Page 131 of Against the Clock

I managed to make myself a ream of flashcards with player stats and fun facts, Cameron providing the neon-colored cards while my dad ran through as much information as he could remember on each team playing today.

He loved doing it, and I loved the simple fact that he could.

I love that Daniel talked him into trying new treatments, something my mom and I haven’t been able to do.

I love Daniel so much for taking the time to help my dad that it makes my heart hurt.

I’m shuffling through the notecards in the front seat of the van, murmuring each fact and player’s stats under my breath as my assigned cameraman navigates the bumper-to-bumper traffic.

Finally, we make it into the stadium parking lot and I swipe my sweaty palms against the cream-colored pencil skirt I borrowed from Cameron along with a simple black silk t-shirt that will hopefully keep my nervous sweat from being too apparent.

Cameron helped me with my makeup too, and I flip the visor down, checking my lipstick in the mirror.

“You’re going to be fine,” the cameraman says.

“I hope so.”

“You will be. Just remember, the fans care a whole lot less about what you say and a whole lot more about what the players say.”

I study his grizzled profile and relax back into the seat. “You’re right. You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right.” He snorts and pulls the van into the one of the spaces reserved for media, alongside the larger networks’ much newer, nicer vans. “Just smile and let the guys talk. You can do this.”

“Thanks,” I say, and strangely enough, I’m bolstered by his easy confidence.

I can do this.

I can ignore the weirdness between Daniel and me for the next few hours. I can ignore the ill will the Beavers fans feel towards me thanks to the reporting I’ve done on their cheer team. I can just be another reporter on the sidelines, interviewing football players.

I just need to let them talk and not say anything stupid.

I just need to let my feelings about Daniel and football go for a few hours. It’s a job. It’s just another job.

I can do this.

Probably.

CHAPTER 52

DANIEL

The pain is excruciating. The additional injections at half-time barely put a dent in it. I keep thinking I see Kelsey, too, which is more distracting than my fucking shoulder. If it’s not her, it’s a woman who could be her sister. But every time I try to look for her, for whoever it is, Dale seems to notice my lack of attention to the game.

A few minutes left in the fourth quarter, I sit on the bench, my helmet in one hand, my bad arm propped on top of it. I squirt sports drink into my mouth and my eyes drift over to where I keep thinking I see her.

She shouldn’t be with the press today, though.

As far as I know, she’s not even watching the game at home.

I swish the sports drink around, finally swallowing it.

The worst part, the part that’s settled like a stone in my stomach since I pulled on my cleats and jogged across the field, is that she’s right.

She may not understand everything this game’s meant to me, everything my coaches and teams have meant to me, but she’s right about one thing:

My body can’t take much more of this.

I’m not sure I want it to, either.

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