Page 120 of Against the Clock

I know why.

I told Coach my shoulder was fine, that the docs were just being cautious, and then I played like shit today. Kelsey even noticed it this morning, although all week she’s been giving me concerned looks and asking if I’m alright.

I lie to her, too.

I tell her I’m fine, that it’s an old ache.

The first part’s a lie. It’s not fine. It’s an old injury, but this pain is fresh.

But I’m used to gritting my teeth and grinding through it. What’s the worst that could happen? Pain is part of the package when it comes to pro football. We all know it. We’re all lying about how we feel, except for maybe the greenest rookies.

I make my way to the coaching offices, soothing elevator music coming from the overhead speakers. It only makes me more on edge.

The door to Coach Morelle’s office is wide open, and Dale’s standing there, staring at me with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Fucking Dale.

“Did you see what your girlfriend wrote?” he asks. “Put a piece out about the league today. You’re in it.”

Surprise rocks me. “Is that what this is about?”

“No,” Coach Morelle says, not bothering to look up from the shuffle of papers on his desk. “I don’t give a shit about the cheerleaders. Dale, you can leave.”

“But—”

“Get the fuck out, Dale.”

I blink, then swallow. In all the years I’ve known Coach Morelle, I’ve only heard him use that word three other times. Once when he stepped in dogshit in the middle of the night and I was downstairs getting water. Second time was when a second-string kicker missed a field goal so completely that the word sprang out of him, surprising all of us. Third time was when he got too riled up in the locker room, then apologized for his vulgarity after the game.

Dale closes the door behind him, and if he shares my shock, he doesn’t show it.

“I’m in trouble, son,” Coach says, jerking his head towards the chair in front of his desk. I sit slowly, not wanting to further aggravate my shoulder. “We need a win. I need you to be on point for the game tomorrow.”

“Yes, Coach.”

“I need you here, leading the guys, like you have for me so many times before. I need you to give it your all. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

His hawkish gaze drifts to my shoulder, my arm crossed over my chest to keep it from aching. “Shoulder okay?” Coach Morelle asks the question slowly, and I know he fucking knows.

I know the med team fills him in on our in-house rehab, and our health is discussed like cattle up for auction. I know Morelle knows I’ve signed waiver after waiver asking for the lowest levels of pain management, signing that I know the risks.

“It’s good enough to win.” The lie slips out easily, but I would fucking say it again for Coach Morelle. He stepped up for me when I had no one. If he needs me to give it my all at tomorrow’s game, then I’m going to fucking give it my all.

“Good, son. Good. That’s what I like to hear.” He nods again and I stand, ready to leave.

“I’m proud of you, Daniel. You know that, right? You should be proud, too.”

“Thank you, Coach.”

My throat gets tight, and I walk out the door before I get any more sentimental.

I’ll give the old man my best on the field tomorrow, that’s for damn sure.

CHAPTER 47

KELSEY

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