Page 7 of Flame After the Fumble

“Seriously? What the…” Before he could finish his sentence, Ryan registers that it’s me that ran clean into him hustling intothe locker room. “Hartley. Report time is—” He checks his Apple watch before scolding me. “In less than five minutes. You better have a good reason for barely making it.” He scoots to the side so I can gather my equipment. If he keeps up this lecture,he’llbe the reason we’re both late. I don’t have time to plead my case to daddy dearest at the moment.

“I’d love to chat, Shane, but as you can see,” I flail my hands around erratically while slipping my pads and cleats on, “I don’t have time for chit-chatting.” Jogging back to the locker room door I almost bulldoze him, but he stops me in my tracks.

Ryan meets me with a wary look, arms crossed over his chest, judging me, hard. “Gloves.” His lips curve into the smallest smirk I can barely tell is there.

“Huh?”

“Where are your gloves? You know how serious Coach is about showing up prepared with our equipment.”

“Shoot,” I mutter under my breath, mentally kicking myself for rushing out the house without my football bag. I elect to leave most of the important stuff in my locker to avoid inevitable situations like these, but I forgot to take my gloves off at the facility yesterday. I stuffed them in my bag when I jumped in my car. Grabbing my unruly hair, I run my hands through repeatedly, trying to muster up a plan to play this off to Coach without drawing too much attention to myself this early in the season.

Ryan juts his chin out toward his locker with that cocky grin plastered across his face. “Check my locker.”

Busting open his locker, I’m greeted with extra socks, pads, tape, gloves, and Band-Aids. I’ve never seen a locker stocked with extras of all the essentials a football player could need. I grab the gloves and turn to him, a questioning look in my eyes, and he nods in permission.

“Who isthisprepared? Now that I know you’ve got the goods, I can sleep in later and later.”

“My preparedness saved you today, so watch the smart mouth.”

I laugh, quickly grab what I need, and we jog onto the field together just in time for Coach’s piercing whistle. Ryan may act tough, but this proved what kind of person he is. After our conversation at the tattoo shop, we understand each other better. He harbors the same hurt in his eyes that are reflected in mine. He could have easily walked past me, writing me off as a screw-up who doesn’t take college ball seriously. Instead, he helped me, and something tells me his past isn’t as polished as his present.

After practice wrapped and I basked in a long, hot shower, I’m still wired. Practice helps the physical adrenaline that I experience on a daily basis, but not so much the mental. Sauntering to Ryan in a towel wrapped around my waist, I pat him on the shoulder and he greets me with the same annoyed look he always does.

“We’re going out tonight,” I say to Ryan as my way of thanking him for what he did earlier. He shakes his head back and forth, slings his equipment bag over one shoulder, and begins to leave. But before he can, I stop him. “Wait. It’s Friday, and we don’t have practice tomorrow.” I pat his shoulder and run through a mental list of reasons he should come out to decide which one would work the best. “I heard some of the older guys say Downtown Tap is laxed on carding.”

“I don’t drink in bars,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Looks like I have a built-in designated driver.” My laugh vibrates through the almost-empty locker room, but the joke didn’t land.

“Are you done?” He cracks his neck side-to-side and grips the strap of his bag tighter.

“Look, what you did for me earlier proves you don’t hate me as much as you’d like me to think,” I admit.Why can’t I just say thank you and move on?“My. . .uhh. . . ADHD gets the best of me sometimes.” Grabbing the back of my neck with one hand, I squeeze the muscles, lowering my eyes to the cement floor.

As if my admission unlocks an internal understanding within him, Ryan says, “One night.” He sticks the number one up to my face. “I won’t make this a habit.”

“Meet me at my apartment at ten. I’ll text you the address.” I squeeze past him, throw on a t-shirt and shorts, and try to leave the locker room, but before I do, I add, “Leave your ego at the door. You’re about to witness the Hartley Knox experience.” His eyes roll to the back of his head before I sprint out to the car, eager for my first night out as a college football star.

5

Liza

“Ilove it so much!” Willow squeals into the phone as I flip the FaceTime call back to selfie mode after giving her a tour of my dorm room.

“I finally have it close to finished. I’m working on a piece to hang here.” I gesture to the wall space above my headboard. It’s the focal point of the room, so I need to make sure the art that is hung there is perfect.

“I’m sure it’ll be great.” She rustles the pages of her notebook unintentionally into the speaker before bringing her eyes back up to the screen. “Everything you create is.”

“Thanks, sis.”

“Sooo. . . Any plans for the night?” Willow tries her best to hold back a laugh. She’s the homebody with a judgmental mouth, and I’m the wild child who lives every moment like it’s her last. She knows better than to think I’m staying in on a Friday night.

“The roomie and I are planning to check out the bar scene. We heard one in particular doesn’t card.” I flip the camera to face me and do a little happy dance, causing my loose bun to bop around my head and Willow to laugh.

“Are college bars a thing during the summer?” She turns her focus back to whatever assignment she’s working on, no doubt it’s one that isn’t due for another month.

“Duh! Bars are a thing year-round.” I stick my tongue out at my sheltered little sister and continue my rant, “And thank goodness for that.”

“What’s on your face?” She gasps and leans into the camera so close that only one eyeball is in view.

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