Page 93 of Fighting Fate

The defenders are closing in on me, desperation driving them to make the tackle. But I have a burst of speed left in me. With one final push, I extend the football toward the end zone, breaking the plane of the goal line and scoring the touchdown.

Celebration erupts around me as my teammates mob me, offering pats on the back and joyful shouts of pride filling the air.

"Damn, Chasen, where's that been all season?" I hear Luke say.

Not really sure, but it feels damn good, even though this killer headache is trying to ruin the whole practice. The throbbing behind my eyes is like a drumbeat, getting louder with every move. It's like my head's got its own little concert going on, and I'm not sure if I'm the drummer or the audience. But hey, the thrill of that play is still there, even if it's mixed with this annoying pain.

"You better play like that with the Panthers' Game coming up," I hear another teammate say.

Coach's stern expression melts into a proud grin as he approaches. "That's how you run the ball, Chasen!" he bellows, his voice thick with pride.

Basking in this triumphant moment, I know this practice is a turning point. I'm ready to take on any challenge that'll come my way. What I feared in the doctor's office is nothing. My confidence soaring higher than ever before, I grab Luke by the helmet, throw it off, and mess with his hair as I say, "Fuck yeah."

He chuckles and says, "Easy, man, you still have a few practices before the Panthers' Day game."

I flash a cocky smirk. "Your jealousy is talking, Luke."

He rolls his eyes. "In your dreams, Chasen. I haven't been the one struggling lately."

After a light shove, he trots toward the sidelines for a drink. I follow, my cleats imprinting the well-trodden grass, a cool breeze playing with the leaves. It is another typical day on the field, marked by the familiar rhythm of teamwork and friendly jibes.

Staggering to take a break, my foot catches on an unseen divot. The world spins, vision blurring into darkness. As I fall, Milli's figure becomes a fleeting blur, her voice a distant echo from the dance practice.

Silence descends like a veil over the field. My heavy breathing fills my ears, my heart pounding like a drum, the sky above me blurs into chaotic disarray.

"Shit, Chasen, you okay?" Gunner's voice cuts through, laced with concern.

Resisting the urge for drama, I push myself up, opting to sit. Bad move. The sudden movement sends a spike of pain through my head.

Gunner is at my side in an instant. "Easy there. I'll get you some water."

Coach's voice, firm, joins in. "Get his damn water, now."

Closing my eyes briefly, I hear Milli's anxious voice. "Miles! Are you alright?" Her presence is a temporary solace, but my head throbs mercilessly. I wince, pressing my temples.

"Hydration. How's it been, Miles?" Coach's voice is sharp, yet caring.

I nod, trying to sound convincing. "Good. I'm fine, Coach. Just tripped over the grass."

But did I really just trip? My inner voice probes, doubting.

Coach's gaze is knowing; his experience as our unofficial "field doctor" telling him there's more to it. He's always pushed me, knowing my past, and for that, I'm grateful. But right now, his scrutiny feels too intense.

I stand, resolved to prove I'm alright. Hands on hips, I offer a bold smile to all—my teammates, Coach, Luke, Milli, even a couple of the dancers. Their apprehensive gazes, tinged with a blend of pity and unease, grate on me. Why does every little setback trigger these sympathetic stares?

They care, Miles.

"How about we skip the deathbed stares and get back to practice?" I say, grabbing my helmet.

The murmur of voices dies down, practice picking back up, but Luke and Milli, they're still there, hanging back. Their faces are all twisted up with concern, kind of like how they looked when I dropped the bomb about my cancer. You can almost touch the tension coming off them, their eyes darting over to me, full of questions and worry.

Normally, I'd lighten the mood with a joke about hide-and-seek, but today, their worried glances hold me back. I try to ease the tension. "Let's not start hide-and-seek here on the field, okay?"

They manage small smiles and shake their heads. It's a minor gesture, but it eases my headache a bit, calms my hands, and clears my vision.

I make a mental note to hydrate more and pick up electrolytes later. As practice continues, we all refocus, the drill consuming the next hour.

It's only afterward, checking my phone, that I see a missed call from Dr. Reynolds.

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