Page 17 of Playing It Forward

The room darkens and the footage begins to play. Gage leans forward as he studies the footage. As do Corbin and Brock. Tanner, on the other hand, digs out his phone.

I swipe it from him. He opens his mouth to protest but I glare at him. “You need to pay attention. Or did you forget about the pass you missed that got intercepted?”

He winces. “I didn’t forget.”

We’re barely five minutes in before Coach Knox stops the footage. “Nolan, your timing is off.”

“Disagree,” Coach Wilson grumbles. “His timing isn’t off. His mechanics are.”

I scowl at the quarterback coach. “I’m fine.”

Coach Knox studies me for a moment. Shit. Does he not believe me? Does he know about my shoulder? Does he realize I’ve been lying about my recovery?

I give him a thumbs-up and he motions for the footage to continue.

I can barely watch. I know what happens next. But I force myself to stare at the footage. To not cringe and glance away.

“Fuck,” Gage murmurs when the sack occurs. “I never should have let you get sacked.”

I want to tell him it’s okay. It wasn’t his fault. Football is a team sport after all. But like Coach Knox said, we can’t improve if we don’t work on our errors.

“We’ll work with Coach Knox and Coach Wilson to improve.”

And improve we must. I can’t survive another hit like that one. I won’t be able to play again if I do. My shoulder’s barely hanging on as it is.

“I’ll schedule some time,” Coach Knox calls.

I salute him. “Yes, Coach Cha-Cha.”

The players laugh and the tension breaks, which was my intention. Knox shoots me a glare and I mimic dancing the cha-cha. Tanner jumps to his feet and begins dancing in earnest.

Knox lets the team have a moment before clearing his throat. “Sit down. Back to work!”

“Whatever you say, Coach Cha-Cha. But whenever you’re ready, I’d love to teach you to dance.” Tanner winks before settling back in his seat.

We watch the rest of the game in much the same manner. Knox pauses the footage again and again to point out our mistakes. Coach Wilson doesn’t hesitate to agree.

By the time we finish, I feel raw from all the negative commentary. I should be used to it. Between the press, social media comments, and the team, I’ve heard all the negative comments possible about the playoff game we lost.

But each comment slices through me worse than a knife. It badgers at my confidence. It reminds me of the injury that’s lingering. The injury I’m terrified isn’t ever going to heal.

“All right,” Coach Knox says when the lights switch back on. “Get out of here and get some lunch. We’ll reconvene this afternoon.”

Tanner sighs. “Awesome. Can’t wait.”

Gage elbows him. “Do you not want to improve?”

“How can you improve perfection?”

Brock growls. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Are you ever not grumpy?” Tanner shoots back.

Corbin grunts. “Lunch.”

“I’m hungry,” Brock says.

Tanner does a dramatic eye roll. “When isn’t Mr. Grumpy hungry?”