The summer heat had officially started to set in as we moved into the middle of June. My blood had definitely thinned out since moving to the South almost full time, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss more temperate weather in New York on the first few days of Hell at Clemson.

After walking back to my apartment from spin class, I found myself sticking my head in the freezer.

"Were you graced with another appearance from Sir Reid the Arrogant?" Bree called out to me from the living room.

"No," I called back, my voice echoing back at me from the freezer. I grabbed my roll of frozen cookie dough that I'd made earlier that week and slammed the freezer door shut. "Actually, he hasn't been at any classes since last week, but I guess that's not all that surprising. They're allowed to do certain voluntary workouts and film study now, so I'm sure that's where he's been."

"Either that or your overcompetitiveness ran him out of class," Bree chuckled, reaching over the kitchen island to grab for the cookie dough before I swatted her hand away.

"No, I have this weighed out perfectly," I scolded her. "Plus, you'll get salmonella."

"Oh please," Bree scoffed, hoisting herself up to sit on the edge of the counter beside the fridge. "Salmonella is a myth."

I arched an eyebrow at her. "Says the science major."

"I'm a civil engineer, not a biochemist." Bree retorted with an eye roll. "Anyway, don't you have that Zoom meeting with your ESPN contact for your internship soon?"

"Yes, and by the time it's done, my dough will be thawed and I can make my cookies." I grabbed the cling-film wrapped dough and put it in the fridge before setting a two-hour timer on my phone.

"Good luck!" Bree called after me as I made my way into our bathroom.

"Thanks! And don't touch my dough!"

While my meeting with Mariah was only over Zoom and it wasn't like I was interviewing for anything at this point, I still took my time blow-drying my hair and putting on a fresh, thin layer of makeup. It was my first meeting with her since formally taking the internship, and I still operated under the assumption that I had to earn something. I wanted to be taken seriously.

Mariah called me from her swanky office at ESPN's headquarters in Connecticut, where directly behind her was a massive painting of the Swamp - The University of Florida's highly intimidating football stadium fan section. We made conventional small talk before getting into details of my work study project. Regardless of what project I'd be doing, it would be my sole focus this fall with no actual classes, since it fulfilled the entirety of my semester credits.

Mariah swiped through a tablet in front of her. "I looked over your pitch for the Donahue piece. I'm assuming you're still interested in trying to persuade him to do it. Have you made any headway there?"

"I'm working on it," I replied with a tight smile, hoping the video quality would mask the faint hesitation. "I was actually waiting for your approval on my pitch before sharing the more detailed project outline with him. I think it would help him get a sense for it, and maybe be the thing that ultimately convinces him to do it."

Mariah nodded contemplatively. She had her dark hair pinned back, showing off her very large, undoubtedly real diamond earrings. "Well, I like the serial aspect of it, it's become a very trendy way of presenting written pieces. Your video content will pair well with them too."

Despite not being a journalism major, I'd agreed to write a few profile-type pieces on Reid throughout the football season. I'd taken inspiration from longform articles in The New York Times and Vogue on various songwriters, actors, and other public personas, and included a few writing samples in my pitch to Mariah. The angle I'd presented to them positioned Reid as more of an "ordinary" person, and more than just a personification of his injury. I'd learned over the last few weeks that that narrative didn't serve anyone anymore.

Visual media content was more my style, which is why I'd also pitched the idea that each article be accompanied by some combination of photos, short video clips, and the like. That was of course if he actually agreed to do it.

"I'm going to give you a hard stop deadline of August 5th for this, which is the day before preseason officially starts this year," Mariah told me. "We want to have ample time to either work on the first part of Reid's project, or fully commit you to a new one. We have a few strong options in the pipeline, and I have no doubt you're going to crush it."

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I made my way over to the football complex early the next morning. Even though any and all football activities in the month of June were voluntary and limited to eight hours per week, I was confident Reid Donahue disregarded those guidelines. He was, if nothing else, a student of the game, which was part of what put his talent in a completely different stratosphere.

Regardless of how I felt about Reid, I had (at the very least) a professional responsibility to try. If every media personality and journalist avoided pieces involving people they weren't overly fond of, we'd only have half the content we did. And all of this mattered more than my personal feelings. It was bigger than me, and I knew that.

I could have asked around the complex where Reid was, but I had a hunch. The film and position meeting rooms were at the back of the facility, past the indoor practice field and down a hallway lined with an artfully designed mural of Clemson Football's history. Each position group had their own meeting rooms, and naturally quarterbacks were singled out.

The door to the room was slightly ajar, and the faint sound of game film could be heard from the other side. I gently nudged the door open, not at all surprised to see Reid alone, down in the front row of the cushy, movie-theater style orange chairs to match the massive, movie-theater style projection screen at the front of the room. Another reason these rooms were parsed out by position was so they could access different game film in the database tailored to what they were focusing on.

What did take me by surprise was the game he was watching. It was the traditional Thanksgiving weekend rivalry game against the University of South Carolina from two seasons ago. The game he got hurt.

I took my time making my way down to him, and I finally understood how literal the phrase walking on eggshells could be, because that was exactly how it felt - tip-toeing around to avoid breaking something already fragile.

Even though he didn't have his headphones on, I didn't want a repeat of that time in the nutrition center, so I positioned myself in the corner of his line of sight before addressing him. "I know you know this, but you could get in trouble if you log too many film hours before summer access starts."

"And I know you know this, but those kinds of rules don't really apply to me." Reid didn't bother looking up from his notepad as he replied. "What, are you nervous I'm going to get in trouble and then not be available for your little story?"

"It's my work study internship." I bit back.

"Right." He nodded, his tone as even as ever. "Got it."

I gritted my teeth as I eased myself down into a chair two over from him, giving him just enough measured space. Despite the sudden thunderous beating of my heart, I kept my voice calm. "That's what I wanna talk to you about, actually."

"Great," he grumbled, letting his pen drop onto his notebook. He shifted slightly in his chair to face me, propping his elbow up on the armrest and resting his chin in his hand. He'd paused the game film, and in the otherwise darkness of the room, it cast a hazy light across his face, softening all his features.

"I had a meeting earlier today with Mariah Roe, she's the head of content for College Gameday, and-"

"I know who she is," he cut in.

I tried not to let him and his campaign for King of the Underworld deter me, and I shifted in my chair. "Well, we worked out a more detailed plan for your piece, if you wanna hear me out."

Something that might have resembled a chuckle escaped him. "Well, I guess it's the least I can do since you've already followed me into a bathroom and crashed my film study session."

There was something almost humorous and witty about his response, but I knew how to decipher his tone by now, and there was a part of me that felt like he wasn't taking me or my ambitions seriously. Trying to break into a historically male-dominated industry led me to have zero tolerance for that kind of shit.

I delicately folded my hands in my lap, despite my heart still trying to orchestrate a prison escape from my chest. "You asked me a few weeks ago at the Blind Tiger why I have a problem with you. Now I'm gonna ask you the same thing."

Reid crossed his legs, almost mirroring my movements. His Nike shorts rode up just slightly, exposing hamstrings that were more like small tree trunks. "Unlike you, I'm going to answer honestly. I don't have a problem with you, but I have a problem with what you're doing. Because you, that fucking square Elijah, and Mariah Roe don't know shit about me or what I went through, and yet you wanna use me as some springboard for career advancement and god knows what other bullshit that goes on there."

As much as I wanted to give him some leeway, my career wasn't bullshit, and he needed to get that through his thick skull.

I let out a hollow chuckle. "Alright fine, you want honesty? You make the mistake of thinking the world revolves around you. I have ESPN's work study internship with or without you. It might be about you right now, but it won't be in six months. There is always going to be another story to tell."

Reid scoffed. "Yeah, that really makes me wanna do it now."

I paused and tried to recenter myself. I knew my intentions were good, and I had to remind both of us why I was really doing this. All of this.

"All that being said, I believe in telling a story that deserves to be told. That's why I want to be in sports media, and why I've grinded the last year of my life out for this football team. I love football, and I believe football can bring people together. So the next time someone gets hurt the way you did - and trust me, it's going to happen because it's unfortunately the nature of the sport - that kid is going to look at you and what you've done and say 'okay, if he did it, I can do it.' 12 months ago you were told you might need your leg amputated, and yet come September, you will walk out onto that football field and play like it never even happened. Now, I'm not religious, but that is nothing short of a miracle, Reid."

He let out a weary sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You don't think I know that?"

I took a pause, still trying to catch my breath from my well-intentioned rant. He kept his gaze on me, his brown eyes warm and inviting in a way the rest of him wasn't. A locked door without a key that I had to find a way to pick.

"So then why don't you want to do it, Reid?" I asked. "All I want is a legitimate answer. Please. If nothing else, can you just give me that?"

"Because I don't want to relive it," he hissed out through gritted teeth.

I kept my tone soft as I pushed back, moving over to the chair beside him. "You don't want to relive it, and yet I'm willing to bet our whole season on the notion that you have sat here and watched this game every single day since you've been allowed in this film room." I gestured up to the projector. "How is doing that going to change anything?"

He dropped his gaze into his notebook, lowering his voice. "Then what would be your expert suggestion?"

"You shouldn't have to keep reliving it. You should keep looking for a way forward." I leaned forward, and without thinking put a reassuring hand to his knee. "You've been recovering, you did all of spring practice, you've taken in-game snaps, so you're more than halfway there. That is what matters now. That's what the story should be about. And that's how I want to approach this piece, and I've made that clear to them. It's about looking ahead, not behind."

"I do want to look ahead."

Only now had I realized the space between us had closed even more, and I was close enough to smell his crisp cologne and catch the faintest dusting of freckles across his cheeks. He must have noticed too, and we slowly recoiled at the same time.

I took stock of our conversation, and all the ones that we'd had before this one. I wanted to make this work, but I also knew that I couldn't make this decision for him by sheer willpower. I'd given him something tangible now.

"This is the last time I'm going to approach you about doing this, and I'm not going to force your hand," I assured him. "But if you really think me or anyone else doesn't know shit about you or what you went through, then help me tell the story. Your way."

I stood up from the chair, but before I could turn to leave, he recaptured my attention.

"How long do I have?" he asked. "To make a decision, I mean."

"You have until August 5th. The day before preseason starts," I told him before turning and walking out of the film room.

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we're IN IT now, guys! i know it's chapter 7 but i feel like things are finally starting to rev up, and now you've gotten just a bit more insight on reid too. i know he still comes off as kind of a jerk right now, but i can promise y'all will be team reid soon. <3