Page 38 of It's Always Us

Maybe we just don’t fit together like we used to when he was the high school quarterback and I was the girl who could barely earn a passing grade. I can’t help but wonder if that’s why eight years went by. He’s no longer a kid looking to make it out, but I’m still the girl with nowhere else to go but here.

Chapter 11

MARK

Finishing up physical therapy, I head toward the conference rooms for a team meeting. Seeing I have a few minutes to spare, I pull out my phone and dial Lex, hoping to catch her. Ever since she left me in Vegas, I’ve feared the day when she tells me this isn’t going to work and disappears again.

Trying to date Lex hasn’t turned out how I wanted. I’m worried she’s feeling the distance between us as much as I am. I thought our nightly phone calls would be enough. But instead of nightly, they’ve become sporadic, and that distance is growing.

My life is tied to the game. We’re on the cusp of playoffs, and the interviews, sponsorships, and press functions are constant. It’s all on top of hours of practice, physical therapy, team meetings, and studying for games. Then, there are never-ending foundation meetings and requests, and I rarely have a moment to myself.

It all comes with making it to the top and leading my team into division finals. But I need Lex, and I’m desperate to know she’s still with me. We talked about her visiting, but when it comes down to it, she’ll spend most of her time sitting around, waiting for me.

I’m realizing I’m not sure I know how to do this—manage my job and a relationship. Football has been everything. My entire life has revolved around this game and every opportunity it’s given me. But now, I have to figure out how to try to balance both.

Her voicemail picks up as my teammates pass, heading into the conference room. I end the call, that nagging worry increasing as if it’s aliving, breathing thing growing inside me. I finally have her back in my life, and there’s no way I’m going to screw this up, but it’s quite possible I already am.

I find my seat and try to focus on the upcoming game as Coach gets things rolling. Over the next hour, the pressure of it all builds until there’s a giant rubber band looping around my rib cage with each and every order and expectation.

My body temperature creeps to a thousand degrees, and I want to crawl out of my skin. I’ve given this team and this organization everything I’ve got for the past six years. I’ve held off on surgery to be able to stay on the field and carry us this far despite the pain, possible further damage, and time I spend in therapy every single day.

Each game, I jog out of the tunnel, wondering if I’ll make it—if my shoulder will hold together. But right now, I’m worried about holding together a whole lot more than just my shoulder.

As the meeting ends, I’m agitated as hell and standing on the edge of losing my shit. I want to go home, talk to Lex, and get my head straight.

“Hey, man. You watching the game later? I think this might be the end of the road for them,” Carlos asks, getting up from the table.

“I may catch some of it.”

“Come on, man. We need to be ready to take on the Vipers. Some of the guys are coming over, and your arm could use every advantage we can find.”

This kid tells me this as if I don’t know I need to be prepared or understand what’s at stake.

“Thanks, but I’ve got to take care of some things.”Like making sure I hear the only voice that matters.

“Is that code for hooking up with Rochelle?” he snickers.

I frown, turning to face him, not even trying to hide the fact that I’m pissed. “What?!”

“We saw her slide into you the other day and how you were chatting her up. She’s hot and clearly into you. Come on. We all know how you are.”

I don’t know what he’s talking about, but my limited amount of patience just blew into oblivion.

Rochelle is the team owner’s daughter, and there’s no way in hell I’d ever be stupid enough to get involved in that, even if I weren’t married.It’s no surprise that people want to speculate and turn it into something it’s not and will certainly never be, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let this rumor start.

“I don’t date within the organization. Never have.”

“Ahhh. You sign with another team next season, and you no longer have an issue. I’ve heard she’s . . . ”

I don’t hear the rest of what he says, clenching both hands into fists, and I quickly release my right as pain shoots through me. I grab my notebook, turning away from him and his wiseass. “I’m done dating. How about you keep your mouth shut and make sure you know the plays?”

He laughs, holding his stomach like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard. “Y’all,” he calls out to the remaining guys in the room. “Sandberg’s on hiatus. He says he’s done dating.”

An eruption of scoffs and hushed comments fills the emptying room.

“Carlos, you need to make sure you know how to run and catch a fucking football at the same time. Otherwise, find a knitting circle who gives a shit about whatever it is you think you know.”

I may have done my fair share of hanging out with women over the years, but it was definitely not in the way these guys think it was, and I’m not proud of letting them believe otherwise.

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