Page 33 of A Play For The Heart
I smile up at him as he looks down at me. The air between us becomes heavy, and for a moment, I think he may kiss me. He takes a small step towards me, eyes never leaving mine. I take a deep breath, preparing myself for the kiss. The kiss that my body is humming in excitement for.
Sensible Sawyer is screaming in my brainwhat are you doing?!So, I throw her into a soundproof box and ignore every single logical thought coursing through my brain, likeis this a good idea?I’ll decode my actions later when my best friend isn’t about to kiss me.
He leans down slightly, and I can see it in his eyes. Desire. I inch closer to him, making the space between us even smaller. I reach out to touch him. To make contact.
My phone dings, breaking the moment. We both startle away from each other, and I leap for my phone, expecting some type of emergency, because there is no other reason anyone would think it would be appropriate to destroy my almost-kiss with Henry.
I look down at the screen.
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There is no way a freaking sale ad text message is what prevented my kiss with Henry from happening.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
CHAPTER 17
“Started crawling in my skin, looking for a way out, I can feel it happening so I talk myself down”
Keep On—Sasha Alex Sloan
Henry
“I’mnotsurewhatthe hell y’all are doing out there but it’s definitely not playing football,” Coach Barrett yells, his voice echoing through the silent locker room.
It’s halftime in our game against the Boston Gryphons and saying we aren’t playing our best is a kindness. We’re playing like shit. I am confident that the kids we met at GameChangers could play better than we did in the first half. I look around the room. Heads are hanging low, and the energy in the locker room is downright atrocious. I’m right there with them because the way I played in the first half was embarrassing. I nearly dropped a pass and I couldn’t shake a defender to save my life, forcing Deon to have to throw the ball away on a few plays. Coach Barrett walks out of the locker room, leaving us sitting there in uncomfortable silence.
“Let’s shake it off, boys. We’re only down one touchdown. Let’s get back out there and show them who we are!” Deon booms, rising out of his seat and signaling for us to head back onto the field. The confidence Deon exudes seems to rally the team, shifting the energy. We jog out of the locker room, through the tunnel, and back onto the field. The sound of tens of thousands of fans immediately overwhelms me and I can feel the beginning of a panic attack. No matter how often it happens, I'm never prepared for the sudden rush of anxiety.
My chest begins to tighten, and my vision begins to blacken around the edges. My hands feel detached from my body as I jog to the sideline next to Jack, gasping to catch my breath and work through the overstimulation before it leads to a full-blown panic attack. I drop onto the bench and go through the motions that Sawyer taught me. Five things I can see. Jack. The water bottles. The turf. Coach Barrett. My cleats.
Four things I can feel. The groves on the bench beneath me. The rubber on my gloves. My pads. The sweat dripping down my face.
Three things I can hear. Deon laughing. The music from the stadium speakers. Coach Barrett talking to an assistant coach.
Two things I can smell. Popcorn wafting from the stands. The deodorant of the player who walked past me.
One thing I can taste. The aftertaste of the blue electrolyte drinks the athletic trainers gave us at half.
I suck a deep breath, feeling slightly more grounded than I did when I walked out of the tunnel. The anxiety still thrums heavily through my body, but the threat of a panic attack reduces a bit. I’ve been so excited that Sawyer lives in Seattle now because nothing works as well as her signature smiley face. I wanted to get one before we left for the away game in Boston, but she was at work. I figured that if I survived for six months without the smiley faces, I could go one more game. I guess the way I played in the first half paired with the pent-up anxiety I have from the last phone call with my dad has left me more vulnerable to the panic attacks I get.
Jack jogs over to me from where he's stretching, a concerned look on his face. “Hey, you okay?”
Since I explained to Jack about Sawyer and the smiley faces and the anxiety and panic attacks, he’s made an effort to check in with me before and during games. He’s not pushy about it and he doesn’t try to pry anything out of me. It's more of a ‘Hey, I’m here if you need me.’ It’s thoughtful, and it’s what makes Jack a great person and teammate.
I nod, not quite trusting myself to speak yet.
“Were you able to see Sawyer before you left?”
“No, she was at work. I didn’t want to bother her.”
He nods at me in understanding, his eyes searching the field for something. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but he turns and jogs towards an athletic trainer. I watch, grasping the bench as he says something to her. She hands him something and he turns and makes his way back towards me. He sits down on the bench next to me, a sharpie in his grasp.
