Page 4 of Red Zone Realizations
Noah.
“I’m so glad you were able to spend some of your recovery time with us.”
It’s everything I can do right now to keep my eyes fixated on my bag like it could sprout legs and walk off when all I want to do is stare at him. The back of my neck prickles like someone is looking at me. I turn just barely to peek over my shoulder to find Noah looking right at me. I quickly turn back to my bag and shove everything in it. I’ve got to get out of here.
“It’s way more fun than the team training room. They’re always forcing me into the cold tub.” He chuffs a laugh. “I think I’m going to be back to one hundred percent for training camp.”
I can hear the smile in his words even though I can’t see it.
Team? Training room? Who is this guy?I figured he was just another finance bro with a penchant for a good sweat. He’s ripped, but lots of students here participate in other harder workouts and do yoga on their rest days. Not that I’d ever admit it out loud, but these classesaremy hard days.
I turn and head toward the door, sneaking one last glance at him. His familiar form graces my eyes. His eyes flick to me again and I duck from his gaze. He’s definitely taller than my dad, who is over six feet. Strong, so it makes sense that he spends some time in a training room. We’ve spoken nary a word, besides polite greetings and “excuse me” when we’re in each other’s way, but I always catch him looking at me. I must perpetually have a piece of food stuck in my teeth from lunchor something. Otherwise, I don’t know what he could be looking at. Now that I know his name, I’m pretty positive that he doesn’t know mine. But it sounds like he won’t be back for a while, however long this training camp is he referred to?
Not that it matters because six months ago I swore off men anyway.
Then why have I been coming to this class for months… and quietly watching out for Noah every week?
Chapter Two
NOAH
Audrey walks by me on her way out the door looking deliciously ruffled, her brown ponytail all messed up from savasana. Lying on her back must pull some of the hair loose from its hold. She’s got that matching legging set I love on today—the black camo one. It matches the brand on her mat. Whenever I catch her looking at me, I try to make eye contact, try to show her that I’m open to saying hi. Gigi greeted her by name once, that’s the only reason I know it.
I thank Joe for a great class and head to the cubes to get my stuff. Sweat drips down my forehead and I errantly wipe it with my towel. I’m feeling looser now than I was this morning. Who says football players can’t be flexible? Hopefully that’s something Coach can see when I return for preseason training camp next week.
My mind drifts to the last football season. It’s the last game before playoffs and we aren’t in the mix, once again. We had to fight hard, reaching for those precious postseason games, but we came up empty. Talk about adding insult to injury.
The stadium is loud with opposing fans. A rematch with ourrivals, the Miami Hammerheads, who beat the shit out of us in the beginning of the season. I have hope that our next matchup will end with us victorious because it’s extremely hard to beat a team twice in the NFL. We’re only down by six and on our last offensive drive. I jog into the huddle, ready to hear the play Colin calls.
“Forty-two, on three, on three!” he yells.
We all clap in unison and step up to the line of scrimmage. Careful not to be too close or too far. I watch as Colin sees the defense shift to adjust to us. “Kill-kill, kill-kill!”
He didn’t like the defense he saw so he shot the previous play. He thinks something else will be better, and as a team we have to trust our quarterback.
“BLUE FORTY-TWO!” He stomps his right foot, calling me in motion. I take off from my spot to the right of Wyatt, our defensive tackle, running behind Colin. Moving from my blocking slot to my receiving spot for this new play, as tight ends often do. As I swipe past him, he yells, “Hut!”
The ball is snapped. I take off straight through a narrow seam in the defensive line. My defenseman is trailing me, trying to keep a hand on me. I’m going as far as I can as fast as I run directly toward the end zone.
I turn to look back at Colin. His eyes meet mine and I can see him ready to launch it. He drops back as the pocket starts to collapse around him and blasts it. I track it with my eyes as I run the slant toward the end zone. The ball is a little high, so I jump, hands ready to contest for the football. It hits my gloves as gravity brings me back down. The safety had time to catch up while I was waiting for the ball to stop careening through the air. We tangle in midair as he tries to get a hand in to break up the play. There’s nothing I can do to keep myself from falling awkwardly. A defenseless receiver.
I land on my right foot first and the pain is instant.
The play over.
My season ended there. I’ve been clawing my way back ever since. Surgery, recovery, months of physical therapy. I was bored and restless not being able to move like I did before. The stillness of injury is uncomfortable when you’re used to the level of movement of a professional athlete. When the trainer suggested yoga, I was desperate for anything that would allow me some physical freedom. I discussed it with my therapist, a little gun-shy to get back out there. She encouraged it because yoga has so many mental health benefits.
Needless to say, I loved it.
At first I looked forward to coming to yoga because it let me stretch my tight body, and allowed me to get out of my own head for sixty minutes. It only took about three classes for me to notice Audrey. At first it was just the way her yoga pants hugged her curves, but as time went on, I noticed how she greeted every employee with a genuine smile. How she knew all of them by name. It’s been six long months of wanting to introduce myself to her, but she’s always so focused when she gets here, clearly on a mission to get in a good workout, that I didn’t want to disturb her. I hate when someone walks up to me as I get ready for a weight set and tries to start a conversation, and just because this is a yoga studio and not the Hurricanes’ weight room doesn’t mean she doesn’t have that same right.
So even though sometimes it physically hurts me, I keep my mouth shut and my hellos to myself.
Chapter Three
AUDREY
I’m sitting in the left-hand turn lane on my way home from class. I switch on my blinker as I wait to cross over Waugh Bridge. In two hours, two-hundred-fifty-thousand bats will emerge from under the bridge and fly off into the night in search of food. Almost every night a small crowd gathers to watch. I see an older man out of the corner of my eye. Houston has seven-million people in its metro area, so it’s not unusual to see unhoused people near the highways. This gentleman has a beard, jeans, and is in a wheelchair. I undo my center console to dig around for random protein bars I keep in there.
