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I don’t like what he’s saying, but I can’t deny it either.
Coach is right. If I want to get into the NFL, I need to stay focused. I need this for my future—my future with Ava. Everything I’m doing right now is for her.
For us.
She’ll understand if I need to focus on football for the next few weeks. It’ll be tough, but worth it in the end. Especially if I get drafted. Damn, if that happens…
My future with Ava is set.
And that’s all I want. My girl by my side, forever. Loving her and taking care of her in the best way I can.
As I start getting dressed, the team trickles in, all of them looking as dejected as I feel. I offer them encouraging comments and they do the same for me, not a one of them calling me out.
I’m waiting for that to come from my best friends. Those fuckers won’t hold back.
After tugging on my shirt, I finally check my phone and find a bunch of text messages, mostly from Ava and my mother and…Ryan?
Ava: Your brother showed up to the hospital. I kind of chewed him out, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t restrain myself. I’m glad he came though. Your mother was glad too.
Mom: Ryan showed up and brought me home! He said he’s going to stay for as long as I need him, the sweetheart. Call me when you can. Good luck on your game. Love you.
Ryan: I’m with Mom and took her home. She wanted me to pour her a glass of wine but I wouldn’t do it. I think her problem is worse than she’s letting on. Text me when you get this message.
I roll my eyes at my brother’s text. No shit, Sherlock is what I want to respond with, but I don’t.
I’ll call him in a few. I need to be in a certain mood when I deal with him and now is not it.
Ava: I’m at the game. Hopefully we can meet up after. Gracie can take me home if you’re too tired to drive.
She sends me a string of red hearts and my own heart throbs, hating that she witnessed my shitty gameplay.
I feel like a failure at all the things. Football. School. Family. Ava.
All of it.
Why can’t I have it all? Why can’t shit go right for once?
“Hey.”
I turn at the sound of Caleb’s voice, which is more subdued than I think I’ve ever heard it. He’s full of as much bravado as me most of the time. But when I see his somber expression, and note the matching expressions on Tony and Diego as they stop just behind him, all three of them watching me, I realize they feel bad. Not just for themselves, but also for me.
They’re worried about me.
Because they give a shit—and that means a lot.
“You doing okay?” Tony asks.
I nod, working my damnedest to keep a brave face. “Yeah. Sucked, but what’s two losses, right?”
“We’ll kick ass next week,” Diego says fiercely.
“Hell yeah, we will,” Caleb adds.
I nod, appreciating their faith in me. In us. “We’ll do great. Work harder at practice.”
“It’s an away game, but we always beat San Jose,” Diego says. “And at least it’s not too far.”
“Thank God,” I mutter, shaking my head.
