Page 55 of Chess Not Checkers
I draw in a shaky breath. “What if everything goes wrong?”
She rubs my back. “I don’t think it will. I think you’re going to have a great game and then a nice time celebrating with the people you love. But if it all goes up in flames, you can call me, and we’ll drown your sorrows in pasta.”
I chuckle. She tilts her head back to look up at me but doesn’t step out of my arms.
“Thanks, Chef,” I say in a soft voice.
She scrunches her nose, but replies, “Anytime, Captain.”
I let out a sigh, feeling the tightness behind my sternum dissipate. “I really wish I wasn’t wearing an apron right now.”
She giggles. “Why? I think it’s cute.”
I roll my eyes. “Because I’m going to want to look back on this moment, and I’d like to be able to picture myself at leastlookingtough while I blubbered like a baby.”
“You didn’t blubber. I would have made fun of you if you did. The same way I’m going to make fun of you for that apron when I remind you of this moment years from now,” she says as she steps back.
Years from now.Warmth spreads through me. She said it so casually, as if it were a guarantee. I watch her pick up a wooden spoon, and suddenly my worries drift away like a leaf on the breeze. I can shoulder the weight of the world again once I leave here. For now, there’s only this moment, here with her. That’s all I want to think about.
Chapter twenty-eight
The Promise
Shepherd Kingsley
I yank my helmet off, barely resisting the urge to throw it as I step off the field. Coach grabs my jersey before I can head to the bench.
“Your control is slipping,” he says. As if I don’t know that. “You need to calm down. We can still win this.”
I instinctively glance at the scoreboard. Down two touchdowns at the end of the third quarter.
Coach shakes me by the shoulders. “Don’t look at that board. You set the tone here. If you stay like this, they’ll spiral with you.”
“Okay,” I grit out.
He lets go of my jersey. I walk over to the bench and slam my helmet down before taking a seat. Something to get the anger out. Our defense is out on the field. I can tell how tired they are. They’ve been overworked tonight trying to keep back Carolina. We need a turnover, but I don’t know if they have it in them.
I scrub my hands over my face. Coach is right; I need to pull myself together. But all I can think about is my brother and parents up in the box, watching me crash and burn. At least Jasmine can’t watch every play. She can see the scoreboard, but knowing that she is watching the crowd and not my failure is a small mercy.
Carolina’s quarterback gets the ball and drops back. We rush him, but not before he rears his arm back and sends the ball sailing overhead. A thirty-yard pass. My heart drops to my stomach as the ball lands in the hands of their best wide receiver. He runs it straight into the end zone. Now they’re up by twenty-one.
Coach starts yelling from the sideline. His anger is palpable, and I can see it written all over his face and body language: he’s worried we’re going to lose.
“At the end of the day, we got outplayed,” Coach says from the center of the locker room.
All I can see are his white sneakers because I can’t bring myself to lift my head.I failed.After everything I did to ensure this would never happen, it did. I memorized plays, pushed my body to the limit in the weight room, watched hours upon hours of tape—not just mine, but my teammates and my opponents—and I still failed.
I’m never going to be able to live down this loss. For the rest of my life, everyone is going to talk about how Shepherd Kingsley camecloseto his brother’s record but couldn’t cut it. My throat feels like someone has their hand wrapped around it, slowly squeezing tighter and tighter.
“You played great, but they played better,” Coach continues.
My lip curls. I didn’t play great. I was terrible. He doesn’t need to sugarcoat it. Call me out. Take the heat off the team. They all know the truth. I ruined our chance at an undefeated season.
“Of course, there are things we need to improve on, but I know the kind of men y’all are. You’re already thinking of how you could have been better. So, I’ll wait until next week to bring up what you did wrong. For now, I want you to go home. Rest. Don’t go on social media or ESPN. All of that is poison. It’s not going to help you.”
Murmurs of “yes, sir” and “yes, Coach” circulate the room. I stay silent.
“I’ll see you Monday,” Coach finishes with a clap of his hands.
