Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 140523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 703(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 703(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
Knowing all that about him scared the shit out of me. When it was the last play of the third quarter and the scoreboard showed 31-42, someone else walked out of the tunnel and joined his teammates on the sidelines.
JP Edwards.
My gaze zeroed in on the crutches under his arms, and the smile I had plastered on my face suddenly didn’t feel right.
The ref blew the whistle to end the quarter and the team huddled together with their coach. After some helmet slapping, back thumps, and what I assumed were encouraging words, they made it to JP’s side. I was watching Dylan the entire time.
Out of breath, he came to a stop in front of his friend and took off his helmet, shoulders tense and high, the black paint under his eyes smeared. Balancing on one foot, JP rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head once. My camera was already in my hands so without second-guessing myself, I lifted it and took a quick shot, not sure what I was looking at, but wanting to capture it. I saw their lips move, but I had no idea what they were talking about. Dylan put a hand on JP’s shoulder, and JP shook his head again. Dylan’s hand curled around his neck and he dropped his forehead against his friend’s.
Click
I zoomed in and took another shot, realizing both their eyes were closed.
JP’s hand went around Dylan’s neck.
Click
Chris joined their little huddle and dropped his helmet to the ground next to them.
Click
Click
I lowered the camera and looked away. I’d already intruded more than I should’ve, but I hadn’t taken those shots for the assignment. Those were mine. If I was honest, I had taken a lot of shots that were just for me since the game had started.
“I’m gonna grab something to drink. You girls want anything?” Cash asked us. Miriam was busy texting on her phone, but she looked up long enough to shake her head.
“Water would be good,” I said, and he moved off toward the team, talking to a few players before heading our way.
When he got back, I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “You know what’s going on over there?” I tipped my chin toward JP, where at least ten or fifteen of his teammates were surrounding him in a half-circle. I took the water bottle Cash handed me.
“Yeah. Bad news for JP, and the team, really. Apparently he’s done for the season. He’s gonna need surgery for that foot injury, and his career is probably over if he can’t recover fully. It’s too bad—he was a hell of a player.”
“Just like that?” I asked. “One injury and he’s out? Done?”
“Yeah. That’s how it goes with sports. You never know when you’ll be forced to tap out.”
“I didn’t see him at the hotel, or on the plane,” I managed to say through the rock lodged in my throat. I remembered the anguish and anger on Dylan’s face the day I’d found him sitting by himself in the dark. He was gonna be devastated.
“He wanted to be the one to tell his teammates and join them for one last game before all that, so they flew him in today.”
The boys ran to the fifty-yard line and the last quarter of the game started. It turned vicious in no time. I’d seen tackles, but after the last quarter, after the news from his friend…if Dylan had been a beast before, he’d turned into the Hulk in no time. I flinched and gasped throughout the entire thing, especially when someone tackled Dylan right after he practically flew into the air and caught the ball. It was brutal, sure, but Dylan always got back up with the ball still in his hands, and I got over it pretty quickly. Trevor hadn’t stepped foot on the field for the first half of the game, but he’d been there for the second half. So, when Dylan took Trevor to the ground right at the beginning of the last quarter after Chris threw an interception and Trevor caught it—at least that was what Miriam told me had happened—I was worried he’d broken my childhood friend in half. Trevor eventually pushed himself up, but it took some time.
The rest of the game went the same way—tackles, passes, whistles, cheers, tackles again. The game hadn’t even ended and I already had a crick in my shoulder blades from all the tension.
When there were only seconds left, Chris took a few steps back then threw the ball in a perfect arch straight toward Dylan from the forty-five-yard line, and I was up on my feet right alongside Miriam and Cash. It seemed like every player on the field was running toward that damn ball. Sucking in a breath and holding it in, my hands clutched my head and I watched Dylan shoulder bump another player, jump high, and snatch the ball right out of the air with his fingertips. Before I could process the perfect catch, he had the ball tucked under his arm and was off running toward the goal line like the roadrunner from the cartoon.