such a sweet-talker.” Lachlan laughed. “Dude, you’re Jude Owens . Ain’t no one gonna stop you…unless she’s got a lab coat and clipboard.”
I followed his gaze. Rory joined the trainers on the sidelines, swiping some information into an iPad and asking questions of a defensive player.
She glanced over, caught my gaze, and dropped her iPad. She conked heads with the safety as she tried to pick it up, groaned, then clutched her stomach. She bolted off the field and threw up behind a bush. Hidden from the team…but in full view of the fans seated in the stands.
No tears though.
This was an improvement.
“I wouldn’t mind a little TLC from Doctor Honeybuns.” DeSean, the center, winked at the linemen. “No offense, Daddy.”
Jermaine, our left guard, offered a thrust of his hips. “He’s been playing doctor himself.”
I hated anyone disrespecting Rory, but I let the comments pass. The guys needed to have some fun.
“Doctor/Patient confidentiality, boys,” I said. “Come on, let’s get this done so I can get home for my check-up.”
The offense hooted, but Jack pointed at me and Lachlan. “You two. You’re my fucking world this year. I’m gonna rely on you.”
“Just give me the ball,” I said. “I won’t stop running until we’re in the damn championship. I’m getting my ring.”
“And we’re gonna win it for you,” Jack said.
He called the team to huddle up and checked the play with the offensive coordinator.
I breathed deep, loving the scent of the grass, the sweat, the stale plastic of the pads. I’d give everything for a championship. My knees. My head. My pride.
This was my chance.
I wished I could say I was prepared for it. But lining up in the sun, sweating my weight in water and aching with a migraine, I was lucky I could even hear the play call or the coach’s whistles.
After eleven years in the league, I could rely on instinct. My mind might have fogged in the pain, but I watched the plays—how Jack planted his foot, where the line pulled, how they shifted, when the gaps appeared. My strength pulled me through the plays and got me where I needed to go.
Problem was I didn’t always recognize where I ended up.
Jack called the play, a quick run up the middle with an audible. He snapped the ball, I surged forward, taking the handoff. I cut once, and, had we faced a real defense, I’d have found daylight to run.
“Good!” Coach Thompson joined the offensive coordinators and took over the drill. “Run another audible, Carson.”
He did as the coach asked. We set for the play. Jack shouted the audible.
“ Two-Fifty-Five !”
I listened.
“ Dumbo Simba !”
It was a pass.
No—
A run.
“ Hercules Red !”
My mind blanked.
The fog drowned my thoughts, memories, emotions.
I blinked. Nothing .
The play was gone.
And so was everything else.
The time. The day. The fucking team I played for. My migraine fractured icy nails across my temples. The pain blitzed as the ball snapped.
I froze.
What the hell was I supposed to do?
My body moved absent of my mind. I dragged my feet, but they rushed forward. The steps were wrong . I knew they were wrong. But I couldn’t stop myself.
I collided with Jack. He sprawled one way, I fell the other, and the ball popped out.
Whistles blew.
And I waited for the fog to lift.
It was starting to take a little too long to clear.
I sat up slow, but Jack was already there. He helped me to my feet.
“You all right, man?”
“Yeah…” I choked. His name didn’t come to my lips. It fizzled in the grey nothing of my head. I faked a smile. “Just ran the wrong route.”
“ Simba’s a pass. Red meant I needed you to block on the right.”
“Yeah.” I’d never remember that. Not without flash cards, silence, and a night alone with my playbook. How the hell was I supposed to do that with Rory so close now? “I’ll get ya next time.”
He thunked my helmet with his hand. Not helpful. “We got this,
I followed his gaze. Rory joined the trainers on the sidelines, swiping some information into an iPad and asking questions of a defensive player.
She glanced over, caught my gaze, and dropped her iPad. She conked heads with the safety as she tried to pick it up, groaned, then clutched her stomach. She bolted off the field and threw up behind a bush. Hidden from the team…but in full view of the fans seated in the stands.
No tears though.
This was an improvement.
“I wouldn’t mind a little TLC from Doctor Honeybuns.” DeSean, the center, winked at the linemen. “No offense, Daddy.”
Jermaine, our left guard, offered a thrust of his hips. “He’s been playing doctor himself.”
I hated anyone disrespecting Rory, but I let the comments pass. The guys needed to have some fun.
“Doctor/Patient confidentiality, boys,” I said. “Come on, let’s get this done so I can get home for my check-up.”
The offense hooted, but Jack pointed at me and Lachlan. “You two. You’re my fucking world this year. I’m gonna rely on you.”
“Just give me the ball,” I said. “I won’t stop running until we’re in the damn championship. I’m getting my ring.”
“And we’re gonna win it for you,” Jack said.
He called the team to huddle up and checked the play with the offensive coordinator.
I breathed deep, loving the scent of the grass, the sweat, the stale plastic of the pads. I’d give everything for a championship. My knees. My head. My pride.
This was my chance.
I wished I could say I was prepared for it. But lining up in the sun, sweating my weight in water and aching with a migraine, I was lucky I could even hear the play call or the coach’s whistles.
After eleven years in the league, I could rely on instinct. My mind might have fogged in the pain, but I watched the plays—how Jack planted his foot, where the line pulled, how they shifted, when the gaps appeared. My strength pulled me through the plays and got me where I needed to go.
Problem was I didn’t always recognize where I ended up.
Jack called the play, a quick run up the middle with an audible. He snapped the ball, I surged forward, taking the handoff. I cut once, and, had we faced a real defense, I’d have found daylight to run.
“Good!” Coach Thompson joined the offensive coordinators and took over the drill. “Run another audible, Carson.”
He did as the coach asked. We set for the play. Jack shouted the audible.
“ Two-Fifty-Five !”
I listened.
“ Dumbo Simba !”
It was a pass.
No—
A run.
“ Hercules Red !”
My mind blanked.
The fog drowned my thoughts, memories, emotions.
I blinked. Nothing .
The play was gone.
And so was everything else.
The time. The day. The fucking team I played for. My migraine fractured icy nails across my temples. The pain blitzed as the ball snapped.
I froze.
What the hell was I supposed to do?
My body moved absent of my mind. I dragged my feet, but they rushed forward. The steps were wrong . I knew they were wrong. But I couldn’t stop myself.
I collided with Jack. He sprawled one way, I fell the other, and the ball popped out.
Whistles blew.
And I waited for the fog to lift.
It was starting to take a little too long to clear.
I sat up slow, but Jack was already there. He helped me to my feet.
“You all right, man?”
“Yeah…” I choked. His name didn’t come to my lips. It fizzled in the grey nothing of my head. I faked a smile. “Just ran the wrong route.”
“ Simba’s a pass. Red meant I needed you to block on the right.”
“Yeah.” I’d never remember that. Not without flash cards, silence, and a night alone with my playbook. How the hell was I supposed to do that with Rory so close now? “I’ll get ya next time.”
He thunked my helmet with his hand. Not helpful. “We got this,
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