Chapter 22 Oliver #2
I put my pre-game playlist on but this time with a smile. She reached out first. She let me know in her way that she cared about me, and I was fucking glad.
Warm-ups were clean. My body felt aligned, responsive, smooth. Not tight like last week. I hit all the mobility drills without pain. Even Ivy nodded at my range-of-motion numbers with quiet approval.
First quarter kicked off fast. We put together a drive right away—seven plays, three runs by me, and a clean pass from Quinn to Jordan. We made it into the red zone but stalled at the six. Field goal.
They scored on the next possession. Our defense got caught on a blown assignment, and I could feel the shift in energy from the sideline.
Second quarter, we adjusted. I broke off a 21-yard run and took another screen pass to midfield.
Quinn found Ty on a slant, and we scored on a fade.
I stayed steady. Focused. Every time I exhaled, I thought about Sloane’s hand on my thigh, her laugh in the morning, her voice in my ear.
I’d glance over at her, and she’d be watching me, a small smile on her face.
That smirk was enough to make me feel like I could fly.
Halftime came. The score was close. The locker room was tight but collected. Booth was direct and clipped. Quinn nodded along, already locked into adjustments.
Third quarter dragged. Their defense adjusted to our gaps, and we couldn’t move the ball. I picked up a couple of solid gains, but we never broke through. Penalties killed us. Jordan got flagged on a block that nullified my best run of the day.
Fourth quarter, we had a chance. One possession, two minutes. I broke a six-yard gain and got out of bounds. Quinn scrambled on third and four but got sacked on the next play. We punted with one time-out and less than a minute.
We lost.
The locker room felt like it had no oxygen.
No one spoke for a full minute after we came in. Cleats scraped against the tile, and pads hit the floor. The silence was louder than any post-win celebration I’d ever been part of. My jersey stuck to my chest, soaked in sweat, and I peeled it off without looking at anyone.
Quinn was the first to crack. “Fuck.” He ripped off his gloves and threw them hard into his locker. “That pick was on me. That timing was on me. That’s not how I should’ve read the route.”
“Don’t,” Jordan said, pulling off his own pads. “It wasn’t you. I missed my block on third and long. Cost us a conversion.”
“It was all of us,” Ty added from the bench. His head hung low, towel over the back of his neck. “We didn’t have it today.”
Booth stepped into the middle of the room, arms crossed over his chest. His voice was calm but firm. “You all know what this is. Losses are part of the season. This one stings, but it’s not the end. We learn from it. You watch the tape, you own your part, and we move forward.”
The room stayed heavy, but we nodded.
I sat down slowly, keeping my breathing even. I felt good—physically. My legs had held. My chest was steady. My vitals hadn’t flared once. But the L still sat like a stone in my stomach. I played clean. Hard. Made the right reads. And we still lost. I hated that I couldn’t fix it alone.
“You okay?” Noah sat next to me, still dripping sweat. “You looked solid out there tonight.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Just… wish it was enough to win.”
“You looked like yourself again.” He nudged my shoulder, leaning into me a beat. “I’m fucking worn out. I hate games on the road. I never sleep well in a hotel.”
I nodded, but the ache behind my ribs stayed.
I glanced around the room—guys icing ankles, heads bowed, quiet hum of the showers turning on.
Ivy was near the back with her med kit, and Sloane was nowhere in sight.
It wasn’t uncommon for her to wait elsewhere, but I’d gotten so used to her being around the coaching staff, and I wanted to see her.
I reached for my phone to check for messages. Nothing. I fired off a quick. Hey, you okay?
Booth clapped his hands once. “You’ve got ten minutes, then it’s on the bus. We’re wheels up by ten. Don’t drag your feet. I want you rested and recovered.”
I stood and began stripping off the rest of my gear, going through the motions like I’d done a thousand times before. My body felt strong. My legs were good. My mind was steady.
But it still wasn’t enough, and I couldn’t shake the fact that Sloane wasn’t here.
On the plane, I kept checking the headcount. Players loaded. Coaches. Staff. But I didn’t hadn’t seen her, not since the game ended. Worry twisted in my gut—had something happened to her? Why the fuck were Mac and Booth and Ivy looking normal? Weren’t they worried?
“Ivy,” I said, getting up from my seat and approaching her. Her eyes narrowed, but she removed her headphones. “Where is Sloane?”
My friend blinked, suspicion growing there before she clicked her tongue. “Family business, she’s staying an extra day or two. Mac approved it, plus with the shit with Hayes, figured it’d be good for her to get away a bit.”
Disappointment gutted me. She was staying in Los Angeles. She never once mentioned it to me. Could have said it earlier, while in bed, but no. My jaw clenched, and I nodded at Ivy, more than annoyed at Sloane.
Family business…what fucking family business? She didn’t have a good relationship with them. I grabbed my phone, immediately finding our thread.
Sloane: Yes, I’m okay!! I tried sending a message, but it never went through with bad service. I’m so sorry!
Oliver: Why are you staying back? Couldn’t share that with me?
Sloane: I’m sorry, Oliver. It came up suddenly. It’s… about my family. I…I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise.
Three dots showed up, then disappeared. Then again and again. But that was it.
I wanted to toss my damn phone out the window. What about her family? What if she needed something? What it she was hurt?
I sat back in my seat, staring at the screen. Everything had felt clear this morning. Now it didn’t feel like anything was certain.