Page 72 of Final Down

“He is inconsistent as fuck,” he says.

We both shake our heads.

“Nice job handling that one he shot over your head, though. There were almost two of us on concussion watch,” Chance adds.

“Right? That was a mess.”

I flatten my hand over my head. My hair is still wet from my shower. I’m glad there isn’t an enormous knot on it. The pocket closed on me fast for that play. How the hell we got out of that and ended up with a field goal beats me.

“So, hey. What are you doing for the night? You just heading back to the hotel or . . .”

It’s barely three in the afternoon, and he doesn’t have family in the area. Yeah, his agent stuck around, but . . . who wants to spend the afternoon with their agent? I mean, Bryce and I have found our way with one another, but I still don’t want to room with the dude or hang out at the sports bar. And Chance can’t even have a beer now. At least, he shouldn’t.

“I guess. I don’t know. I was thinking maybe I’d just sit here until they kick my ass out,” he says through a soft laugh.

I nod and drop my gaze to his swinging feet. Twenty-two. Still very much a kid.

My eyes lift to meet his, and I lean my head over my shoulder a tick.

“Come with me,” I say.

His face screws up, like I said something crazy. Probably because thisiscrazy, but it’s the right thing to do.

“I’m good, man,” he says, frowning.

“Nah. You aren’t. Come with me. It’s homecoming week in our town, and they do this parade thing. It’s a good time. I promise.”

His twisted lips have gotten tighter, his brow crease deeper, but I continue to stare at him and urge him to just give in.

“Pfff, fine. Fuck it,” he finally says, hopping off the table and dragging his leather travel bag with him. He lets it dangle at his side, banging against his right leg as we make our way through the locker room. Everything from his gait to his posture reminds me of the high school kids when they get caught ditching class in the hallways and sent back to their rooms.

“You know, you’re gonna get hurt in this sport. Probably a lot,” I say as we shuffle our way through the concourse toward the lobby by the suite elevators.

“Yeah. I’ve been through this before. I had a good knock in high school. Probably more than one, but ya know . . . I kept my mouth shut about the others, so I didn’t get pulled.” His gaze shifts sideways to meet mine, and I pull my mouth in tight.

“Oh, like you never did that shit,” he adds, rolling his eyes.

I let out a heavy breath.

“No, I did. I never fucked around with head injuries, though. But my shoulder? My knee? Oh, yeah. When I’m fifty, there are going to be a lot of discoveries when doctors replace joints on my body.”

Simply thinking about my knee in college makes me want to limp.

I slow my pace, and when Chance realizes he’s several steps ahead of me, he stops and turns to face me. I shake my head and stop moving when our eyes meet.

“I’m just saying . . . you’re their guy. So don’t worry about missing half of a game, or a game or two, because of a concussion. They’re protecting their investment. We both know I’m just passing through. So maybe, dude . . . let me fucking help you get better.”

Chance’s hard swallow is a rare sight. I think it means he’s considering my words for real this time, not just performatively. I’ve been busting my ass for a month trying to give him advice. He nods when I talk as if he’s listening, but then he goes right back out and repeats the same mistakes. It’s not only with me, either. It’s with Phillips and Elgin, and other guys on the team, too. He doesn’t listen. He’s not coachable. And that is what’s going to cut his career short. Not a fucking concussion.

“Before I got this shot, I was coaching with my father-in-law. You know Reed Johnson, right?”

He chuckles because, yeah, of course he does. Who doesn’t.

“Well, I learned a lot from him. I’m not selfish with football shit. Let me share it with you, yeah?”

He nods slowly, and eventually says, “Yeah. I hear you. I’m down, man.”

I hold out my fist, and his gaze drops to it. He bumps it with his after a second, and the two of us start walking toward the glass doors where my family is waiting.

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