Page 89 of Irresistibly Risky

I’m trying to take it day by day. I’m trying not to get in too deep too quickly. But Asher makes it so effortless to love him.

So it breaks my heart that he’s here on the sideline, mic’d into the kid on the field who is starting the game instead of Asher. It’s been nearly a month since his surgery, but he’s got another month, at least, of rehab before he can even think about taking the field.

The opposing team just deferred the ball and kicked off to us. Asher paces the sidelines as the rookie hits the field. He passes me on one of his paces, and I grasp his hand on the back side of it, giving it a squeeze and then immediately releasing him. His eyes train back to mine, and I can see the ache in his.

“You’ve got this, player.”

A wan half-smile. “I’m glad you’re here.” Because this sucks. He didn’t have to say it; his expression screams it for him.

“Soon enough you’ll be back out there.”

But the grim crease of his face tells me that he’s not sure if he’ll ever start again for this team, and I don’t know what to say. Joe spoke about seeing what the kid could do when he and I met that first time. He talked about possibly trading Asher. And then what? This is where my dream job is. Where my family is.

What happens to all of this if Asher gets traded?

Yet another reason why I’m trying to force myself not to get too emotionally involved, but that feels like a joke.

I haven’t mentioned any of this to Asher. I’m not sure what good it would do anyone, especially him. Instinctively, I’m positive he already knows the score and that being traded is a very real possibility for him.

“Maybe.”

It’s all he says, and then he’s game-on. Nothing else registers but the plays.

I’ll admit it, it’s sort of fun to watch. Even if I don’t understand much of it. It’s not hockey, and it’s far from basketball, but I get it. The gridiron roughness of it. The putting your body on the line for each play.

I slink to the back of the sideline, away from the players and the action. Joe is standing on the edge of the sideline, barking and growling as he stares at a laminated sheet with plays on it. He shouts something at Asher, who simply nods his head in acknowledgment, though the clench of his jaw does nothing to hide his resentment.

Asher wears his heart on his sleeve, and that won’t help him with this. Joe, for better or worse, is his coach. And if he wants to continue to play for the Rebels, then he has to learn how to manage that. I love that he’s protective over me, but I can take care of myself. Ignoring Joe has become an art and science that I’ve mastered.

I don’t have to speak to him. He has very little to do with what I do here.

Letting go of the past means removing his importance in it, and I will no longer give him any power to affect anything in me.

“You look tense,” Dean, the team neurologist says, coming over to stand beside me. He’s a nice guy. In the weeks I’ve been here, we’ve become friendly. He also works at the same hospital I do. Not that I ever see him there since I’m no longer working there, except for occasional Mondays.

“It’s my first football game.”

His eyebrows bounce in surprise. “What do you think of it so far?”

I hitch up a shoulder. “I’d rather be home with my son.”

He laughs. “How did you get this gig again?”

“I drew the short straw.”

“Interesting considering I practically had to offer up my firstborn child to get it.”

I throw him a side-eye. “How do they feel about that?”

“No kids yet, so I’ll let you know when I have one.”

“Well, I have no plans to give up mine, so I’d gladly pass this off to someone else.”

He steps in closer to me, nudging me with his elbow. “From what I heard about what you did for Reyes’ shoulder, I doubt they’re letting you go anytime soon.”

“His shoulder wasn’t that bad,” I admit. “I’m not sure what was up with the MRI. It was a completely different field when I got in there.” It’s still something I don’t understand. I reviewed the MRI after the surgery to make sure I hadn’t been imagining things, and the MRI showed a torn labrum, an AC joint separation, and a ton of scarring that wasn’t present inside his shoulder.

The truth is, anyone could have done Asher’s surgery. He might have even been able to get away with some physical therapy for it instead of surgery, which would have gotten him through the season. I’m still not sure what to make of it.

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