Page 107 of Comeback
I nod my head. I take off my helmet, resist the urge to throw it, and grab water while I take a second to be pissed at myself. Brogan’s right, I have to shake it off before I go back out there so I don’t make more careless mistakes.
Graham steps in front of me wearing a sympathetic smile. “Damn, Holland, you’re making me look good lately. I thought I was going to have some real competition on this team but you’re practically handing me my next contract.”
That smile that was all fake concern turns to a smirk. “Try to put up a little fight. Otherwise, it won’t feel as good when they trade your ass.”
He walks off before I can get the "fuck you" out of my mouth.
By halftime, we’re down by fourteen points and the mood in the locker room is quiet frustration. I don’t see a lot of time on the field after that and when I do it’s like I can’t remember how to get open.
The final score has us losing to Seattle by an embarrassing thirty-four to six.
As we’re heading off the field, I glance up in the stands. In the midst of the shitty game, I forgot about Sabrina and London being here. I hold in a groan. The first game she comes to as my girlfriend and I play like shit.
Brogan nudges me and tips his head toward them. He leads the way to them, bypassing reporters and cameras.
Sabrina’s smile is soft and unsure as we approach. I hate to imagine what my face looks like right now. I’ve never been greatat masking my emotions. If I’m pissed, I look pissed. But I don’t want her to think it’s about anything but me.
Brogan reaches up and hugs London.
“Sorry about the game,” she says to him, placing a kiss on his lips. I look to Sabrina.
“Hey,” she says as tentative as she looks.
I attempt a smile and jut my chin, then move closer so I can hug her.
“That sucked,”she says, and pulls back just enough to sign it as well.
A real honest laugh bubbles up in my chest. “It sure fucking did. Sorry you had to see that.”
Her brows pinch together. “What kind of fair-weather girlfriend do you think I am?”
“I…” Well, damn. That’s about the best thing she could have said. Warmth spreads through my chest and I pull her tighter to me, claiming her mouth.
It’s easy to forget that I’m not only a football player. It’s what I do, and I love it, but it’s a fickle ass game.
When we finally break apart, I’ve somehow managed to shake off the loss and my shitty performance.
“You’ll get ’em next time.” She makes half a heart with her pointer and middle finger on one hand, holding it out to me.
I do the same, placing my half up to hers.
30
ARCHER
The next morning, I report to the stadium for treatment and meetings. Walking into the building has all the frustrations of the game re-emerging.
I have been waiting for moments to show I can contribute to the team. Last night the opportunities were there, and I blew it.
Not even an hour-long massage can work out all the stress I’m carrying in my shoulders and neck. Especially when I get to my position meeting and we’re reviewing game film.
My fumble has played on a constant loop since it happened but seeing it on the screen is a whole other kind of torture.
Coach pauses the video. I look straight ahead, but I can feel Graham’s gaze and I just know the asshole is grinning without looking at him.
“Holland, you did a good job of getting open last night. You caught a tough break but keep giving yourself good looks and things will start going your way.”
I nod. “Yes, sir.”
