15. Chapter 12
T he fuck is his problem if I took the year off? So what? Not like it mattered, I wasn’t planning on becoming a fucking superstar or whatever. Now it’s all Jax can talk about. How I could have gone pro, how I can still go pro.
“Jax,” my tone is warning. We’ve separated a little ways from the group, and I can’t take his yammering anymore.
“Sorry man, I just… I don’t get it,” he sighs and hangs his head, shaking his hair. “Wait,” he perks up and runs over to the rest of the guys, whom I assume are on the team. They talk and glance my way. When Jax turns around, he's smiling a ridiculous smile and walking over with the rest of them flanking him.
“The guys and I think you’d be a great asset to the team, so–”
“No.” It comes out sharper than I meant, but I don’t bother apologizing.
“If you’re half as good as Jax says you are, we really could use you on the team,” one of the bigger guys says from behind Jax.
“Yeah, our starting wide receiver graduated last year, and the one we have now got injured during the last game.” Another one says, and they all start in, murmuring their arguments.
Fucking hell.
“I’ll come to one practice,” I know if I don’t, Jax won’t shut the fuck up, and I can’t go another week with him like this. “One.”
Jax hoots and hollers, jumping up and down, slamming his hands down on my shoulders. The rest of them join in, and I start to wonder if they’re all freshmen like us or if they’ve been starting for a while.
The team isn’t half bad, with some improvements and switches, they could be really good. I’ve checked their stats.
“Tonight at six.”
Dressing in my workout gear, I side-eye Henry sitting at his desk. His back is facing me, and he refused to speak to me when he came in and I was at my desk on the computer. I didn’t want to speak to him either, especially after the last time we talked.
But the silence is weird, and I want to turn him around and scream at him or kiss him. I’m not sure which. I just know I hate silent Henry. It’s so much worse than when he yells at me or calls me out on my shit.
Rather than starting a fight with him just to feel something, I leave for the practice field for the second time today, and it’s like deja vu. Except this time, I’ve agreed to join. Though, I’m not sure I’m actually ready to step on a field yet.
Anxiety and fear fight for dominance in my mind, and I have to stop at the entrance to the practice field to steady myself. It’s only practice, and if I don’t like it, I won’t join the team. I repeat that mantra the whole walk up to where the guys are huddled stretching and shooting the shit.
Coach throws shoulder pads my way, then a helmet. “Heard you’re looking to join the team.”
“Maybe,” I shrug. Coach Cardson is a younger guy, probably not much older than my dad. Possibly even younger, with a permanent scowl and sun lines carved into his forehead.
A guy in the number four jersey calls for all the guys to gather around, and Coach eyes me expectantly. So I throw on the shoulder pads and carry the helmet with me over to the group. Jax tosses a practice jersey my way and shuffles over beside me.
“That’s Patterson, he’s our–”
“QB, I know,” I smirk in his direction, “I’m not so out of touch that I haven’t kept up with y’alls stats.”
“I knew he was still in there!” Jax pumps one arm in the air and says, “Patterson, this is Rossi. He’s going to be our new wide receiver.”
“I’m not–”
“Welcome, Rossi. Let’s see what you’ve got,” Patterson’s smile is vicious, but I can’t tell if he wants to test me or run me into the ground. The latter ignites a fire that I thought had long since burned out inside of my chest. “I don’t expect you to know our playbook, so just catch the ball, yeah?”
I nod. Challenge accepted.
My heart pumps as anticipation ramps up. The team splits into two with Jax on my side of the line and Patterson lining up with the center. He calls a play, and I analyze the movement of the players, watching for the right opening before taking off at a sprint that makes my chest hurt in a way that’s difficult to understand in its familiarity. I thought I’d lost my passion for the game, but my chest feels lighter somehow as if it only needed to be reminded.
The feel of cleats on my feet again, digging into the soft earth, propelling me faster and farther than I’ve dared to try in years. It’s almost enough to make me smile. Turning my head over my shoulder I see Patterson launch the ball in my direction. He’s overestimated my push, but I bolt, using all of the adrenaline I have to meet the ball before it lands.
With my arms outstretched, my fingers graze the ball before it falls to the ground, incomplete.
Bending over to catch my breath, I unclip the chin guard and pull my helmet off. I can see Jax coming my way out of the corner of my eye. He’s worried that one bad attempt will make me leave. That I’ll cut my losses and run, but the feeling of being on the field again with guys who love the sport as much as I do, makes me feel more human than I have in years.
Fucking finally.
“Let’s go again,” I tell him the second he opens his mouth.
Shoving my helmet back on, he pops it with his hand, screaming, “Let’s fuckin’ go!”
We line up again, and Patterson calls the play. I don’t wait this time, I take off, letting muscle memory kick in. It’s like my body was craving the push, the drive. This time, when Patterson releases the ball, I’m right where I need to be. The ball practically falls into my arms, and I run it down the field, passing the defense, which tries to take me down before I can reach the end zone.
“Fuck yeah!” I hear Jax scream, along with a few of the guys that I met earlier. They hoot and holler as my feet bring me to the end zone.
Complete.
Turning around, I see a few guys, along with Patterson, talking to Coach, and I suddenly find myself hoping they ask me to stay.
I don’t want to leave. Tonight was the most I’ve felt in a long time that wasn’t directly tied to Henry. Using him as a crutch to my grief should have never been an option.
Fern went through this when she lost her parents, both of them taken from her in their own home. Except she found their bodies, and that’s a scar that nothing can heal despite Creed wanting to make everything better for her. Fern didn’t use him to heal those wounds, but she wasn’t afraid of moving forward with her life after.
I can’t get the look on her face from dinner the other night out of my mind. Can’t shake the way it made my stomach clench in dread. I’ve seen that look too many times to ignore it. After warring with myself the whole way back to my dorm, through my shower, and while I painstakingly scrolled through streaming networks, I cracked open my computer.
Dad’s going to kill me, and if Creed finds out, he might too, but the not knowing is killing me, so I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.
My fingers fly over the keys, running codes that will allow me to find whatever was on Fern’s phone that made her so upset. I avoid her photos, camera, and social media, all of the things that I’ll regret looking at. Some things can’t be unseen.
Scrolling through her messages with unknown numbers, I lean back, letting out a harsh breath when I can’t find anything that would set off her reaction like that. Frustration starts to settle in when something flags my attention. A text that someone thought they buried, and I have a feeling I know exactly who it was.
The phone rings in my ear. Hopefully he’s awake, if not, I’ll call until he answers.
“Son,” Dad’s voice flows through my speakers. I can hear the clink of ice being dropped into a crystal glass.
“I know about Fern,” I tell him plainly.
He sighs on the other end, and liquid sloshes into the glass. “And what are you planning on doing with this information?”
“I want to make a deal.”