Page 30 of Fighting Fate

He pauses, then says, "Nah, I'm good. Just not feeling great."

I raise an eyebrow, but don't push. I nudge him. "Never pegged you as the midweek party type, especially with football and senior year."

He chuckles. "Not hungover, just exhausted. Coach's been drilling us hard, plus my classes are a beast this semester. Cut me some slack, will ya?"

His words seem to echo with a hidden depth, hinting at more than just fatigue. But I know Miles; he'll open up when he is ready. Until then, I'll simply be there, as I always have been.

I nod, understanding his unspoken message. "I get it, but remember..." I start, only to be momentarily distracted as a student bustles past us, interrupting our little world.

A brief, awkward silence falls between us. Eager to dispel the tension, I quickly add, "Just so you know, I'm here if you need anything."

Miles' response is a playful smirk. "Oh, really? In what way?" he jokes, his tone light. "I could use a good massage, right about here..." His hand starts to drift toward his inner thigh, a mischievous glint in his eye.

My eyes widen in mock horror.

A blush creeps up my cheeks. No way, not happening—my mind needs to be on dance, not on...other things. It feels like the universe should be sending me a lifeboat right about now. I hurriedly open the studio door, throwing a look over my shoulder. "Catch you later, Sunshine."

Miles winks back, unfazed by his own cheekiness. "See ya, Mills."

And there it is—Miles, the master of charm and flirtation, in all his glory.

Describing college football practices could only be summed up in one word: unbelievably gruesome. Growing up with a dad in the NFL, I witnessed the sport's physical demands from a very early age. I still vividly recall the sight of him returning home with bruises and cuts, struggling to walk after a brutal game. The intensity of it all was etched into my memory. Every season, my mother would urge him to hang up his cleats, but it wasn't until I hit rock bottom, battling cancer, that the gravity of sacrifice truly hit home.

During those dark times, when I wasn't sure I'd make it, my dad started missing more practices and games to be with me. But what I have been going through in college football is a whole new level of intense. The non-stop hits, grueling workouts, and the pressure to perform at the highest level are overwhelming. I often wonder why I am putting myself through it. What is the point? If I have to guess, it is my way of giving back to my dad for all the time he'd sacrificed for me. He retired from football early to be there for me, and now, I want to make him proud in the same sport.

The sun is beating down, casting a golden hue across the field as I grip the football tightly, feeling its familiar texture against my skin. Confidence pulses through me, a natural rhythm that comes with leading this team. With a determined focus, I survey the field, mentally mapping out each play before it unfolds. My teammates surround me, a united force ready to execute our strategies flawlessly.

At Coach K.'s signal, we dive into a drill. I drop back, my movements calculated and precise, scanning for our open receiver, JJ aka Jordan Johnson. The ball leaves my hand in a perfect spiral, sailing through the air.

JJ sprints ahead, reaching out with arms extended as the ball descends. A rush of excitement floods through me as the pass links up flawlessly, prompting the team to explode into a chorus of rowdy, "hell yeahs." It's a hell of a fine-tuned symphony, a perfect blend of coordination and sheer effort.

"Great job, everyone," I call out as we gather together, my voice filled with a sense of unity and togetherness. "Let's carry this energy into our next game against the Thunderhawks. We're a team, and together, this season we will be unstoppable." Time becomes a blur as the drills continue. Each throw, each decision, is a testament to my dedication to the game.

The team disperses, and I stand in my same spot on the field, letting the moment sink in. I take a breath, trying to capture the essence of this place, this moment. The realization hits me like a sudden gust of wind—with each practice that passes, it's a step closer to the end. Each repetition, each throw, brings me closer to the final chapter of my time on this field.

I close my eyes, allowing the memories to flood my mind—the victories, the defeats, the laughter, and the camaraderie. It's bittersweet, but I'm grateful for every instance I've had on this field, knowing that these experiences have shaped me into the player and person I am today.

Thud.

What the fuck.

I grab the side of my head, watching the football hit the ground after smacking me right in the head. Glancing over, Luke is grinning while Cam and the other guys burst into laughter, nudging each other and pointing at me as if I'm the laughingstock of the day.

I throw my hands up in frustration. "What the hell, man?" Irritation laces my voice.

Luke starts to make his way over to me. "Hey, don't blame me. Coach said to get your attention."

Asshole.

"Listen, my whole aim was to grab your attention in a manner that would make you take notice of us."

I roll my eyes and retort, "Ever heard of a simple 'Hey, Miles, over here'? That would've worked just fine."

He gives a shrug, his face breaking into a sly grin. "I'm not too certain, buddy. You looked completely absorbed in your own little universe."

I shake my head, releasing a sigh.

"What's eating at you, huh?" he probes.

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