Page 60 of Second Quarter Comeback
“Yeah, Coach?” I jog over, trying to look less like I’ve been mentally drowning for the last hour.
He crosses his arms, giving me that I’m-not-mad-I’m-just-disappointed look that cuts deeper than yelling. “You’re distracted.”
I shake my head automatically. “I’m good, Coach.”
“No, you’re not,” he says flatly, tilting his head like he’s sizing me up for how much yelling I can handle. “Your timing’s off. Your passes are sloppy. And you’rehesitating on plays you should know like the back of your hand. Where’s your head at?”
I glance at the field, avoiding his eyes. “Just an off day.”
“Bull,” he snaps, his arms crossing tighter. “You’ve been off all week. Look, Crawford, I don’t care what’s going on in your personal life—leave it off the field. This isn’t just any game. It’sthegame that decides if we keep the streak alive. And you’re playing against your brother, which means the stakes are higher. Get your head on straight, or we’re fucked and I’ll bench you for the rest of the season.”
He wouldn’t bench me, but his words hit harder than I want to admit because he’s right. My head’s a mess. Lucian’s ready to embarrass me on live television, and right now, I don’t see how I’m going to shut him up.
And then there’s Camille.
She’s living next door, but I haven’t seen her all week. We’ve been texting, but the second I try to add a little heat to our exchange, she shuts it down with some excuse about being busy. How are we supposed to fix things if she’s avoiding me?
It’s like I’m racing against the clock. If I don’t figure out a way to make her fall in love with me again, I’m going to lose her. For good this time.
“You with me, Crawford?” Coach’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “You’ve got to be here, with us. Not off in la-la land.”
I nod, clenching my jaw. “I’ve got it under control.”
“Do you?” His tone sharpens, like he doesn’t believe a word of it. “You’ve got talent, Crawford, but talent doesn’t mean shit if your head’s not in the game. Get it together, or we’re going to have a very different conversation on Monday.”
He doesn’t wait for a response. The whistle blows again, and he’s already barking orders at the defense.
I jog back onto the field, his words weighing on me like lead. The guys are lined up, ready for the next play. I take my position, gripping the ball tightly, trying to shake off everything else.
The snap comes. I drop back, scanning the field. Darnell’s open, but for a split second, I hesitate. The pass gets to him, but it’s not clean enough for a solid run.
“Come on, Kill, what the fuck?” Darnell yells, holding up the ball like a coach tossing a flag for a rookie mistake.
I mutter a curse under my breath, jogging back as we reset.
“You good?” Tank asks, clapping me on the back.
“Yeah,” I lie, even though it’s obvious I’m not.
The next play is better—not great, but at least Darnell doesn’t have to yell at me again. By the time practice ends, I’m drenched in sweat, my frustration boiling over.
The locker room is loud—guys shouting and laughing,slamming lockers—but I head straight for the showers, letting the water drown out the noise.
Lucian’s cocky grin flashes in my mind, that smug look he gets when he knows he’s gotten under my skin. He’s been waiting for this game since they announced the schedule, and I can’t let him win. Not this time.
But it’s not just Lucian. It’s Camille.
Her laugh, her smile, the way she used to look at me like I was the only thing that mattered—it’s all there, lingering like a bad play replaying over and over in my head.
And the worst part? Right now, I don’t know if I’m playing this game to beat Lucian . . . or to prove to myself that I’m still the guy she used to believe in.
“Yo, Kill,”Tank’s voice snaps me out of my spiraling thoughts as I step out of the shower. He’s leaning against the lockers, already dressed, a towel slung over his shoulder. “Coach ripped into you today, huh?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, grabbing my stuff and heading to my locker.
“You good?” he presses, watching me like he already knows the answer.
I nod, but it’s a half-hearted gesture at best.
