Page 44 of Quarterback Crush
“Coffee, Nicole?” I heard Mrs. Blackwell say.
“Coffee sounds good,” Mom answered, and with the sound of their footsteps fading down the corridor, I dabbed my eyes before hopping up onto the side of Oliver’s bed, my heart pounding in my chest.
“It stopped being fake for me, too,” I whispered.
“Oh yeah?” Oliver dipped his head, giving me a close-up of his grazes and stitched forehead. “When was that?”
I rolled my eyes and teased, “Oh, you know, that first kiss.”
Oliver laughed. “You’re funny.” But his face straightened and his gaze held mine, eyes shining and bright and sparkling with clarity, despite the injuries. And he leaned closer and said, “Best decision I ever made was going to the library that day.”
I smiled, my chest swelling with warmth as I moved closer. “I hope this doesn’t hurt,” I whispered before our lips joined in the sweetest of touches. No sprained ankle or broken leg or abrasions could hold us back as our true feelings unleashed, and I floated on cloud nine knowing he felt the same way about me.
“Okay,” I said, pulling back as I remembered he did indeed have a broken leg, “that’s probably enough for now. You need rest.”
“Hmphh! Spoilsport,” he grumbled.
I laughed, carefully standing and fussing over the sheet I’d rumpled and straightening the blanket over his cast. “Hey, I’m sorry you get to miss the final.”
“Yeah, I was looking forward to playing my last high school game,” Oliver said, looking pensive. “And my brothers were all coming to watch, so that kinda sucks. And of course Dad is cutup about the whole thing. But here’s the good part.” He flashed a smile. “You and me will be able to cheer the Owls on together.”
“Ah yeah, we’ll both hobble along on our crutches.”
“Actually I was thinking you could push me in a wheelchair,” he joked.
“Okay, we might need to talk about that,” I said sternly, “but right now, you need to rest.”
Chapter 16
OLIVER
Coach Gregor’s voice was low, almost reverent. “Boys, we are but a game away from creating Owl’s history. Let us remain humble, dedicated and focused on the goal. Let’s get the job done. Now is our time.” He pumped his fist in the air and everyone copied and shouted, “Now is our time!”
I yelled it out with my team even though I was reduced to a spectator.
The events of the past few days had spun my world around. My reactions hadn’t been as quick as they needed to be when, too late, I saw the car coming toward me. No time to swerve or even adjust the steering wheel and when my door was rammed, I worried more about the damage to my car than my injury. But when it hit me that the pain in my leg was quite bad, my first thought was whether Dad would still make me play in the final. And even when the paramedics said it was probably broken, apparently I asked if it would heal by Friday.
I didn’t remember much, not after the pain meds kicked in but I do know Dad had been distraught—on the phone to Coach Gregor in a flash. Even before calling my brothers or grandparents.
Mom had been there when I woke up after surgery, explaining that a rod and screws now held my tibia together and I would be in a cast for up to twelve weeks with full healing taking as long as four to six months. I’d been weirdly calm, so Ipresumed I hadn’t completely registered that I’d miss the game for the championship title.
Dad came in early the next morning, his level of agitation as great, if not greater than the night before. The driver of the other vehicle—they were going to pay, he ranted and raved to me and Mom. He’d sue them for all they were worth, make sure there was a reckless driving conviction and hoped they’d get prison time. Didn’t they know they’d ruined a young man’s opportunity for greatness?
“You were on the cusp of legendary status for the Owls and now, now you’re nothing, you’ve lost it...it’s gone, it’s been snatched away from you,” he blustered, his cheeks red and his face ugly.
“Jed,” Mom stormed. “Jed, stop it! How dare you tell Oliver he’s nothing. He’s done everything for the team, now it’s up to them to finish the job. You need to leave.”
“You don’t know the impact this will have on his future,” Dad wasn’t backing down, his voice booming. “The football scholarships will dry up now. No one wants an injured quarterback.”
I didn’t know if it was the after-effects of the anesthetic or the pain medication or the general shock of the past twelve hours, but Dad’s words passed by me in a haze. I should’ve been upset over what he’d said, or full of rage that this driver had altered the course of my life, but the calmness remained. Or was it numbness?
You see, although I’d been working hard toward this goal and the Owls had reached the pinnacle, I somehow wasn’t fazed or rattled or bitterly disappointed that I was about to miss the game. Instead, a mantle of pressure was stripped off of me and it’s like I could breathe freely.
And up until that point, I hadn’t realized just how much stress I’d been under. The pressure to perform, to focus on anoutcome, to make Dad proud, to win a trophy for Coach Gregor had overridden my love for the game itself.
Maya had asked me who I was aside from a football player—and I’d barely known. A peculiar feeling of excitement stirred deep down as I wondered just who I was without the quarterback jersey.
It was Mr. Shelton who had said something while we’d watched the game replay:Remember it’s the journey, football is more than just the destination. A championship title is the icing on the cake, but it’s how you get there that counts.
