Page 44 of Game Face

“Hi,” I say, sinking down as deep into my thin covers as my brace and this miserable bed will let me go.

“Was the game that bad that it put you to sleep?” I can hear the bustling airport sounds in the background.

“Not all of it,” I tease.

“Ouch!” His voice is raspy, tired from the game and screaming in the locker room, I’m sure. He’s also not sleeping as much as he should. Because of me.

“Hey, I’m about to get my bag, then we get hauled back to campus. Can I FaceTime you when I get home?”

Home. We share a home. Well . . .shareda home.

“Of course.”

We both say I love you on top of the other’s words, and my face warms like a school child with a crush.

Wyatt calls back an hour later, this time on video, and it’s nice to see him in our bed. His shirt is off, and he’s wearing the red and black plaid pajama pants I bought him last Christmas.It’s maybe my most favorite look of his, and his skin looks so warm and smooth. His hair is damp from a shower, and I can nearly smell it when I concentrate. And all those sensory things that I draw on from memory flood me, and my heart hurts.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Wyatt says, holding the phone above him as he falls back onto his pillow.

“Can you put the phone on my side, like I’m lying with you?”

His gaze feels faraway, but his worried smile translates. Guilt and self-pity are harder to fight off at night.

“Yeah, here.” The camera focus shuffles around as he flips to his left side and jiggles the phone in his effort to prop it up against my pillow. He folds an arm under his cheek and lies flat, looking at me. I touch my own face, wishing it were him.

“You know I’m not coming back, right?” It’s something I’ve known since I got the news of my injury, and I’m sure Wyatt’s thought about it. Still, the reality demands to be said tonight for some reason.Hard truths.

Wyatt sucks in his lips and blinks slowly.

“I know,” he relents after several quiet seconds.

And I can’t help but feel as though somehow this is the beginning of the end.

Chapter Nineteen

Idon’t like leaning on my athlete status to get through school. It feels like cheating. Probably because itischeating. Every senior athlete gets a no-penalty retake for every test in every class during travel season. In the real world, we should probably be made to plan ahead and set the right priorities—aka put academics first. But football isn’t the real world. Not when it makes so much damn money. And I’m tired today. I’m tired every day lately. I know I blew the online test I took this morning for my finance class, so I need to play my get-out-of-jail-free card while I’ve got it.

Use it or lose it, isn’t that how the saying goes?

I rap on the door for my professor’s office. It’s cracked open, so it squeaks and opens a little more from my touch.

“Dr. Ambrose?”

I’ve only ever seen this man in a tiny square on my computer, so I’m a little surprised when he swings around in the chair behind his desk and he’s not four-feet tall and bald. Well, he is bald, but it appears to be by choice. And he also seems to be quite large. Then there’s the Air Force shirt he’s wearing thatisn’t the kind one buys off the rack somewhere, but rather the type of shirt that’s earned.

“Ah, Mr. Stone. To what do I owe the privilege of this in-person visit?” He gets to his feet and reaches out his hand for a shake. He nearly crushes my fingers in his grip. Yeah, that’s definitely an earned shirt. Also, he’s definitely still able to pass whatever fitness test is thrown in front of him.

“I’m not sure if you saw my entry this morning, but the late travel from the weekend caught up with me, and I don’t think I did so well on that last test.”

Mr. Ambrose sits back in his seat and pulls the gold-rimmed glasses from his face.

“I’m guessing you want to use your travel retake?” He’s chuckling as he asks.

He pulls a stack of forms out of his side drawer and flops it down on his desk, along with a pen.

“Must have been some pretty serious jet lag, what your travel being a whole day ago and all,” he chuckles.

My brow pinches as I sit down and take the pen in my hand.

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