Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Fourteens.” He takes a hard look at my face, gives me a lopsided grin. After a beat, he takes them off and offers them up.
“Close enough. Thanks, man.”
I squeeze my feet into Terrance’s shoes and lace them up. They’re tight but fine. I do some stretches, rubbing my calves and ankles.
“Show us what you got, Townsend!” yells one of the other guys in our group. The yelling gets other people’s attention, and I feel a few eyes looking at us. I shake it off, running in place in quick steps, getting my heart rate up. I see Archer craning his neck toward me from a huddle of defensive players, and I toss my hand up and give him a wave. I’ll show him.
The trainer leads me to the line. “Get set there and start whenever you’re ready. Your time will be measured by laser from the moment you start until you cross the line at the end of the track. Got it? No second chances.” His eyebrow cocks as his eyes brush over my foot. “Don’t hurt yourself, son.”
I stretch more, getting the jitters out and warming up my muscles. I bounce on the turf in the weird shoes. Shit, this is insane.
With my feet flat on the ground and sweaty hands planted in front of me, I get set.
This is it, my one shot. “Lose Yourself” by Eminem goes through my head.
Prove you’re better.
Be worthy.
Because I am. I am. I’m not the piece of shit my parents said I was.
Charisma slips back into my head. I think about how she’s always believed in my talent, even when I didn’t believe in us. That first night in Cadillac’s, she didn’t walk out the door until she told me she was happy for me.
She’s scared, just like me, but she loves me—a poor trailer park kid from Mississippi.
“Run when you’re ready, Townsend,” the trainer calls out from a few feet away.
Everything in the stadium zooms in until it’s just me, heart pounding, and I use it, focusing on the yards in front of me.
Adrenaline courses through my body.
One shot, one shot.
I take off.
Everything’s a blur as I put one foot in front of the other and streak down the short forty-yard course. I hear yelling but don’t care if they’re cheering me on or hoping for me to fail. This is my moment. If it goes to hell, I’ll pay the consequences.
I cross the line, jog to a stop, and turn to see the time as it’s posted on the board.
4.34 seconds. Fast—so goddamn fast.
Pride ripples through me. Shit. My ankle throbs, but I know it’s good. It’s going to be fine.
I tilt my head up and close my eyes.
Charisma, Charisma, Charisma. Where are you, baby? I need you so much.
I’m not listening to the guys cheering and slapping me on the back. I’m not even looking at the scouts on the sidelines.
I picture her in my head, those lips, those eyes I drown in, and I feel lighter than I have in….years.
I’ve been saying football is the one thing I can’t live without, but it’s a lie.
She is. It’s her.
She’s been there the entire time, even when she had her rules, and I’ve got to be what she needs—because existing without her is not an option. And love? It’s just a word. It’s a pretty word that scrambles my head and makes me scared. Hell, maybe it makes lots of people afraid. Terrified of getting hurt, of being left behind, of giving a part of yourself to someone while knowing they have the power to change your whole world.
But she’s worth fighting for.
Wherever she is, I kiss my fingers and send them up into the crowd. For her.
My name jumps onto the board as the third-fastest wide receiver of the day and the fifth-fastest overall. I stare up at the lights of the stadium, emotion tight in my chest.
I’m going to find her.
And this time I know what to say. I’m not going to be afraid. Maybe she’s given up on me, but I’m not letting her go.
32
“Goodness, you’re up early for spring break,” Ma murmurs as I make my way into the kitchen wearing old joggers and a baggy Waylon shirt. “It’s six AM, dear. I thought you’d sleep in after that late flight.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” I mumble as I walk over to the coffee table and pour a cup. Fuck carbs, I think as I throw in a heavy dose of cream and stir.
“You look pale.”
I nod. I flew out of Jackson late Friday night and arrived last night around eleven. My body nearly collapsed when I walked in the door and Pop, Ma, and Mattie all ran over to throw their arms around me. They acted like I was a celebrity who’s been in hiding for months. Ma fawned over me, running her hands over my face and hair, Pop picked me up and swung me around, and then Mattie got his turn. Through the laugher and their questions, I fought back tears. I’ve missed them so much more than I realized.