The Rest of the Story

by Tal Bauer

“When you know your teammates like that—when you know them so well you know the decisions they’re going to make before they make them—you play in the future. You’re not reacting to the game; you’re defining it. You’re playing ahead of my play, and ahead of the next one. That’s how you dominate.”

Inspirational!

“This is our tomorrow. That game yesterday is the past. Today, tomorrow, and every day after, we become who we are meant to be.

Okay but this should be a quote on like my white board I love it so much.

Because this life? This was absolutely fucking perfect.

This bit reminds me of one of my favorite quotes from my favorite book: This life? It feels surprisingly complete.

He was limp, his arms loose in either a drunk way or a dead way. Beneath the burned rubber and the scorched oil and the tang of hot blood, there was another stench threading through the air: high-octane alcohol, and lots of it.

Literally the moment I started growling, "That fucker! That Fucker!!"

“Get him out of here!” It was my turn to shout, louder than Brody, loud enough to snap Lawson and Gabe out of their absolute shock at having to restrain our sweet little Brody, hold him back with all of their double might. “Get him the fuck out of here!” They struggled to do it, and they needed Connor and Josh to help, but eventually, the four of them got Brody wrestled off the concourse. He raged the whole way, bellowing Shea’s name, then descending into all-out animal wails run through with suffering.

Let him scream, dammit! Let him go fucking feral on Coates' ass! Brody has EVERY right!

Brody and Lawson were locked up, arms tight around each other, Lawson’s hands white and his knuckles purple where he had them buried in Brody’s hair. Their faces were in each other’s necks, Brody’s shrieks emptying into Lawson’s trapezius and Lawson speaking nonsense words and Brody’s name as they rocked back and forth.

Boys... 🥺

“It’s not your fault.” My voice was vicious, almost savage, as I spoke into his ear. “This is not your fault, Brody. And no one is taking us away from you. No one is ever taking anything away from you. I swear to you, on my life, on Shea’s life: I will never let him near you again. I swear, I swear to fucking God, Brody, you’re safe from him. You’re safe.”

You tell him, dad. Go all Father Bear, protect your boys.

A howl broke through the brittle stillness. We jumped— But it was Lawson, not a monster rising out of the darkness. Lawson, grabbing his skates and shoving his fists into the boots, and then throwing himself at that spit of wall next to his seat, those five terrible feet where Coates had attacked Brody. Lawson slammed his skate blades into the drywall, over and over again, slicing and shredding and sledgehammering it into splinters and shards. He dropped his skates and went at the ruins with his hands, flinging broken pieces to the ground, where he stomped them to dust and smithereens. Through it all, he was bawling, half-mad with fury, half out of control with agony. Destroying that wall was all he could see, all he could do, and when it was gone, when nothing was left but the studs and open air, he collapsed to his knees and dropped his chin to his chest, weeping. Gavin crawled on barely-working hands and knees to Lawson’s side. Lawson sank into Gavin as Gavin sank into him, twin sculptures of misery.

This kind of visceral angst is so good, so emotional, it just really sinks into me when I read it.

Not yet, not yet. I still had miles to go and a thousand things to do before I could crawl back to Shea’s side and never leave again.

And miles to go before i sleep. And miles to go before I sleep.