Chapter 23
I should not be thinking about diapers during football practice.
Nolan
“Good practice,” Gage says as we walk off the field.
He pats me on the shoulder and I try not to wince. My shoulder is on fire after today’s training and practice. I need ice and another appointment with the physical therapist as soon as possible.
I also need to check on Terri and make sure she’s doing okay. She didn’t throw up this morning – she says – but I need to check to make sure. She hates admitting when she’s weak. I’ll message her once I’m back in the locker room.
Tanner puffs out his chest. “I made him look good.”
“Does Alaia know you dance like a chicken without legs every time you catch a ball?”
He waggles his eyebrows. “Alaia thinks I’m sexy when I dance.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I thought your relationship was fake.”
“Fake or not, at least I’m not in a ‘friendship situation’ with the woman I want.” He points to Gage.
Gage shrugs off his comment. “Addy wants me. But she’s scared of a relationship. I’ll change her mind.”
Sounds familiar.
Tanner points to Brock. “Someone else is scared of a relationship.”
“I’m not scared,” Brock says, but everyone knows he’s lying.
I don’t blame him for being cautious. The way the mother of Jace left him had to create scars. Terri carries similar scars. Except hers are from her mom leaving her. Her scars run deep. I don’t blame her for being cautious with me. But it won’t stop me from caring for her and our child.
Corbin grunts. “You’re throwing behind me again.”
Tanner rolls his eyes. “You can’t blame Nolan for catching a pass awkwardly.”
Except he can since my shoulder is causing me to throw too high.
“I’ll work on it,” I say instead of admitting my injury is acting up.
I was supposed to be healed by now. The injury happened in January.
It’s nearly August. But I don’t feel as if my injury is healing at all.
My shoulder still burns with every pass I throw.
Is it not going to get better? And what the hell am I going to do if it doesn’t?
I’m not missing the season and a possible trip to the Super Bowl because of an injury.
I switch those thoughts off. My shoulder will get better. I will lead this team to the Super Bowl this season.
“Ignore him,” Tanner says. “He’s grumpy because he’s pining after his landlady.”
Corbin growls at Tanner. “We are not discussing Siena.”
Tanner bats his eyelashes. “It’s okay, Corbin. We’ve all been rejected before. I mean. I haven’t. But everyone else has.” He points at me. “Ask Nolan. Terri couldn’t run away from him fast enough when he hit on her our first night on Smuggler’s Hideaway.”
He has no idea what happened between me and Terri that night. How we accidentally created our little mermaid in a closet. I frown. I don’t want our child to think she’s a mistake. She’s not an accident. She’s the best damn thing to happen to me. Her and her mom are.
Tanner throws an arm around my shoulders. “It’s okay, big guy. We’ll find you another woman. Alaia has lots of friends.”
I elbow him away. “I don’t want any of Alaia’s friends.” I want Terri.
We reach the locker room. I collapse on a bench to remove my shoes. Bending over has my shoulder screaming in pain again. Shit. This isn’t funny anymore.
“Allen!” Coach Wilson shouts. “Keep those on.”
Fuck. Does he want me back on the field for more practice? I don’t know how much more my shoulder can take before I have to admit I’m not healing the way I expected.
“What’s up?”
“Need your help.”
I stand. “What do you need?” I’m the leader of this team. If he needs my help, I’m there. Pain in my shoulder or not.
He motions me into the hallway.
I notice Coach Knox studying me from his office as I walk out of the locker room. I duck my chin and avoid his gaze. He sees too much. Will he bench me this season?
“Beck is struggling,” Coach Wilson tells me once we’re alone. “He’s not responding to my coaching. Can you help him out?”
“No problem.”
“Thanks.” He claps me on the shoulder. “He’s on the field.”
I ignore the wince in my shoulder and make my way back to the field.
Beck stands alone near the far hash marks when I return to the field. Sweat darkens the back of his shirt, and frustration rolls off him in waves. A pile of footballs rests near his feet. Judging by the scattered balls around the field, none of them landed where he wanted.
He spots me approaching and grimaces. “Coach Wilson send you to fix me?”
I snort. “You’re a rookie quarterback. Nobody can fix you in one practice.”
His shoulders loosen slightly. “Good. Because if he tells me to ‘trust my mechanics’ one more time, I’m going to drown my sorrows at the Bootlegger bar.”
“Bad idea. The women at Mermaid Karaoke are maneaters.”
A reluctant laugh escapes him.
I grab a football from the pile and spin it in my hands. “What’s happening?”
“My timing’s off.” He gestures helplessly. “Everything feels rushed. I know the reads in the classroom, but once I’m out here…I hesitate.”
Because he’s thinking instead of reacting. It happens to every rookie quarterback. Hell, it happened to me.
“Drop back,” I tell him.
He squares his shoulders and takes the snap from an imaginary center. His feet are quick but jerky. His shoulders tighten before he throws. The pass sails high and left.
“Again.”
He repeats the motion. Same result.
I nod slowly. “You’re overstriding.”
His brow wrinkles. “What?”
“You’re trying to throw hard instead of throw clean.” I point toward his front foot. “Your stride’s too long. It’s pulling your shoulders open early.”
He stares at me. “Coach Wilson said almost the exact same thing.”
“Yeah, but I’m prettier.”
He barks out a laugh.
I step beside him. “Shorten your base.” I tap his cleat lightly with mine. “Stay balanced. Quarterbacking isn’t about throwing the hardest. It’s rhythm. Timing. Trusting your body.”
Trusting your body. The words hit me harder than they should. Because I don’t trust mine anymore. Not my shoulder. Not after the playoff game. Not after months of pain that refuses to disappear.
I shove the thought away and focus on Beck.
“Again,” I say.
This time he shortens his stride. The ball comes out cleaner. Tight spiral. Chest height.
“There you go. Feel the difference?”
His eyes light up. “Yeah.”
“Again.”
Three throws later, the panic has nearly left his face. His motion loosens. The ball snaps from his hand instead of floating.
“Quarterbacks get in their own heads. You miss a throw and suddenly you start dissecting every movement instead of playing football.”
Beck nods. “Exactly.”
I stare downfield. “You can’t play scared.”
Which is funny coming from me considering I’m terrified every time pain shoots through my shoulder. I’m absolutely terrified the next throw will be the one my arm can’t recover from.
Beck tosses me the football. “How do you stay calm?”
I catch it one-handed. “You don’t.”
He quirks a brow.
“You learn to play through the noise.” I shrug. “Pressure. Fear. Expectations. It’s all still there. But you have to let it stop controlling your feet.”
Beck studies me for a moment before nodding.
“Again,” I tell him.
We throw for another twenty minutes. By the end, Beck’s passes are sharper, and his confidence is back.
Coach Wilson watches from the sideline with narrowed eyes. “What’d you do?”
“Told him to stop thinking so much.”
Wilson snorts. “You should try taking your own advice sometime.”
I open my mouth with a smartass response ready, but it dies before I can say it. Because for the first time since the injury, something shifts inside me. My shoulder may not survive football forever.
But standing out here helping Beck? Watching the game click for him? Watching confidence replace panic?
That felt good too. Maybe terrifyingly good. Maybe my career isn’t over if my shoulder doesn’t recover. Maybe there’s a different path for me.
My gaze drifts to Beck still throwing balls in the field. Coaching? I never considered coaching as a possibility. I assumed I’d play ball until I was forty and then retire.
I’d find a woman and raise a family. I’d be a hands-on dad. Help with diapers and late night colic. Do school runs. Hell, maybe I’d even join the PTA.
But my timing’s off. Terri’s pregnant now. Our little mermaid can’t wait until it’s time for me to retire. I rotate my shoulder. Maybe retirement’s not the plan. Maybe there’s another option. One that includes me being around for the little mermaid. And for Terri.
With a start, I realize I want this family now. I don’t want to wait. I can’t wait. I can’t lose Terri. She’s my endgame.