Tackling Love - Kathleen Kelly Page 0,32
lights from the stadium make the field so bright you’d swear it was daytime. I watch as the receiver, Todd, misses my throw as I’ve sent it too high in the air, then I’m tackled to the ground. The air is pushed up out of my lungs, and I’m left gasping on the ground as the clock runs down at halftime.
We’re behind in points.
Because I fucked up the damn throw.
Gray looms above me, looking grim, and extends a hand to help me to my feet. Then he hits my helmet. “What the fuck was that?” growls Gray with irritation in his voice.
“I overthrew.”
“No shit, you overthrew! Get your fucking head in the game.” Gray shakes his head and runs off the field.
At a much slower pace, I jog after him, and once I hit the stands an older guy yells out, “You suck.” This is followed by lots of boos and the occasional cup being thrown at me. I wave, smile, and keep on going because I know when I hit the locker room, it’s going to be much worse.
Silence greets me as I walk in. I keep my eyes on the floor and head straight for my locker. I can feel my teammates’ eyes boring into my back. I sigh, and the next thing I know, I’m being spun around, and my locker is slammed shut next to my head.
“What the fuck was that on the field,” demands Todd.
“I overthrew.”
“You fucking think? What the fuck is up with you lately? We have a real shot at the Super Bowl, but not if you keep playing li—”
“Todd, get your hands off Colt. Colt, get your ass to the doc so he can take a look at your arm,” bellows the coach.
I push Todd off, stare straight ahead, and do as I’m told. Even now, my thoughts are filled with Skye. I haven’t seen or spoken to Skye in nearly two weeks or even been to the school. I’ve spoken to Blaise on the phone but haven’t interacted with him either. I’ve been training, and that’s my life at the moment.
My agent, Tom, walks toward me. Tom’s been with me since the beginning. He’ll know I’m beating myself up, so he slings an arm around my shoulders as best he can because he’s a good foot shorter than me.
“So, you screwed up…” I look down at him. “You won’t do it again. Stop overthinking this, Colt. Keep your head in the game.”
Camera flash goes off, an eager reporter no doubt enjoying the emotional struggle on my face. Security guards drag him out and I look back at Tom.
“Go see the doc, take a breath. You’ve got this.”
Inwardly, I groan, but outwardly, I smile for him.
I nod once. “You’re right, we aren’t done yet. There’s still another half to be played. The New England Warriors don’t go down without a fight.”
“That’s the quarterback I know and love,” states Tom.
“We aren’t done yet,” I repeat as I stride toward the Doc’s offices.
Doc Reed has strapped up my shoulder. I know I’m done for tonight. Coach walks in, his piercing eyes and the set of his mouth tell me I’m in for a talking to.
“You’re benched.”
“Figured.”
Coach sits beside me. I glance at him, but he’s staring straight ahead. There’s a picture of the Vince Lombardi Trophy on the wall in front of us. Coach stands and rests a hand on it. His neck is bent, and it almost looks like he’s praying.
“Did I make a mistake with you, son?” Before I can respond, he keeps talking. “We are so close to this. A handful of games and this,” Coach looks up and slowly runs his hand almost reverently down the photograph. “This could be ours.” He turns, crosses his arms, lips in a thin line, and nods. “Get your head in the fucking game. Work out your demons. I want that trophy.” Coach points over his shoulder and leaves me sitting alone in the room.
SKYE
I watched as Colt made that pass, and my heart sank for him. Even from my position in front of the television, I could tell there was no way anyone was going to catch the ball. The camera followed Colt afterward, showing his disappointment. Gray helped him up and slapped his helmet, then the fans threw stuff at him, and now he’s filling the screen as a camera crew asks him question after question.
Colt looks tired, but he plasters a grin on his handsome face. I turn up the volume,