Page 85 of Most Likely to Score
I’m afraid like I’ve never been afraid before, and there’s no room in my life for fear since tomorrow is game day. I need to be in the zone, and only in the zone.
Even though the game is at home, we always stay at a hotel the night before, so I head to Trevor’s house to drop off the little dude. Cletus whines with excitement when he sees my brother. “Hey buddy, you want to hang out with your favorite Beckett tonight?” Trevor asks the pooch.
“I’m still his favorite person.” That came out more defensively than I intended.
“Just messing with you.” Trevor lifts his chin. “You okay? You look out of sorts. Did you talk to Ford yet?”
“No,” I spit out.
Trevor studies my face. “Are you having second thoughts?”
I shake my head. “No. No. No.”
He arches an eyebrow. Obviously, that was too much denial.
I’m not having second thoughts about loving Jillian, but I’m having truckloads of doubt about everything else in my life and how the hell to make it fit.
Seeing Garrett was a flashing neon sign that I could lose everything I’ve worked so hard for. Is dating Jillian a risk that could send me on the path toputting out feelers? Not directly. But I could lose other things if I’m with her, and I need to get some clarity on how to move forward with her and with football.
I need to be prepared for a worst-case scenario, but how the hell do I prep for that? Trouble is, I’m shaken to the core, and I don’t know how to put one foot in front of the other after what I learned about Garrett.
“Just a ton of stuff on my mind,” I mutter. “I’ll call Ford when my head is clear.”
Trevor claps me on the shoulder. “Good plan. Focus on the game and only the game.”
“Exactly.”
I take his advice, because if I let this weigh on me—what to say, how to say it—I’ll risk a fuck-up on the field tomorrow, and I can’t afford mistakes.
My secret sauce is focus, and in the last twenty-four hours, that skill has been slipping to an alarming degree.
At the hotel, I check in and shut myself in my room, guiltily grateful that Jillian’s not here tonight. Sometimes she stays at the game hotel, but the manager of PR is on duty tonight. That means I won’t be tempted to find her in her room, because God knows if I did, my remaining focus would be shredded like a credit report.
But total ass or not, I can’t leave her hanging. When I slide into bed, I tap out a text.
Jones: Haven’t been able to reach the guys. But I’m thinking of you. I promise.
I lace up my cleats and adjust my pads. Rolling my shoulders back and forth, I repeat under my breath, “Ready. I’m ready.”
Harlan grabs his helmet from his locker. “You ready?”
That’s the question.
“Always.”
That’s the only answer.
He gives me a look. “Are you sure? You’re quieter today than usual. You haven’t busted my chops about a single thing.”
I could give him shit about being sensitive enough to notice my silence, but I’m in no mood. Instead, I blurt out, “Do you ever think about getting hurt?”
He tips his forehead in the direction of the stadium. “During a game?”
I nod.
“Of course.”
“What do you do about it?”
