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“You and Dana,” Alex says. “Is it over?”
My stomach twists, a resounding no if I’ve ever felt one.
Alex scoffs at my hesitation. “Then, there’s nothing else to say,” he says, then leaves, Ben going right along with him.
“Guys…” I lurch forward, then stop, letting them go. No idea what I’d even say, anyway.
Is it over? I don’t know.
But I hurt her. I hurt her again.
If it isn’t over, maybe it should be.
“Shit, dude. You’ve had a week, haven’t you?”
Emerson stands close by in his uniform, as if he wasn’t annoyingly listening to that entire conversation.
I bite down hard. “What are you still doing in here?” I ask.
He pushes off the locker, his helmet in one hand. “Would it be weird if I said it feels wrong to walk out there without you?”
“A little, yeah.”
He chuckles, then lets it fall. “Hey, I’m really sorry to hear about your grandfather,” he says. “You know, I’ve never seen my dad cry, but he shed a tear today when he heard. Blew my mind.”
“Hard to picture that.”
“Wasn’t easy to witness, either.”
I bob my head toward the field. “You should get out there.”
“You’re not coming?” he asks, glancing at my casual clothes.
“No, I’m sitting this one out.”
Emerson tilts his head. “And leave the slot of first alternate QB wide open for little old me?”
I scoff, too tired to care. “It was yours, anyway, man.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” I reach for my backpack in the locker. “Good luck out there, Emerson.”
He doesn’t move. “You’re not giving up, are you? I was really enjoying this game.”
“What game?”
“You know. I push you. You push me. I make you run faster, you make me throw harder. It was making me a better player. You too, by the way.”
“I wasn’t keeping up. You know it, they know it. You should be the next starter, not me.”
“Who says it has to be either-or?” he asks. “You know, Jefferson said something the other day that I thought was interesting. He said—” He throws on an accent, mimicking Jefferson’s southern drawl. “You know, with your build and Morgan’s arm, you two almost make one halfway decent me. Almost.”
“Why is that interesting?” I ask.
“It’s interesting, Connor, because he’s right.” He shifts on his cleats, somehow standing even taller than he already is. “You have your strengths. I have mine. I say we toss this rivalry bullshit and start playing for the same team.”
“You’re saying we can both be starting quarterback?”
