Chapter 22 Too Far
Chapter twenty-two
Too Far
Shepherd Kingsley
The ball snaps into my hands. I grip it tight and float back, scanning for an opening.
I only have a few seconds before the other team’s defensive linemen are on me.
My guys are protecting me, but there’s only so much time they can give me.
I spot Zion in the far right corner. It would be a deep throw, but he’s wide open and could score if he catches it.
I rear back and launch the ball. It spirals through the air.
I hold my breath, watch, and wait. The entire stadium roars when Zion snatches it out of the sky.
He jukes the guy attempting to cover him, then runs it straight into the end zone.
“Yes!” I shout, throwing my hands up before jogging off the field. I meet Zion on the sidelines and we bump chests. “That’s what I’m talking about!”
We head to the bench in a sea of helmet slaps and back claps. The special teams squad goes out next to score the extra point. Owen kicks it straight down the middle. He’s been unstoppable his whole career. He’s never missed an extra point.
“My man!” I yell when he jogs over, then shake his shoulders. “Your leg is made of gold.”
He smirks behind his face mask, ever the reserved one between us two. “So is your arm,” he replies, barely heard over the screaming fans.
We’re at an away game up north this weekend, and the fans are passionate.
The autumn air nips at my skin every time a breeze rolls through.
It’s our first game not in the heat, and we’re having the time of our lives because of it.
Coach might have been onto something training us in hot weather so much.
Makes games like these feel like a cake walk.
Pennsylvania is a great team, but all of my guys are in sync tonight. It’s palpable. We’re going to win.
“Great job, Junior,” Coach says, gripping my shoulder pad. “Keep the energy. Don’t slow down just because we’re up.”
I bob my head. “Yes, Coach.”
The sting of the nickname hurts a little less with how well the game is going. And I’ll do just as he said. We won’t quit even if we’re up by three touchdowns. I play till the end. Always.
I turn my attention to our defense, who are working hard to keep Pennsylvania back.
Pennsylvania’s quarterback throws the ball, and one of their receivers catches it.
The guy makes a run for it, coming close to where our cheer team is.
He ends up getting shoved out of bounds.
Hard. My stomach drops. I shove past a few of the guys, heart thundering in my chest. Because he didn’t just get pushed out of bounds; he got pushed into the cheerleaders.
Too far. I’m too far away from her to do anything.
As if I could if I were closer. The guy stands and immediately helps Jasmine and the other girl he plowed into.
Jasmine took the brunt of the hit from what I could tell, and one of her coaches runs over to help her toward the tunnel.
She limps a little but seems all right. Within seconds, the defense is back on the field, and I need to be focused.
I can’t go after her. I have to be here and zoned in.
“She okay?” Owen asks in a low voice when I come back to the bench.
I give a quick jerk of my head in response. Though it kills me, I keep my mind on the game. First, I’ll win. Then I’ll check on Jasmine. She’s okay, I coach myself through the ache in my stomach. She was walking. She’ll be fine.
We won the game. I celebrate with my guys and smile through Coach’s speech about pushing for the Championship, but inside all I can think about is checking on Jasmine. As soon as we’re dismissed to shower before interviews, I grab my phone and text her.
Shepherd: Hey, are you alright? That hit looked pretty rough.
I jump in the shower while I wait for her to message back. I won’t have long before I have to be in the press room, but it’ll be nice to hear from her if she messages back before then. Once I’m dressed in a Thrashers sweatshirt and joggers, I check my phone again, relieved when I see she responded.
Jasmine: I’ll probably have a few bruises, but I’m okay. Hazard of the job…wait, I don’t get paid. Remind me why I do this again?
I chuckle at her reply.
Shepherd: Because you love watching me play?
Jasmine: I spend most of my time facing the crowd. Hence the getting tackled from behind by a mammoth.
I swipe a hand over my grin.
Shepherd: Then I’ve got nothing.
Jasmine: Looks like I have to quit.
Shepherd: What a shame. At least you’ll have more time to cook for me, though.
Jasmine: I have not, nor will I ever, cook for you.
“Kingsley, we need you in the press room!” Baron, one of the assistant coaches, shouts from the entrance of the locker room.
“Coming!” I yell back.
Shepherd: I gotta go talk to the press. Glad you’re okay, Chef.
Her reply is fast. I read it while walking to the door.
Jasmine: NOT a chef.
Shepherd: Yet.
I tuck my phone back in my pocket before I get sucked in by her reply. I’d much rather talk to Jasmine than the media. But at least I got to make sure she was fine before facing the pack of hungry vultures that awaits me.
I follow Baron down the hall and into the room. Cameras flash. My smile comes easy in spite of the tension in my chest. We won by a landslide, and Jasmine is okay. Nothing can take those two things away.
“Shepherd, how did it feel to play up north versus down in Georgia? Did the weather affect your throwing arm at all?” A woman in a black dress stands at the front of the room with a microphone.
“After training in the heat, this felt like a vacation,” I answer, earning a few laughs. “It wasn’t cold enough to affect my arm, no.”
“Kinglsey,” a different reporter calls out, getting my attention. “Pennsylvania is known for their defense. Did you do anything particular to prepare for going up against it?”
“They were tough to go against. Pennsylvania in general is a great team, but so are we. My guys have put in the work, and they did great handling every situation that came their way. Shout-out to my boy Zion who caught that incredible pass before halftime. That gave us a lot of momentum.” I smile, happy to give my friends the recognition they deserve.
“Great game out there, Shepherd. The Thrashers have played against Pennsylvania many times over the years. The rivalry is always fun to see. Your brother, Jason, holds the record of passing yards in Pennsylvania’s stadium.
You came a yard short tonight. How do you think Thanksgiving is going to go this year?
” The reporter laughs at the end of the question, and I fight to keep my smile from dropping.
My jaw clenches. Why does everything go back to Jason? I wish I could just have a second to recognize the hard work my team and I put in. Even if they never complimented me, that would be okay. I just hate that Jason gets brought up in every postgame interview.
“Jason is a great player,” I say, “and of course we like to compete, but he’s always been a great support for me. If he’s not playing on Thanksgiving, maybe we’ll play a little backyard ball so I can show him who’s boss.”
The joke sounds flat and canned to me, but everyone in the room eats it up, laughing like I’m a famous stand-up comedian. My phone buzzes in my pocket, making me think of Jasmine. If I didn’t think Coach would wring my neck, I’d check my notifications under the table.
“Jack Gordon, you guys played a lot of man coverage tonight against some talented wide receivers. How were you able to handle that and keep their catches to a minimum?”
I breathe a little easier with the attention off me. Coach looks over and gives me a nod to dismiss me. I nod back, then get up and head out the room with measured steps so that I don’t look nervous or annoyed.
Once I’m free, I pull out my phone.
Jasmine: The press are all idiots. What was the point of that last question? You did great tonight, Captain. Don’t let them steal that away from you.
A smile stretches my lips.
Shepherd: Thanks. Though I don’t know how to feel about you calling them idiots when you called me one the other day.
I head down the hall, looking up occasionally to make sure I don’t run into anyone. People congratulate me as I pass by, but my focus is on the three little dots that tell me Jasmine is typing back.
Jasmine: You know I was just messing with you.
My grin widens.
Shepherd: Finally! She admits it! Should I go back in and alert the press?
Jasmine: Haha, very funny. This is why I’m not nice to you. It goes to your head.
I chuckle and look up just in time to not miss the door to the locker room. Instead of heading in to grab my duffel, though, I lean against the wall and text back. I don’t want the guys trying to snatch my phone or ask who I’m talking to.
Shepherd: It goes to my head because the occurrence is so rare.
Jasmine: Touché.
The door opens, and a couple of the guys walk up to me .
“There’s the man of the hour! You coming to the bus?” Pete asks.
I push off the wall. “Yeah, I’m coming. Just let me grab my bag.”
Though I want to keep texting, I slide my phone back into my pocket and head inside.
Maybe we’ll have more time to talk later.
Not that I should be looking forward to that.
I sigh as I heave my duffel bag onto my shoulder.
Spending all this time with Jasmine is like playing without a helmet.
Seems like fun until something goes wrong.
And I can’t afford for anything to go wrong.
However, I’ve also hung onto the phrase Coach Bash coined years ago. Worth the risk. And right now? Jasmine seems more than worth it.