Chapter 4
Chapter Four
NOAH
JULY
How a team performs in the red zone will make or break them.
It’s where the biggest decisions and the biggest mistakes are made.
Slinging it from the twenty-yard line of your opponent’s end zone is either high scoring or high turnover.
You can walk away with a touchdown or screw it up and give the other team a safety.
That’s why we practice red zone drills—specific plays to manage our time starting off at the twenty-yard line.
Under a partly cloudy sky we walk through shoot routes with the corner over the top. I run a deep out route, and we practice them against different possible zone defenses.
Wyatt saunters over to me. “We look good this season.”
I nod as I watch Wyatt, our defensive lineman, slide through the cracks in the defensive line and run into the end zone.
“I agree. Wouldn’t it be crazy to win big in your first season here?
” I look over to him, using my hand to shield the sun from my eyes, but he doesn’t meet my gaze.
He just stands, hands on his hips, looking out at the other men on the field.
There’s a reservation to his face that I don’t understand.
He just came from Green Bay on a trade, and I feel like the team has been welcoming, but I get a sense that this team wasn’t what he wanted.
Like he’s making the best of the hand of cards he’s been dealt.
After our field time, Jaden lets loose a huge belch as we get dressed in the locker room.
Man, it’s good to be back.
Sixty-five men are here fighting for a spot on the fifty-three-man roster.
Not me, thank God. I’m in the last year of my rookie contract.
Every time it’s a crazy three weeks. The most recent memories I have of the Houston Hurricanes’ facilities aren’t great.
They mostly involved ice baths and physical therapy.
A long summer of workouts with Colin, our quarterback and my best friend, have kept me in shape, but not game ready.
I stack my binders one on top of the other and shove them in my backpack. I’ll organize them later. I’m running late as it is.
On my way out of the building, I walk under the Hurricane chandelier.
Ninety-four, long glass poles hang from the tall ceiling over the main entrance.
Each pole represents a season of the Hurricanes, the year detailed on the bottom.
They’re color coded to the outcome of each season.
White for a winning season, navy for a losing season, and red for a Super Bowl year.
In nearly a century of football, only one red pole hangs.
I intend to change that this year. We’re ready.
I normally take my time leaving, stopping to chat with coaches and teammates, but I’ve got to get across town to catch one last yoga class before football is in full swing—before my contract says I can’t.
My regular attire is workout gear, so no need to change. I pull into the parking lot of Big Power Yoga and fling my door open. I grab my mat, towel, and water, and jog toward the door. I push through with my shoulder, my mind solely on making it up the stairs in time.
Putting one foot through the door, I hear a surprised oomph, followed by the sound of the door hitting something. Full contact is kind of my deal, but this isn’t good. I glance up, an apology on the tip of my tongue, and I’m shocked.
Staring back at me, pain etched on her face, is Audrey.
And she has her hands over her nose. She looks up at me and my heart sinks in my chest. Her beautiful brown eyes are wide with shock, and I feel like the world’s biggest asshole.
“Oh my God! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” I put my hands on her shoulders in an attempt to steady her.
I realize this is kind of intimate for two people who simply exist around each other, but never speak.
I’m afraid she’s going to cry or hit me back.
“I was in a rush, and I wasn’t paying attention! ”
“It’s not that bad.” She touches gingerly around her nose. “It doesn’t feel broken.”
“You should still go to urgent care and have them look at it. I could take you if you need a ride?”
“I’m good,” she says but her eyes are watering. She takes her hand away from her face for a second and small drops of blood splatter on her palms. “But there is one teensy problem.”
I’m hovering. I’m totally hovering, but I can’t help it.
My body is coiled with tension and ready to jump into action for whatever she needs.
Anything to assuage this guilt building in my chest. “What?” My eyes are solely focused on her.
I notice her gaze is a little hazy, like she can’t fully see me standing in front of her.
I put my hands under her elbows for support.
“Blood makes me pass out.” And then she’s gone.
Unconscious.
I knocked her out.
Well, I didn’t. The blood did. But I caused the blood!
This normally poised woman is in a heap in my arms, and I hover, knees bent, above the floor.
Bearing her weight, I move my legs out from under me and sit on my butt.
I do my best not to jostle her, fearing I’ll make things worse.
Her head is in my lap, and though everyone is buzzing around me, I can’t help but take in the delicate details of her face.
Tousled brown hair, still damp with sweat.
The gentle slope of her nose. Even the bow of her upper lip isn’t sharp.
It’s delicate. And looking at it this close, like a true creep, I wonder how it tastes.
A little line of blood trickles out of her nose.
“I need a napkin or a tissue,” I call to anyone who is listening. I don’t mean to bark orders but there’s an unconscious woman in my arms. A yoga teacher rushes over with a tissue and a pamphlet that details all the different ways to purchase classes and fans her with it.
I wait one second.
Two.
Three.
Finally, her eyes flutter.
I breathe a sigh of relief. I had no idea I was literally frozen in place waiting for her to come back.
To look up at me with her brown eyes, which are the softest color rather than rich like chocolate.
“Audrey, can you hear me?” Something like mmmurrmmm comes out of her mouth. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
I hold the tissues to her face. Thankfully, the blood has already stopped.
“We’re going to sit you on the bench,” I tell her as I place my other hand under her knees and lift her into my arms. She’s so light even though she’s leaning her full weight into me.
Curling up against me like she can’t help curving into my chest. When she’s safely deposited on the bench and has a cup of cool water in her hands to sip on, I slide in next to her.
Her delicate pink lips touch the cup as she tips a little sip of water into her mouth.
“I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I did that.
I was in a rush. I wasn’t looking where I was going. ”
“I’m fine,” she says, but her laugh is breathless, and she squeezes her eyes shut as another wave of dizziness hits her. I move to kneel in front of her, worried she’ll go out again and tumble forward.
“Let me make it up to you. Please. Anything you want. Coffee? Do you drink coffee? Of course you do, everyone does.” I pause and think.
“Is this worth more than coffee? Dinner?” I’m frantically trying to come up with a fair way to make this up to her.
If she doesn’t accept me—I mean my apology—I’ll be condemned to live with this horrible feeling for the rest of my life.
“It’s really not necessary. That could have been anyone.” But it happened to her.
“You’ll make me feel so much better if you let me do this for you. Really, you’d be helping me.”
She looks around us; there’s at least five people standing in a tight circle seeing what all the commotion is about. She looks back at me, this time her eyes are guarded again. “I promise, it’s okay.”
My brain is mush and I’m scrambling for something—anything to make this better. “Please just take my number. If you do go to the doctor, send me the bill. I want to pay for it. It’s all my fault.”
“You really don’t have to—”
“Please,” I beg. And she must read something on my face that says I’m sincere because she holds her phone out to me and I quickly put my number in and save it.
She looks at the new contact and then looks back at me like she’s trying to match the name to the face.
I realize that while I’ve been flirting with her from afar, we’ve never been formally introduced.
I hold my hand out for her to shake. “Noah Fox.”
A shy smile splits her lips even though she does her best to tame it, but she takes my hand anyway. Her palm is a little sweaty, but I would never hold it against her. “Audrey Dupree. Nice to finally meet you.”