Page 17 of Third and Ten

“I know,” he concedes after a second, patting me on the back. “Let’s just go play some football. We’ll worry about Miss Aunt Tenley later, huh?”

I roll my eyes, secretly pleased with my big brother’s willingness to help me. It isn’t often that Blake shows his softer side, but he’s always taken good care of me, especially since we lost both of our parents in the past few years.

“Yeah, all right,” I say, clearing the emotion from my throat. “Just throw something at me if I get myself stuck staring again, would you?”

He chuckles and swipes the playbook from my hands. “I’ll send one of the trainers over with a bottle of water for you. Come on, we still need to figure out that route before game time.” We walk back toward the offense, and I sneak a quick glance back, just to have something to hang onto for later.

I do my best to focus on the game after that. We’re playing one of the tougher teams in our district tonight, so there isn’t much room for error. Music blares over the press-box speakers as I walk down the line and greet each player and coach with a handshake, a fist bump, or a tap on the helmet. It’s one of our pregame rituals, because it’s important to me that they all know their coach is behind them, that I’m confident in their abilities, and that I trust them to do their jobs. Plus, being a hype man is literally the best part of what I do.

“You good, two-three?” I ask as I approach Ethan.

“I’m ready, Coach,” he says, his expression serious.

“You’re on returns tonight. Get out there.”

He replies with a wide grin, an unspoken token of gratitude. Ethan’s been grinding to earn his place on the team as a running back, and though he’s still an underclassman, allowing him an opportunity on special teams during kickoff returns signifies his promotion to RB3 on the team. I can also see him moving up before the end of the season, if his work ethic sticks.

The crowd gets louder behind me, and I slap Ethan on the back as he takes off with the rest of the special-teams crew. Then I continue along the sideline, making sure I thank the athletic trainers for their hard work ahead of time.

I readjust my headset and take my place around midfield, just as the ball sails up and over into Ethan’s arms. He secures it well, cradling it within the crook of his elbow, and wastes no time in charging the mass of defenders.

Looks like it’ll be number twenty-three, sophomore Ethan Robin, on the return for the Yellowjackets.

Then I cringe when I realize he’s about to get a rough introduction to a couple of their bigger guys. I tense up, anticipating a big hit, but he successfully jukes the first player, shuffling his feet and darting around him, repeating the move another time and breaking free from the crowd.

And he’s at the fifty…the forty…Robin makes him miss as he gets down to the twenty-five now…

I run down the sideline, following him as his legs eat up the distance to the end zone with only a couple of defenders left on his heels. One of them makes a last-resort dive with only a yard to go, their pads making a loud cracking sound as they collide, and then Ethan is lost at the bottom of a dog pile.

Robin is finally taken down at the goal line with a big hit by Gradney after a good seventy-yard run!

The refs blow the whistle as they attempt to pull everyone away, and I can’t help myself when I take a celebratory leap as they signal for the touchdown, even though the excitement is short-lived.

TOUCHDOWN, YELLOWJACKETS!

But it looks like Robin is a little slow to get up. Let’s hope he’s all right, folks.

My heart drops to my toes when I notice Ethan on the ground after the rest of the crowd thins. He’s clutching his left ankle with his knee pulled up to his chest and his helmet on the ground beside him. Though I usually leave the athletic trainers to tend to injured players, I instinctively jog over.

“You good, Big E?” I ask as one of his teammates offers a hand. Ethan pulls himself up, but he hisses and nearly loses his balance when he attempts to shift his weight to the left foot. A couple of guys rush over to duck under each of his arms, supporting him as he hobbles to the sidelines.

“I’m okay, Coach. It’s just my ankle,” he replies, though his face betrays his calm response. The guys who have taken a knee stand again, and the crowd applauds as he gets to the bench. The trainers immediately begin unlacing his cleats, and I know I need to let them do their job so that I can do mine, yet I can’t see past making sure Ethan is all right.

“I’ve got it, JD.” I hear Blake’s voice in my headset, and I turn to watch him signal the next play call to our quarterback. He glances over and gives me a confident nod, an assurance that he’ll cover for me. Apparently, I’ve somehow forgotten how to act like the head coach over the last few minutes.

I squat in front of Ethan, who is still grimacing in pain as the trainer removes his sock. To my relief, I don’t see any signs of an obvious break, but there’s already a noticeable bruise and some swelling on the inside of his foot.

“It’s probably just a sprain,” Ethan volunteers, but I can tell that he’s just trying to keep me from worrying about him.

“Either way, you’re done for the night,” I say brusquely. There’s no way I am letting him get back on the field until he gets cleared by a doctor.

“I’m sure I just need some tape.” But I glare at him until he drops his protest.

“Hey, superstar, what happened?” I gulp when I hear a softer voice beside me.

Ethan forces a smile for Tenley. “I’m fine. Just twisted my ankle,” he lies again.

“What a way to celebrate your first big-boy touchdown,” she says mirthfully. She kneels beside me, her arm brushing against mine when she takes his foot in her hands to examine his ankle. I notice that she doesn’t seem bothered by the current conditions, which include Ethan’s sweaty foot and the damp patch of grass beneath us, and then I remember that not only has she done this before, maybe even for me, but that she’s also earned a few nursing degrees since then.

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