Page 9 of Hometown Touchdown
Almost two years ago, one brutal hit changed everything. A compound fracture and a torn ACL in my throwing leg. I still hear the snap—feel it sometimes when the weather shifts. Just like that, my career ended. No warning. No second chance. I’dspent my life chasing the game, and in one sickening instant, it spit me out.
I was the starting quarterback for the Nashville Outlaws, a pro team with a loyal fan base. We were poised for the playoffs. I was supposed to be living the dream.
What followed was months of surgeries, physical therapy, and the slow ache of realizing that the one thing I’d worked for was gone. It wasn’t just a job—it was the rhythm of my life. The brotherhood. The roar of the crowd. The purpose that came with stepping under stadium lights. That kind of silence stays with you.
After the dust settled, I took some of my savings and put them into these properties. A row of rentals not far from the high school. It wasn’t the dream, but it was solid. Something that would last. A way to build security out of the wreckage. Passive income. A future—even if it didn’t look like the one I’d pictured.
I pull into the driveway of the end unit—the one I live in. It’s small, but it works. From here, I can keep an eye on things. Fix a busted water heater. Paint a door. The management company handles leases and showings, but the day-to-day? That’s mine.
It gives me something to do with my hands. Something to manage, to control. And most days, that’s enough.
Inside, I toss my keys into the ceramic dish on the kitchen island. The clink echoes louder than it should in the quiet. A golden head pops up from the couch, ears perked. My three-year-old Golden Retriever’s eyes light up before she jumps down and heads straight for me.
“Hey, Priscilla.” I crouch down and scratch behind her ears. “Did my girl miss me?” I open the patio door and she trots out, tail wagging. The scent of beer clings to me. I peel off my damp shirt as I head for the laundry room, stripping the night off one piece at a time. By the time I’m shoving everything into thewasher, the weight of it finally hits. Shame comes first—hot and familiar—then the sharp edge of regret.
I flip off the kitchen lights so no one sees I’m half-naked, then open the door for Priscilla to come back inside. “Bedtime, girl.” She bolts up the stairs. I follow, heading for the bathroom while she settles on the foot of the bed.
I turn on the shower and brace my hands on the counter, watching the steam fog the mirror. Tonight’s mess replays in my head. That exchange with Brynn? Hell, it wasn’t good. I was cold. Guarded. Sharper than I meant to be. But seeing her—it was like opening a door I thought I’d sealed shut. One look, and I was eighteen again. Heart in my hands. Convinced she was it.
I was a year ahead of her in school. When I left for college in Richmond, we held on without much effort. Weekly calls, long texts, quick visits. It worked. Then she graduated and chose a school in D.C.—just two hours away. Easier, even. We were making it work, and I thought we always would.
Until I declared for the draft.
That’s when things changed. She started pulling back. Our calls got shorter. The weekends we used to count down for turned into rushed visits squeezed between parties and sorority mixers. Her world was expanding. Mine was narrowing to a single point—pro football or bust.
When I got signed to the Outlaws, I thought it was the start of everything. I pictured us house hunting in the off-season. Quiet nights, champagne in the kitchen, her feet in my lap while we planned our forever.
Instead, she took a scholarship to finish school and an internship with some big tech company in Seattle. Packed up her life and left. No looking back.
The night I celebrated, I did it alone. The world congratulated me for living the dream, but it never felt like the dream without her in it.
I lasted three seasons before the injury ended it all. So I came home. Roanoke had the surgeons, the rehab, the routine. But more than that, it was familiar. A place where I could relearn how to exist—in a body that betrayed me and with a heart that never quite stopped aching for what I lost.
While she was two thousand miles away. Building a new life. One I wasn’t in. I thought I was over her. Thought I’d finally moved on. But tonight, something cracked open.
She’s different—more polished, more guarded—but that spark in her eyes? Still there. Still that same girl from the halls of Cedar Falls High.
That’s what guts me. Because I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t still want to reach for something I know won’t reach back.
But I do. And it pisses me off.
I stay in the shower long enough to scrub off the beer, but not long enough to let my mind wander. When I’m done, I wrap a towel around my waist, too tired to care that I’m still damp. I got clean—but the sting of that look she gave me from across the bar? That’s still with me. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Just nodded and walked away.
Instead, I sat there like a dumbass waiting for a fight.
I throw on a pair of shorts, then collapse into bed. The sheets are cool, the house still. Just the quiet hum of the fridge and the soft click of the heat kicking on. But my mind won’t settle.
Of course she’s still beautiful. Of course she’s still stubborn. Of course she still knows exactly how to get under my skin.
I roll onto my side and stare at the wall. Priscilla lets out a sigh like I’m the one disruptinghernight.
We were kids. It’s ancient history. I’m not that guy anymore. And whatever she’s doing back in Cedar Falls, it’s got nothing to do with me. She made her choice—Seattle, school, and a few years later, a fiancé.
Fine.
Good, even.
She can keep that life. I’ve got mine. Solid. Simple. No drama. No guessing games. I run my business. I coach. I keep my circle tight.
