Chapter 40 – RHETT
RHETT
I’ve been in the worst sort of mood all day.
There were reporters outside of Quinn’s house when I got home last night so I couldn’t go over and see her, and a few lingering about this morning when I left home.
I kept my head down, but one noticed me, so it’s only a matter of time before everyone knows I live up the street from Quinn.
Something we weren’t hiding but definitely weren’t advertising.
Russel doesn’t even know about it, but how long until he looks up her address and shows up at her door?
And what if I’m there when he does? He’s been all over her to hang out and spend time and chats her up on the field at practice and before games.
And every single time that happens, the press sees it.
They photograph or video it.
Then it’s all over the internet.
How can we ever come out as a couple when the world thinks she’s dating Russel?
I’ll be villainized. More than I already would be. And what happens to Quinn with that? It’ll put us in the spotlight, and neither of us wants that. So yeah, bad fucking mood.
My car had a flat tire that I had to change.
Then traffic was horrendous getting to the stadium due to an accident.
I didn’t see the accident, just some of the aftermath that was being cleaned up by the time I passed it.
I went searching for Quinn when I got here, but couldn’t find her, and it’s not as if I can ask if anyone’s seen her.
Two of our field iPads aren’t working.
Oh, and we’re down a touchdown leading into the half.
“What the hell is going on out there?” I bark to my stoic group of guys who have their heads down and towels over their heads. “Miami is a good team. We’re a great team. We’re smarter, faster, and more talented. There is absolutely no reason we should be down. What does that tell me?”
Now some of their heads are quirking up. I pace around in a circle in the center of the locker room as I talk.
“It tells me that this second half is ours. This is our house. No one comes into our house and beats us. Certainly not a team whose ass we should be kicking. I want tighter ball coverage. No one gets to Mason. There needs to be a fortress around him.” I point at two of my offensive linemen who allowed sacks.
“Our game plan is as it stands. We are running and throwing the ball equally. That means fucking blocking and finding holes, even if there’s no hole to be found.
That means sticking to our routes and beating out corners and safeties. Are you hearing me?”
“Yes, Coach,” they all chant out.
“Good. Because I want to see us roll over Miami!”
I clap my hands and go to the back area.
It’s against the NFL rules and regulations to use my phone during game hours, but for the first time in my career, I’m tempted to break the rules.
I still haven’t seen Quinn. She’s not on the field.
I thought she was coming today, but maybe they needed her at the hospital instead.
I don’t like that I haven’t seen or spoken to her. It’s filling me with a strange unease. A jittery feeling I can’t quite place or shake. I have to remind myself that if something were wrong, her brothers would know about it.
We head into the second half blazing, and I focus on the game, on my team, on my job, and not on the woman who makes me forget everything but her.
We tie it up in the third quarter and put up an incredible defensive stand to stop them from scoring again. The only problem is that we don’t score again either.
There are few things coaches hate more than overtime, and that’s where we’re headed.
We tell our players it’s a great test of our inner fortitude. Now it’s anyone’s game, and we can go out there and win it fast.
But heartbreak happens in overtime. Season moment swings do too.
One loss can disrupt everything and beat the heart out of you.
I walk over to the sideline where Mason and Crew are sitting. Russel is over to the side a bit, and I wave him in along with our two primary running backs and wide receivers.
“We’ve got ten minutes to do this,” I start, looking each player in the eye. “They won the kickoff and are getting the ball first. Good. I like that. Because when our defense stuffs them, then we’re going to go in and win this. I want good, clean, situational football.”
“You’ve got it, Coach,” Mason states emphatically.
I clap a hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad you said that because I want you to call the plays unless I or the offensive coordinator tells you otherwise. I want them on their toes and not knowing what to expect. You’re the leader of this team, Mason. Lead us to a victory.”
I get a firm nod with a slight smirk that tells me he’s happy I’m putting so much faith and trust in him, and I return to the sidelines.
Miami doesn’t score. We make them go three and out and punt the ball to us.
Mason and I exchange glances as he runs onto the field.
My pulse is thrumming in my neck as my body feeds me a steady dose of adrenaline.
It’s the high I love. But it’s moments like these that as a new coach, I’m terrified of.
Another loss is more than I can afford.
Except that’s not how this goes.
On the first fucking play, Mason calls an audible at the line, and I do everything I can to tuck in my smile. And my nerves.
Son of a bitch.
He calls “Hike” and everyone goes flying down the field. The defense didn’t see it coming. We were lined up for a screen pass and Mason is going deep instead.
He drops back and the offensive line does all they can to buy him as much time as possible. Then he lets it loose. A cannon of a ball that spirals perfectly through the air. For one tense minute, I don’t breathe. I stand here immobile, as does everyone on the sidelines.
Then boom! Crew catches it mid-stride and takes it right to the house for a touchdown.
I tend not to be an overly emotional guy on the sidelines.
I like to hold myself in. But there’s no holding this in.
It was a hell of a comeback win and something our team needed.
I jump up and down and smack Mason and Crew on the back of their helmets and asses as they come running to the sidelines.
The entire team is up, jumping, and excited. You can feel the vibe. The energy. Even Russel is cheering in a way I wasn’t expecting, considering Mason threw the ball to Crew and not him. But I don’t care, and I’m glad he doesn’t either.
Maybe he is learning that this is a team and a team is about all of us. Especially if it leads to a victory.
I walk over to him and grab his shoulder. “Hey,” I shout so he can hear me over the roar of the crowd. “Great work out there today.” It was. He caught six passes for a lot of yards and made some clutch blocks when we needed them.
“Thanks. It was definitely a great game for all of us.”
There’s something… funny in the way he says that. A strange gleam in his eyes, I don’t quite understand. Except I don’t have time to figure it out. Because Asher is on the field, but instead of smiling or congratulating us, he’s weeding through for Mason and Crew.
My heart rate picks up ten thousand beats, and I find myself drifting over so I can hear whatever it is he’s about to say to them.
I reach them in time to hear him say, “Accident. I don’t know all the details. She had surgery and is in the ICU. She’s still unconscious.”
Crew’s hands fly to the top of his head, and all the color has drained from his face. Mason is in no better shape.
My heart, which had been pounding so hard only a second ago, has stopped. My insides freeze over, and my vision sways as my hands start to shake.
Quinn. Jesus fuck. No.
That must have been the accident I passed on my way in. God. I wish I had known. I would have been with her.
“Why didn’t anyone tell us?” Mason barks, his voice cracking on the end.
A crowd has grown around us, including reporters. Quinn would hate that. She wouldn’t want anyone knowing her business, and I shift in front of the press, blocking their access to Mason, Crew, and Asher.
“Coach!”
I glare over my shoulder. “No. Be a human for once and go.”
I turn back around so I don’t miss anything.
“No one told me,” Asher explains. “I can’t have my phone either, remember? Braelyn called Sorel during overtime, and she came and told me.” He gulps, and his eyes go glassy. “Quinn made Braelyn promise not to tell us until after the game.”
“Of course she fucking did. Goddamn her!” Crew’s hands fall to his knees as he doubles over. “Is she going to be okay?”
“I don’t know,” Asher answers honestly. “Your mother and Sorel left immediately to go be with her, and I ordered a helicopter to come and take us to the hospital. It’ll be here in about ten minutes.”
“Go,” I tell them sharply. “Get your stuff and go to her. I’ll take care of everything else.”
They were all so wrapped up in Quinn that they hadn’t realized I was here or that anyone else was listening, for that matter.
I need to be with her too, but how can I be? I’m not hers even if she’s mine. Not really. Not in any way anyone knows about. I’m the coach. I have to do postgame stuff, and they need to be with her. She needs them too.
Then I’ll go. I’ll figure it out, but I have to see her.
Asher throws me a grateful nod I have no business being on the receiving end of.
The three of them run off to the locker room, and the rest of us trail behind.
We don’t answer sideline questions. I don’t even glance in the reporter’s direction again.
Russel comes in beside me, stoic with his head down, and everything inside me twists painfully.
“I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
“Let’s hope because I need her.”
“How do you mean you need her?” I press, furious by that and doing little to hide it. Quinn was in an accident and is unconscious in the ICU, and he’s thinking of himself.
“Quinn’s perfect, Dad. She’s exactly what I need. I can’t lose her. Not right now. Not when everything is finally starting to come back together.”
“Okay,” I drag out the word because that seems… off. Does he honestly think he has her? Is there more going on between them than she’s told me?
I can’t imagine that.
So what the hell is he talking about?
I give a yay, rah-rah speech to the team because even though it feels as though my world is falling apart and I’m terrified beyond rational thought, the team won and put in the work, especially the defense. I’m proud of them.
I go up to my office, shower and do everything in my power not to throw anything or punch a fist through the tile. I can’t handle the thought of losing her. Of her being hurt and scared, and I’m not there with her to hold her fucking hand.
It’s wrong.
My not being there with her is wrong.
But I can’t exactly go charging in either. Goddammit!
I get myself dressed and go down to the podium because that’s what I have to do. And I swear to fucking hell, if someone mentions Russel and Quinn, I’m going to lose my mind.
I love him, but he doesn’t deserve her. He doesn’t know her. Not anymore. I’m not sure he ever did. He doesn’t know her heart or her mind. The things that make her smile or laugh. He has no clue about her quirks or all the incredible things that make her Quinn.
I know those things.
They’re mine just like she is.
By some merciful saint, they don’t. They ask questions about the game and how I feel about it. Typical bullshit I can barely stomach but manage through.
I explain that Mason will not be speaking tonight due to a family emergency, ask for privacy and respect for the family, and head off the podium.
I climb in my car and grip the wheel for a very long minute. I can’t go home. She is my home. There’s no way I can go to my house. Not until I see her. Not until I know what’s going on.