. Nobody could've changed that… but it's still an ideal I cling to.'
Silence spread again. Ty wondered how worried Luke had been when he fell in the championship game… the man had stayed by his bed in the hospital… did he blame himself like Coach Long? But wasn't Ty's injury also a freak accident like most were?
'If giving you a place to crash for a little while—until you can get your feet under you again—means you'll be able to get back to how you were, and dominate the field again someday, then that's what I'll do, Ty.'
'Thanks, Coach… Luke… it means a lot to me.'
'Well don't thank me just yet. I wasn't finished. I'll do that for you, if you're one-hundred percent sure that's what you need. I know things must be rough with your family, but some of them certainly care for you, and they still showed up to the championship game. That's more than mine would've ever done. This is… it's a big decision you're making here, so don't make it lightly, or while your thoughts are clouded by so many different emotions.'
Ty nodded. There was certainly a lot to think about that night. Luke moved off, taking the rest of the pizza to the fridge, saying he was going to get ready for bed afterwards. Ty got up, spreading out the sheet and blanket on the couch.
His parents hadn't called him, nor even texted; the only notifications from his phone were all from Meg. He let her know he was alright, and said he was staying with a friend, leaving it vague in case she tried to tell anyone else where he was.
Was he overreacting? He still leant towards no, and never wanting to step foot in his parents' house ever again… but that was a big step. Either way, he definitely wasn't going to receive a warm welcome back after running off the way he did.
It was all so complex! Everything was going to shit, and it was all because of his stupid fucking leg. He just wanted to play football in peace… why couldn't the world give him that? Was it really too much to ask for? Was he really being punished for striving to be the greatest? Of course. Why would someone like HIM think he could ever be the best?
Well he WOULD be the best. It didn't matter if he had to fight the whole fucking world and fate itself to make it happen. Tyrese Samuels was still going to be the GOAT. A little setback like a ruined ACL wouldn't change that.