Page 124 of Against the Clock

“Nothing. Just took a hit. Sore. You know how it is.” I don’t even sound convincing to myself, and she immediately backs off, stepping back and scrutinizing me.

“Sore…” she echoes, and I notice for the first time that she has a to-go bag from a Vietnamese place down the road. “How sore? You look… you look like you’re in pain.”

“I am in pain,” I say, letting some of the tough guy act drop. “What did you bring? It smells amazing.”

“Stir fry, a couple banh mi, some vermicelli and pork.” She’s still staring at me, though, as if she can find the source of the pain by just looking.

“Come inside. Let’s eat, and then we’ll go to bed early, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she echoes, and I take the bag from her with my good arm and lock the door behind her.

“You did so great, by the way. The AFL is going to have hell to pay with how they’ve used the cheer teams, and you did that. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks,” she says, but there’s an undercurrent of tension in that one syllable that sets my teeth on edge. Well, even further on edge, considering every step brings a fresh bout of pain.

I’ve never looked forward to the pre-game pain killer injections more in my fucking life.

“You sure you’re okay?” she says, and I realize I’ve stopped, closing my eyes.

“Stressed about the game. Normal things. That’s why I don’t like to do stuff the night before.”

“Oh,” she says, and hurt passes over her face. “I know. I know that. You know what? I can go to Cameron’s if you really want to be alone. I don’t want to mess with your routine.”

“No,” I bark out, the word coming out much sharper than I intended. “I want you here. I love being with you. I’m just sore and stressed. Not at my finest.” I try to smile at her, hefting the bag of food. “Thank you for bringing this. I’ve been meaning to try this place.”

“They have great reviews, and it smelled so good in there,” she says, but her voice is strained and she’s looking at me like she’s seeing things she hasn’t before. “Want to eat?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Always.”

“Let’s eat then.”

I set the food down and stare at the kitchen cabinet where all the plates are. Thank fuck it’s my left shoulder and not my right. It’s going to hurt like hell to throw the ball tomorrow.

But I owe it to Coach. I owe it to my teammates.

I’ll get through it, just like I always do. I’ll deal with rehab once the season’s over. It’ll be worth it.

I start to reach up for a plate, then stop midway, slowly letting my arm drop.

“I feel like you’re mad,” Kelsey says out of nowhere. “You’re giving me a vibe.”

“I’m not mad,” I say, my tone more curt than I meant, the pain putting me on edge. “I’m just bad company tonight. I’m glad you’re here.”

When I turn around, I’m smiling, trying to fight past it. I want to be better for her. I don’t want her to see how I’m feeling. I don’t want her to worry. I know all too well how worried she is about her dad. She doesn’t need me to worry about on top of that.

Kelsey’s not smiling. She’s frowning, her eyes narrowed, her focus on my shoulder.

“Tell me what happened,” she says, and that’s not Kelsey, my girlfriend, my lover, talking.

That’s the voice of the bulldog reporter.

It makes me grin, and it’s for real this time.

“You’re a total badass, you know that?” I dodge her question. “Let’s eat out of the containers tonight.”

“Why?”

“Why what? Sometimes I feel like being uncivilized and eating straight from the takeout containers.”

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