Page 36 of Presley's Christmas Catch
Jett McCombs has praised me for being able to see the little details, and that’s because during plays, time seems to slow for me. It’s like I’m a little bit of The Flash, everyone around me moving slower while my brain works faster. They’re blitzing on the first play, probably trying to put Eli on edge. I move quickly to block the end coming in, knocking into him hard and shouting to point out the linebacker rushing in. Mark Travis, the Rays tight end, shifts quickly into place to block him. In my peripheral, I see Eli toss the ball toward Baker, the wide receiver on his right who’s uncovered because the Cobras sent most of their guys to the left. Baker gets an easy first down before the defenders chase him out of bounds.
“Nice spot!” Travis yells at me as we jog back to the huddle. He pounds my helmet—not a great feeling but I grin anyway.
Lincoln shoves at my side. “Thought they were going to sneak through Hunter’s side? They haven’t watched their film.”He laughs, and the whole team nods in agreement. The Cobras thought they could take advantage of my first time on the field as a Ray. I grin at the praise, my nerves settling even more. On the sideline, the coach is clapping his hands, and he points at me. I read, “Nice one,” off his lips before I turn back to my team.
We start marching up the field, and a few plays later, I notice the linebackers are off again, this time on the right side.
As soon as Eli finishes his count and the ball is snapped, I shout down the line, “They’re coming, they’re coming!” I hold my position, yelling at the offensive line as the blitz comes in. Lincoln manages to get a couple yards. It’s not much, but it’s enough for a first down.
We end up kicking a field goal, but it’s a good first drive to the game. Excitement pulses through me. It’s the best drive I’ve been a part of in a long time. I find Lincoln on the sidelines once the defense has taken the field.
“Johnson is lining up a hair over his gap when they’re blitzing,” I tell him.
Lincoln shakes his head in awe at me. “You always did notice the little things. Allen is going to get jealous,” he says, speaking of the Rays center, Shawn Allen. “Why’re you telling me and not him?”
My brows come down. It’s obvious. “Because I know you. I trust you.”
Lincoln leans toward me. “Here?” He gestures around him at the players on the sidelines. “You can trust everyone.” I can’t help my skeptical look. Lincoln claps me on the shoulder. “I promise, Hunter. And you said you trusted me.” He shoves me toward Allen.
I stride over, my smile growing with each second. This is how football is supposed to be.
CHAPTER 16
PRESLEY
When the game is over, I want to run up to Brock, throw my arms around him, and tell him how proud I am of him. He was soawesome. I was working among all the guys during the game, so I heard the way they talked about him, the way the offensive line praised his sharp eyes and laser instincts. I beamed every time I heard it.
But I have to be just-friend Presley, and that means watching my every move.
Still, when he walks up to me, his grin so wide it could power the stadium, I start to open my arms. It’s natural. As instinctual as the way Brock has a sixth sense for when someone’s moving in on his quarterback. I quickly drop my arms and content myself with throwing all my pride into my smile.
For a half second, Brock leans toward me, and then he straightens, shaking himself a little.
“That was amazing,” I say, turning so that I’m walking down the sidelines with him toward the tunnel and the locker room. I’ve got a couple guys I need to check on, but I want to make sure I spend a minute telling Brock how cool he is. That’s what friends do. It doesn’t mean anything more.
“Thanks, Pres. It felt amazing.”
I almost reach up to squeeze his elbow, then stop myself. This is harder than I thought. “Everyone loves you.”
“Probably not everyone.”
“I’m pretty sure it was everyone.”
He stops arguing. He leans sideways, like he might bump into me, but then shuffles away. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Must be tired.”
He does look tired, and he played so hard, obviously trying to prove to the team that they didn’t make a mistake picking him up.
Maybe that’s why we fall into a weird silence as we continue walking together. Normally, Brock and I would have so much to talk about it would be hard to walk away from him to do my job. I want to tell him about the ring, but this isn’t the place. If the other night hadn’t happened, and I hadn’t screwed things up, we’d probably have some shorthand way to discuss it now and how I’ve been trying to find people through Aunt Shannon’s Facebook who might have set her up.
Ugh. Why is this so hard?
I should have never said anything about my feelings, just suffered in silence, like a good romance-novel heroine. “Well,” I say the same time he says, “So…”
I rush on. “I’m sorry. I gotta go do PT stuff. See you Tuesday morning?”
He waves me off with a happy expression I can tell is a little fake. “Bright and early.”
I give him what I hope is a teammate-like pat on the pads and then hurry into the tunnel. We’ll be spending the entire day together on Tuesday. Will it end up in disaster?
