Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
“Let’s take a walk,” he said, and he didn’t wait for me to confirm before he was sauntering out of the locker room.
I begrudgingly followed him, and since the field was still covered in fans, players from the other team, and the media circus, he steered me toward the weight room.
“Sit,” he said, pointing at a bench. When I did, he hung his hands on his hips, staring at the ground for a moment before he looked at me. “What happened?”
“I don’t—”
“I don’t care if you don’t want to talk about it. You’re a part of this team, and you’re a big reason why we pulled an L today. You were shit in coverage, and giving us twenty percent of your all, at best.”
I was ashamed at how spot on that assessment was.
“So, as captain, it’s my job to figure out what’s going on whether you want me to or not. You can either tell me now, or I can make your life a living hell every practice until you do.”
I flattened my lips. “What, you going to make me run laps?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
I shook my head, balancing my elbows on my knees as my shoulders drooped. “It’s family shit. Nothing I want to share with anyone — no offense.”
“Did someone die?”
I frowned at him. “What? No. And that was a little harsh, Cap.”
“I need to know how serious this is.”
“Why, so you can replace me?”
He gave me a look that echoed his earlier sentiment.
If that’s what it takes.
I ran a hand back through my hair, sitting up straight again. “I broke up with Giana. I’m back with Maliyah. My mom is going to rehab. My dad is a piece of shit who couldn’t care less about any of it, and if you push me off my spot, I swear to God, I’ll kill you, Holden, because you’d be ripping away the only source of joy I have. Football is my lifeline,” I said, surprised at the way my throat tightened with the words. “It’s… it’s all I have left.”
I met his gaze then, chest heaving, and something softer washed over his expression as he watched me in return.
“You’re back with Maliyah,” he said, choosing to ignore the rest.
I sniffed, looking at the ground again. “Yeah.”
“And that’s what you want?”
“Yep,” I lied, standing. “Can I go now, sergeant, or are you throwing me in the brig?”
Holden gave me a look that told me he clearly wasn’t amused by the joke, but still, he seemed satisfied enough to stop torturing me — at least for the day.
“Go,” he said, waving me off. “Get your head right before Monday.”
I nodded, but before I could reach the door, he called out again.
“And don’t forget we’re not just your team,” he said, halting me.
I waited, but didn’t turn.
“We’re your friends. We’re family. I know you’re always the one lending the hand, Clay, but we can help you, too.” He paused. “You just have to be willing to let us.”
Something about that sentiment pierced me like a hot blade between the ribs, so I simply nodded to let him know I’d heard him and then ducked out the door, heading for the locker room.
As soon as I turned the corner, she was there.
Giana was dimly lit at the other end of the hall, her hair in a frazzled mess of a bun on top of her head as she fumbled with the keys to her office while balancing an iPad tucked under her arm. Even from a distance, I could see the bags under her eyes that mirrored mine, the slump in her shoulders that reminded me of the pain I’d caused her.
When the door clicked open, she sighed, and glanced down the hall.
She froze when she saw me.
The burning pain in my chest was like experiencing every tackle I’d ever been victim of all at once. It was bone-crushing and soul-stealing, and yet I took every horrendous second of it so I could stare at her a little longer.
She opened her mouth and took a minute step toward me, but then stopped, clamping her lips together again.
And then she ducked into the office, slamming the door behind her.
Giana
“You know I hate to see you like this,” Dad said, sipping his bourbon as I used my fork to push the salad around on my plate. I thought by at least moving it a little, it would look like I’d eaten some, but the heap of soggy arugula staring up at me begged to differ.
I released my grip on the utensil, sitting back in my booth on a defeated sigh. “I know. I’m sorry, Dad.”
“I don’t want you to be sorry about what you’re feeling. I want you to talk to me about it so we can figure out if there’s a way to fix what’s hurting you.”