The hotel carpet smelled like bleach and old beer.

They had lost on the road by ten. Not a blowout. Bad enough. The bus ride back to the hotel was quiet in that ugly way, heads against windows, earbuds in, nobody wanting to talk about the fourth quarter. Coach had already said they would film it in the morning before the drive home. Tate sat three rows behind Knox and watched the back of his head the whole way.

They roomed by position groups. Tate’s roommate was a redshirt named Cole who talked too much when he was nervous. Cole lasted twelve minutes in the room before he said he...