Page 58 of Chasing After You
Stacey:Why is Mackie acting like a better boyfriend than you?
Stacey:Is there something I need to know?
Wilson snickers, having read the text before I could shut it off. “I know you say you don’t like Stacey, but she’s kind of funny.”
“That’s because she’s not hovering over your shoulder twenty-four seven,” I say, grumbling. She’s growing on me, but I’d prefer to keep that to myself.
“Do you think if I asked Coach, he’d let my girlfriend travel with us?” Tyler asks, leaning over the back of my seat.
I snort, the theoretical scenario playing out in my head. “Why don’t you go ask him?” I ask sarcastically, and Tyler actually seems to consider it.
“Don’t be fucking stupid. Price is kidding,” Wilson says, and this causes a few heads to turn our way.
“Price made a joke?” Crosby asks, and I flip him off, pulling my headphones out.
“It wasn’t very funny,” Tyler says, sitting back in his seat as I look for where Mirabelle is on the plane. I feel a little better seeing her sitting between her uncle and Stacey, instead of next to Quinn.
“The funny part would have been seeing you go up to Coach and ask him,” I say, putting my headphones on.
I can’t let the fact that Mirabelle is here fuck with my head, even if she’s the only thing I’ve been able to think about for the last week while she ices me out.
The only thing keeping my self-control in check is that I’m in season, and I have no business getting wrapped up in a girl. Especially one that I could find myself consumed by very easily.
I start the audiobook I’ve been listening to in the gym, trying to focus on the profile the main character is giving on the serial killer they’re hunting.
Most people listen to music to get in the zone, but there’s nothing that calms my brain more than a book.
Correction: usually there’s nothing that calms my brain more than a book.
I guess it only works when a certain blonde isn’t on the same plane as me.
~
I chew anxiously on my mouthguard, itching to get back on the field.
This game isn’t the blowout the last one was, but somehow that makes it feel more real.
I’m impressed by the level head Owen has been able to keep, especially when he has more reason than anyone to be high-strung in this stadium. We’re playing the Lions, our division rivals, but this rivalry is more personal for Owen than for anyone else.
Twenty years ago, Owen was on track to become one of the best tight ends in the league when he helped score the winning touchdown in an intense rivalry game against the Lions. He and Thalia were walking through the parking lot when a drunk fan struck Owen with his car, nearly killing him. The injuries he sustained ended his career, leading him down the path of climbing through the coaching ranks to become the head coach of the Panthers.
I remember as a kid, during one of the first years with Owen on the coaching staff, there was a sideline-clearing brawl between the teams that ended in a record number of players facing suspensions and fines amounting to millions. It’s hard to forget when it resurfaces every year during recaps of unforgettable moments in sports.
Owen pulled me aside earlier and made a point to make sure I knew there were no scores to be settled other than those on the scoreboard.
“I don’t know where your head is at, but going into this game, I’m going to say to you what I always said to Walker. There’s no debt to be paid that’s worth risking an injury today. Lead by example, and show everyone you have the character and the talent to lead this team.”
I refuse to let Owen down after all he’s done to fight for me to stay with the Panthers. I need him to know that I’m not taking this chance for granted.
I didn’t understand why he said it at first, but once we got on the field, the shit people were yelling at Owen was awful. It was enough to make me want to abandon all common sense, but if I launched myself into the stands to fight the fans, I would only end up getting myself suspended.
The Lions have gotten away with a lot of hits in this game, and I have a feeling a lot of us will be spending time with the athletic trainers this week.
“Settle down, there’s still time,” Owen says quietly, stopping next to me on the sidelines.
It doesn’t feel like there’s time. “I’d feel better if they weren’t at the twenty-yard line.”
“They’re not scoring,” he says, a tone of finality in his voice before he covers his mouth with the playbook in front of him. “They’d be stupid to score when all it would do is put them less than a field goal ahead of us with three minutes to go. They’re going to stall, and hope it psychs you out, so if they do score with enough time for us to respond, you’re in your head.”
