Page 50 of Sidelined By Love

Heaving a deep breath, I return Card’s phone and turn toward Hank. He’s a fairly short guy, several inches shy of six feet. But I’d follow him into any battle.

His encouragement got me through my injury—and my break-up with Tawna. He’s the kind of guy who slips notecards with handwritten Bible verses into my locker when he knows Ineed a boost. He’s also the kind of leader who calls guys out on their stuff.

And the twist in my stomach is more than a bit afraid this conversation is going to be more the latter.

The hallway of offices is bright and wide with ceilings twice as tall as they need to be. The pale gray walls between glass doors are filled with framed photos of the Teeners throughout the decades, even a few playoff appearances.

The chaplain’s office is at the far end of the hall, tucked away in a back corner. It seems darker inside, solemn, somber.

Funny. I’ve never thought of it like that until right this minute. I’ve been here plenty of times when Hank and I laughed until my belly ached and my hurts felt more bearable.

Today, I can’t imagine walking out of this room with that same experience.

“Have a seat.” He nods toward the plush black love seat tucked against the far wall.

Plucking at the collar of my sweaty undershirt, I shake my head.

“You think you’re the first player to sit there after practice?”

No. Yes. Maybe? I only shrug.

He snorts, plopping into the leather chair across from the sofa. “If the facilities guys didn’t steam clean it weekly, I’m afraid I’d have to wear a gas mask just to stay in my office.”

That makes me chuckle, and I lower myself to the edge of a cushion. Forearms on my thigh pads, I take a deep breath. Hank is waiting for me to say something. I’m sure of it. But I’m not in a rush to fill the silence. Instead, I study the walls of his office. Bookshelves lined with academic-looking tomes. And framed pictures of his wife, children, and their kids.

Hank is old enough to be my grandfather, his hair white and skin weathered. And though he’s a full head shorter than I am, there’s a strength in his shoulders that seems able to carry eventhe heaviest load. And he has carried a lot of them for the guys on the team.

When my sister called me to tell me her unit was being deployed and she needed someone to care for Kenna, I went straight to Hank’s office to ask his advice.

“Pray for direction. Then put on your big-boy pants. It’s time to take care of your family.”

I crack a smile as I remember the way he made it sound so easy. And the way he so casually insulted me at the same time.

That’s Hank in a nutshell.

“I don’t see you lose your cool very often. What happened in there?”

Scrubbing my hand through my sweaty hair and down the back of my bent neck, I sigh. “I don’t know.”

“Does it have something to do with Mr. Peebles’s daughter?”

“Of course not.” Then I peek up through one eye. “Maybe.”

With a smug smile, Hank crosses his fingers behind his head and leans back in his seat.

“She doesn’t deserve to have those magazines writing about her. The guys in the locker room either.”

“What about you? You’re in those pictures too, you know.”

I know. And I don’t give a chicken on a biscuit. Let the media say what they want about me. I prove my worth to this organization every week on the field. And a few headlines will only make the guys razz me a bit. Nothing I can’t handle.

But Zoe’s entire career is on the line.

Jumping to my feet, I pace the length of the couch a few times, rubbing my palm over my face.

“Are you seeing her?” Hank’s voice is low and filled with genuine concern.

I freeze then look directly at him. “No. Not really. She’s a . . . a . . . a friend. We’ve been hanging out.” I swallow thickly. “That’s it really.”

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