Page 74 of Sidelined By Love

And I was just a waste of her time.

Suddenly Card shoves my shoulder, and I stumble onto the field. I catch myself by the second step, squaring my shoulders as I line up with him and Ja’maar and march toward the officials. The Seahawks’ captains meet us there. Their defensive end is broad but fast. He glares at me like he’s looking forward to seeing me flat on my back and stripping the ball out of my hands.

Keep your head in the game, Red.

I repeat it over and over as the official flips the coin. The Seahawks win but defer. They’ll kick off, and I’ll start with the ball.

Back on our sideline, the guys are getting excited, bumping chests and smacking helmets.

I’ve got to get riled up.

I’ve got to forget about Zoe. For the next sixty minutes of game time, I owe it to my brothers—I owe it to myself—to play the best game I can.

And thinking about Zoe isn’t going to help me do that.

I push the image of her red-rimmed eyes and trembling lip the last time I saw her out of my mind. Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I take several deep breaths.

Focus. Focus. Call the plays. Make the reads. Win the game.

Shouldn’t be a problem.

Yeah, right.

The Seahawks kick off, and then I’m running toward the thirty-yard line, calling for the guys to line up. They alreadyknow the first play. We’ve practiced it a million times. But I can’t go on muscle memory alone.

Stay in the moment. Be present.

I manage to take my own advice for the first four minutes of the game. I connect with my receivers on short throws.

We’re third and seven. I need a good pass to get us at least in field goal range. To start the game with some points on the board.

Suddenly the sound system blares a song that was playing the night Kenna got her call-back and I took the whole family out to Casa Fiesta. And I’ve already called the snap count, and the ball is in my hands. Then there’s only Zoe’s face in my mind, and I can’t make the reads to find an open receiver. I can’t even focus on the field.

Pedal back. Pedal back.

I blink hard, trying to clear my eyes—to clear my mind—but I can’t. Like an idiot, I release the ball just as a defensive lineman crashes into me, sending me flat on my back. My ribs ache and my lungs scream for air as number 96 pushes himself up off my chest. “Get used to it down there,” he says with a chuckle.

But getting hit isn’t the worst thing happening right now.

The cheering fans are enough to tell me that my bad pass was picked off, and the Seahawks’ defense has taken advantage. I roll over, pushing myself up just in time to see our tight end push the unexpected receiver out-of-bounds.

I have no choice but to jog back to the sideline, where Coach greets me with a scowl. “Your head in the game?” He pops my helmet with a flat hand. “You had two open receivers.”

Nope. It was not. Not even a little bit.

But that has to change.

Right. Now.

I pull off my helmet, fall onto the metal bench, and pick up the tablet, which kindly replays all of my mistakes in highdefinition. But I don’t need to watch the interception to know what happened out there. I need to fix my mind.

Closing my eyes, I release a slow breath through tight lips.

Hank said that Zoe and I could be stronger together. He said that we would make each other better.

Even if.

Even if she doesn’t feel what I feel.

---