Page 34 of Game Face

“You did?” There’s genuine excitement in my voice. I’m not faking this. I needed this news.

His beautiful upper lip rises on one side, all flirty and humble. As sexy as he is, he’s also really fucking cute. Just . . . cute. My cute quarterback.

“So, we were about twenty yards out, and Whiskey throws this block, and I . . .”

I close my eyes and smile as he recounts the entire thing to me, and it plays like a movie in my head. Bryce didn’t get to take it in—he did. I can visualize his stiff arm, the quick spin he made to break the last tackle, and the cocky growl he let loose in the end zone after he flipped the ball into a spin on the turf. I’m sure there was something extra running through his veins, the game a way for him to channel his worry. Eating the clock to get it over with. Skipping the interview to make it to me. I know all of that. My dad was in Wyatt’s head because they’re the same, and he told me as much. But that little moment of glory? That’s what I’m going to hold on to for now.Thisnow. And I’ll play the movie in my mind one more time right before they put me under.

Chapter Fifteen

She actually thought I would go to practice today. To film. As if I could sit in a room with a bunch of dudes and watch a two-hour game broken down play-by-play and somehow find any of that serious or worth my time.

I stand up from the thinly padded chair, stretching my arms up as I arch my back and groan. I knew sleep would be hard. I didn’t quite think it would be impossible, though.

“I wish I could say you’ll sleep better tonight but I won’t lie to you,” Reed says. Mrs. Johnson’s head is on his thigh, her legs bent as she huddles under a throw blanket he grabbed from the truck.

I wander down the same hallway I’ve walked about two hundred times since I arrived last night. My mom showed up around an hour after me, and she sat with me and Peyton’s parents for a little while before heading home. She has a long shift today, so I told her I’d call with updates. I pull my phone out to send her a quick text that Peyton’s still in surgery.

This corridor is filled with quiet rooms, the lights still dim as the sun hasn’t fully risen for the day. People are all pretending tosleep in cots and in chairs. I don’t even think the patients in here are actually sleeping. They’re all just drugged to make it seem like it.

I fish my credit card out of my back pocket and swipe it on the vending machine at the end of the hallway, staring at the dismal choices for breakfast for a few seconds before landing on a Payday. I don’t even like nuts. I make a stop at the water fountain and fill the gas station cup I’ve been using since Reed dipped across the street to get us sodas at about two a.m. The ice is long gone, but it’s nice to have a straw.I guess.

Reed nods toward the candy bar in my hand as I near the seats.

“You like those things?” he asks.

I look at it, clutched in my hand before me, and shake with a short sarcastic laugh.

“No.”

Reed laughs hard, but covers his mouth when Nolan stirs at the sound. She rolls her head, briefly glancing up at him, then pulls the blanket up over her face and falls back asleep. I’m glad one of us is getting rest. At some point, we’re going to need to take shifts. Hell, I’m still in my sweatpants and football hoodie, and wearing the stench of last night’s game.

I plop down in the chair across from Reed, a smattering of magazines on the table—all health-related except for one. It’s a two-year-oldSports Illustrated, and I’ve already read it. I’m in that one—just a photo with a caption hyping my junior season. Heisman hopeful, I think it said.

“You know your daughter tried to get me to go to practice today?” I peel open the candy bar and break off half, holding the other half out for Reed. He leans forward and snags it, along with the wrapper.

“She’s going to be pissed as hell when she finds out you didn’t, you know?” He quirks a brow, then peels the wrapper the rest of the way, biting off nearly a quarter of the Payday.

We chew in silence as we stare at each other, Reed finally uttering, “This is awful,” just before he swallows down his bite.

“It’s the nuts,” I say, choking down mine. We both take a second bite. Fucking gluttons.

“Would you have left Nolan in the hospital during surgery? For practice, I mean?”

It takes him one chew of the jaw to answer.

“Not a chance in hell.”

I nod.

“See?” I swallow the rest of my sad breakfast, then pick a caramel-crusted nut from my back molar. It feels like it might pull my filling out with it.

I stand up and take the wrapper from Reed, walking it to the nearby trash to toss away before checking my phone again. My mom texted back for me tohang in there.I smirk at her reply. It’s the same shit people said to her after Dad died.Hang in there. It gets easier.

It doesn’t. It never did.

This is different. I know it is, and my mom was simply trying to inject a little levity, I’m sure. But now my brain is correlating these two terrible things, my dad’s cancer death and Peyton’s injury. I’m sure it’s the sleep deprivation, and probably a good bit of anxiety, but I feel a little like I’m the common denominator.

I shake off the nonsense and move back to my seat just as the doctor steps through the doors by the information desk. I’m back on my feet quickly, and Reed rustles Nolan awake and stands with me. The doc crosses the room, removing his cap as he approaches.

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