Jake’s mouth falls open. “But—”
“Yeah, butt on the bench, Rogers. I don’t care what your stats are”—Coach rounds on Grey—“or that you’re already scheduled to be there. Neither of you sets foot on the field.”
“I—”
“But—”
They’re both cut off by Coach forcibly spinning them in the direction of the locker room. “One more peep out of either of you and we’ll have to elect new senior captains.”
As they’re stalking away, my stomach bottoms out. There goes my safety net. Both my top backup and the team’s leading scorer—gone.
Tomorrow, it’s all on me.
And it feels like my fault. I want to grab Grey’s hand. To remind him that he’s an amazing player. That it’s okayto have another off week. Second-string isn’t who he is. I want to tell him that Jake knows that, too, which was why he was so hard on him.
But I don’t. Because I’m not convinced it won’t make things worse.
And so I watch them trudge away—Coach Lee, Grey, Jake, and the rest. Fifty-plus people who are all counting on me tomorrow night.
I’ll need to run the plays. I’ll need tomakethe plays. And I can’t get hurt. I can’t leave the team with Brady in the pocket and no Jake behind him.
Or we’ll lose.
It’s only for a game. But it might as well be an eternity.
25
“OH MAN, WHAT A FACE,” GREY SAYS. “CENTRAL’S D ISgoing to shit bricks.”
Grey peels off a huddle of giant bodies and does a drive-by knock of my shoulder as I stalk toward the bus, game-day glare on. Outside, I know I look hard as nails, but inside I’m a puddle of nerves. Not something I’m used to being, that’s for sure.
Grey places a hand on my shoulder, right on the pad, as we find a seat. He’s been like this all day—not a hint of frustration in my presence or a word about what happened last night. Jake’s got apparent amnesia, too, though a deep purple shiner the shape of Grey’s fist is imprinted on his right cheek.
I cock a brow and whisper, his presence immediatelydulling some of my nerves. “I thought you liked my face, Worthington.”
Too close, he stares at my lips. “Don’t tempt me, Rodinsky.”
“No kissing in football. Yeah, yeah.”
“Let’s continue this discussion after a Tiger victory, shall we?”
I smirk at him. “Oh, I don’t need a discussion to win this argument.”
“No, you don’t.”
An hour later, we’ve been through warm-ups, the national anthem, and Central’s pep song. Our junior captain—Nick—took the coin toss and happened to win it, telling the refs we’d receive. Which means I’m out on the field in less than a minute.
I’m more ready than I was before boarding the bus. But I’m still nervous as shit.
Alone with five thousand high school football fans, Grey and I stand side by side in the Central stadium, his energy seeping into mine at a much faster rate than the Gatorade I just chugged. Watching Jaden Gonzalez do the offense a solid and run Central’s kickoff back past midfield and down to the thirty.
My eyes shoot up to the crowd, and within a few seconds, I find my family and Addie, up in the topmost corner of the visitor’s section. They’re easy to spot—Addie and Danielle, straight from school in Windsor Prep purple,Heather in a criminally cute sundress, Mom and Ryan in Northland orange, and Dad looking ever the detective in a button-up, straight from work. He might not like me playing football, but he’ll support me anytime.
Ball down, chains moving, the turf glittering under the lights, the weight of Grey’s hand appears on my shoulder. “Good luck,” he says.
I run out onto the field.
Turns out Central isn’t as terrible as Jake insisted they were a day ago.
