Don’t Crosse the Line

Chapter 1

BURTON

Some days are better than others, and this one, well, it didn’t go my way.

Every move I tried to pull during my box lacrosse game seemed like I was moving through Jell-O, but that was mild compared to my serving shift at Vincenzo’s Italian restaurant. I bumped into Joe while he was holding an entire tray of drinks, which spilled all over a table of customers.

I still feel horrible about it. No one wants to come in for a nice meal and get a sticky shower.

I blow out a breath as I take off my black shirt, setting it on the bathroom countertop. The five o’clock shadow is more like a nine o’clock beard, so I pick up my razor and start shaving. I’m hoping this and a shower will leech all the memories from my mind.

I hate not playing my best or serving my best, because then I question everything.

I’m a twenty-eight-year-old who plays professional lacrosse, but I have to supplement what I make from that with the tips I get from being a server. I share a house with three of my field lacrosse teammates and drive an old, rusty truck that’s been with me since I got my license.

Putting that all on paper makes me wonder. Should I quit playing lacrosse and get an actual job?

I shudder even to think that. There’s a number two at the beginning of my age, which means I can still play. Sure, some of the young guns are faster, but I’ve got experience on my side. I hope that’s enough for the upcoming outdoor season.

Then again, between playing for the Salt Lake Lancers Lacrosse Club and the RoughRiders box lacrosse team, serving at Vincenzo’s allows me the freedom to do what I want and still live a decent life.

I’ve been saving up for a while now, and maybe in the next five years I’ll be able to own a home.

That is if the interest rates don’t keep skyrocketing.

Maybe it’s just my dad’s words coming back to haunt me. He’s always wanted me to be an accountant like him to “take over the family business.”

I would rather die.

Okay, yeah, that’s extreme, but I need people in my life, not spreadsheets.

“We’re getting ready to play a board game, Burton,” my roommate Stack calls through the closed door. “You in?”

I love board games, especially ones that involve more than a casual roll of the dice. The strategy and suspense of games like Catan, with the extensions, Risk, and Talisman gives me a smaller dose of adrenaline compared to when I’m out on the field.

I’m not sure I’m up to my full mental potential right now.

“I might come and watch you in a few, but I need to take a shower.”

Yep, in my free time I enjoy playing board games and listening to songs about love.

Not because I want to be in love, because there’s a lot of commitment that comes from something like that.

They just have a way of helping me relax.

Tell me Whitney Houston and Celine Dion don’t make you feel invincible.

I can belt them in my off-key bass and feel like anything is possible.

“Okay, well, good luck in there. I’m excited to hear your rendition of ‘It’s in His Kiss.’”

If I were in any other mood, I would’ve opened the door and knocked out his front teeth, but I’m too tired for that.

I shower and get dressed, my movements slow. My stomach growls, but I just ate a whole plate of fettuccine at the restaurant two hours ago. Maybe I should curl up and sleep the night away.

Instead, I walk out and grab a bowl of cereal and a protein shake. I sit at the far end of the table, away from the board game. Since most of them are mine, I don’t want to get them sticky, which is why there are some serious rules when using these games.

“Am I able to build a road when it’s not my turn?” Jackson asks. He’s the youngest on the Lancers, and while he’s got some amazing stick skills, I don’t think his brain is always firing on all cylinders.

I shake my head, chewing the marshmallows in the cereal and swallowing.

“It has to be on your turn. And you can’t negotiate unless it’s your turn or someone is negotiating with you and it’s their turn.

” I’ve explained the rules of Catan at least ten times to him, but we have a lot of the same conversations every time we play.

Jackson nods, his eyes wide, as if this is the first time he’s heard this information. Maybe I need to add some lacrosse analogies in there to make it sink in for him.

I glance at the board and shake my head. Finny is going to kill Stack and Jackson. He’s lined up his houses and roads near all the brick and log cards, which means the other two will have to barter with him to build anything. It’s probably good I didn’t join the game this time.

“Where’s Clark?” I ask. He’s the captain of our team, our landlord, and one of my best friends since I moved to Utah three years ago. I haven’t seen him in a few days, but that could be because his fiancée lives across the road and I’ve been working like crazy.

“Is he with Jessa?” Jackson asks.

Stack holds up his phone. “He sent a message in the roommate chat a while ago. His plane got delayed, but he should get in soon.”

“Does he need a ride from the airport?” I ask before taking another bite.

I’m not the best at checking my phone for texts at night.

There’s no reason to when I don’t have a girlfriend or know of many people who need something this late.

Most of the people I’m close with are the ones I live with, and a face-to-face conversation is easier.

Stack shakes his head. “No. Jessa is close already, so she’ll bring him home.”

“I don’t know why they don’t just get married already,” Finny says. “I mean, we’ve hardly seen him since he proposed a few months ago.”

“Well, some people take years to plan their weddings,” I say, pointing my empty spoon at Finny.

“True, but it would be easier if they lived together,” he says.

I raise an eyebrow. “As opposed to across the road from each other?”

Jackson looks at me with a frown. “What’s wrong with you today? I thought you were excited for them to get married.”

I frown and say, “Absolutely. Clark and Jessa will be a power couple. I’m just saying that whether they live in the same house or across the road doesn’t make much of a difference right now.”

“So why the attitude?” Stack asks, staring at me.

“It’s been a long day. Are we ready for the first week of practice?” I ask, hoping to change the subject. We’re not far away from the first practice for the Lancers.

The months have passed so quickly that our last season game feels like it was only weeks ago, not months. It’s almost like Groundhog Day, but better because there’s lacrosse involved.

Stack frowns. “We’ve still got the weekend. Are you done with box lacrosse yet?”

Shaking my head, I say, “RoughRiders, yes. Rec league box lacrosse, no. We have two more games to go.”

“What about the playoffs?” Jackson asks, handing two cards to Stack to build a road.

“We didn’t make it. But that’s good, because now I can transition to the field. I need to get on the turf soon.”

Finny leans back and opens the window. “I don’t know if we’ll be playing as soon as we think. Last week’s storm dumped two feet of snow, and it’s been too cold to melt ever since.”

I nod, seeing the small outline of a pile of snow in the dark yard. “The forecast says it’ll warm up. But I don’t think Coach Martin is going to go easy on us for the first week.”

“You think we’ll have to practice in the snow?” Jackson asks with wide eyes.

The three of us nod. “They won’t call the game if it snows,” Finny says.

I’ve already run some of the challenge workouts in the last few days that Coach Martin might have us do. Might as well prepare as much as I can, or else life is going to be rough on the field.

After our heartbreaking loss to the Rattlers last season, I’m making sure I put in the extra work to ensure we can go all the way this season.

My shoulders are finally getting used to shooting several hundred shots a day, and I even think I’m getting a little better.

I mean, I hope I am, even if the progress is small.

I joined the box lacrosse team this year, which is indoor lacrosse but more brutal. In regular lacrosse, we can hit the other team with our sticks. In box, it’s like an annihilation.

I’ve seen changes in some of my skills, though, and as hard as it is to come home with a ton of bruises, I’m grateful for everything it’s taught me, allowing me to elevate my overall abilities. There’s still a lot left in the tank.

“What do you think we’ll have to do?” Jackson asks.

“Probably Brownies,” Stack says.

Jackson frowns. “What’s that? Please tell me we don’t have to actually bake things.”

This will be Jackson’s second year on the team after being traded here a few weeks into last season, so he missed that rough test.

“It’s when you do a ladder on the field. Run and touch a line, come back, go to the next, and so on.”

Shrugging, Jackson says, “That won’t be too bad, right? I mean, how many lines are on our field, anyway? Like six?”

I blow out a breath and shake my head. “No, we’ll go to a football field for this one. Or he’ll just set up a lot more cones on our field to make sure we get the whole thing in the torturous conditioning. Or Coach will pull out a new drill just to make sure we’ve kept up with our training.”

Jackson looks nervous. “Like what?”

We sit in silence for a few moments and then I finally say, “I could see him making us do timed wind sprints.”

Finny shudders. “That’s the worst. I’d rather run Brownies than do anything timed.”

“How much time will we have?” Jackson looks like he’s going to throw up.

“As long as you’ve been conditioning, these drills should be doable,” Stack says.

Maybe it’s just that his freshman season went really well, and he doesn’t think he needs to worry that he’s put off the conditioning sessions Coach sent out a month ago. He’s got a few days to catch up on as much as his body can handle, or Coach will see it right from the beginning.