Page 43 of Sunshine

I know he’s right, and my heart utterly breaks for Jason.

I’d called him this morning from the bus and when he answered, I could hear the excitement from the rest of the team in the background. “Hey, babe!” he’d greeted with a cheerful tone, immediately quelling any fears I had about his state of mind. “How was your sleepover?”

“It was good.” I smiled. “How was your night?”

“Good,” he echoed. “We watched a bunch of tapes on Mayfield and ran through plays—I feel ready, Layla. I feel fucking ready for this.”

“That’s so great, Jay! I know you and the team are going to kill it,” I encouraged. “And I’m happy I get to be there to watch from the sidelines.”

“My beautiful girl,” he said, and I could hear that he was smiling, too. “I’m lucky to have you.”

Unfortunately, it looks like Jason’s confidence and positive energy wasn’t enough to sustain him on the field. Thankfully, the Matadors aren’t able to get to the end zone with their next possession. But when the Mustang’s defense hustles back to the sidelines and the offense moves out, I notice number 24 stays on the bench.

Coach took Jay out of the game.

Noah King, the second-string senior that Jason replaced in the first game of the season, runs out into the middle of the field with the rest of the offense, and it’s the first time in a long time that the stands behind me come to life. “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, gaze focused on Jason.

Hoa shouts out a cue for us to start a cheer choreography, and I’m forced to rip my eyes away from him. By the time we finish and get back into line, the team has started the first play and Noah is looking for a receiver downfield. He sees an opportunity and throws the ball to Brad, who catches it and runs to gain twenty yards. The crowd behind me is instantly screaming, but all I can do is watch as Jason shifts and bends his head low.

Noah drives the Mustangs all the way to the end zone for a touchdown, eliminating the opportunity for the Matadors to completely shut us out. But the immediate turnaround in momentum seems to ignite some frustration in the crowd.

“You should have put Noah in two hours ago, Coach!” someone in the first few rows shouts.

“Jason lost us the game!” someone else hollers, and I can feel the blood drain from my face.

Jason turns around from the bench to look at the crowd, and I know he heard it. I know he’s going to beat himself up over this for a long time, and I wish there was something I could do to help.

The Mustangs’ defense runs out for the Matadors’ drive, and Wells takes a seat next to his best friend. He tentatively puts an arm up around his shoulders, but Jason flinches and twists out of the touch before getting up and walking away from him.

I’m frozen in place as the rest of the game plays out. When thefinal whistle blows to signal the end of the fourth quarter, the blue and gold swarm of fans from the other side of the stadium seems to become a single living being, moving in a rippling tandem. Their players and coaching staff rush the field as blue confetti suddenly bursts from the sky, and all I can do isstandhere.

“Come on, Layla,” Regan says, gently wrapping her hand around my arm. I didn’t even notice her approach. “It’s over.”

But I can’t move. I scan our sidelines for Jason, knowing that I need to do something to help him process, but I don’t see him. In the sea of red and white jerseys, he’s nowhere to be found.

“Layla?” Regan gently asks, but I still don’t turn to her. I’m suddenly lightheaded. Black spots dance along the edges of my vision, and I feel weak, like I might . . .

“Jason,” I whisper as a vicious dizziness sets in. And then everything goes black.

The first thingthat infiltrates the haze of unconsciousness is a low murmuring of voices.

She must not have eaten enough . . .

. . . upset about the game . . .

. . . you see him run?

The second thought that hits me like a bucket of ice-cold water is that I’m being carried; two strong arms hold my body tight, curling around my shoulder blades and behind my knees. My head rocks gently against a hard-padded shoulder, and somehow IknowI’m safe.

. . . happened?

She just dropped right to the ground . . .

. . . call a medic . . .

We stop moving, and the murmuring around me ebbs and flows in rhythm with the pounding in my head.

What the hell happened?

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