Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Tonight determines it all. If we win, we clinch our spot in the playoffs, and I might just gain myself another chance.
We lose, and this is it. This game, right here, might very well be the last I play because scouted or not, there is never a guarantee when it comes to draft day.
I just wish my girl were here, if only so I could look up at her when I need to feel grounded, like right now, with the athletic trainer leaning over me, taping up my wrist and fingers into something that resembles a cast, my pinkie to middle finger all wrapped together and sticking straight out. Thankfully we had a bye last week that meant I got to rest up, so this game will be my first on the field since I walked off it the night the scouts came to see me.
I’ve been a little off my game at practice these last few weeks, but not enough that anyone else has noticed.
Even if she can’t be here, I’m happy to know Paige is in my hometown with the rest of the girls, keeping my dad company and getting to know all our parents better. When Mason first suggested to Payton that she and the others should go, take the baby home for the holiday to visit his grandparents, she flat out refused. She said four days was too long to be away, and I had to agree. But it made no sense for them to stay behind on campus when we wouldn’t be there anyway, and that was the exact point that won her over. They left Wednesday after she got off work and they won’t be back until Sunday afternoon.
As for us, we spent most of Thursday, Thanksgiving Day, on a bus, and our game tonight is a late one. We’ll be playing primetime at 7:00 p.m., under the bright lights of our opponents’ stadium, and the family back home will get to watch the broadcast live.
I was able to talk to her earlier this afternoon, though, and there’s nothing quite like listening to her soft, sweet voice wishing me luck. Yet somehow my day was made even better when my dad’s smiling face popped up over her shoulder. It was a damn good thing to see, considering the way he looked when he left a couple weeks ago.
If I can’t be with her and I can’t be with him for the holiday, I’m glad they can be with each other. The crazy thing is, I didn’t even suggest it. She called me herself, wondering if it would be all right if she asked to stay with him instead of in Cam’s parents’ spare room, and to make it even better, she invited her grandfather to join them.
I can only hope it’s a sign of years to come and what our holidays might look like.
As a family for real.
A grin tugs at my mouth and something lands in my lap.
I look from the protein bar to the man who threw it.
“Tonight’s the one.” Brady grins. “The comeback kid.”
“Yes, sir,” I force myself to say, when what I’m really thinking is there should be no comeback. I shouldn’t have fallen off to have anything to come back from, but that’s just my inner bullshit talking.
Brady means no harm, the opposite, in fact.
I go to tear open the protein bar, but it slips from my hand and I frown, closing my good first around it as I clench my jaw, my fingers working slower than they should.
Just as they have been.
Ignoring yet another sign that something is wrong, I let it fall to my lap, pretending everything is fine.
The kickoff team jogs off the field and Brady tugs his helmet over his head, his grin so damn wide, it makes me chuckle.
“See you on the flip side, my boy!” he shouts and then he’s gone.
The athletic trainer flips my palm, double-checking his tape work and, with a single nod, moves to help someone else.
I stand, pulling my helmet on, and move to stand right beside my coach, silently letting him know I’m ready.
He cuts me one side glance, his eyes sharp and assessing. “We need this win.” Four words are all he speaks, but with them he is saying so much more.
That he wants me to go out there and perform. Guess he has noticed I’m not at my best.
If I do fuck up, I’m out because this win is necessary.
I give him a single curt nod and we both face forward.
He doesn’t put me in in the first quarter, the game plan revolving around a slow grind down the field. It’s near the end of the second quarter, the ball having just been turned over at the fifty, when he shoves me onto the field, but my legs are almost too numb to carry me.