The football is clutched tight in my grip as I look for an opening. I know I need to pass the damn thing, but I can’t see anything but a blur of bodies running around me. I don’t know how to finish this play.
Fuck, I don’t know how to do anything right now.
Suddenly I feel someone wrap their arms around me tightly, trying to pull me down to the ground. I fight with everything I have but feel like we’re just working as counterweights for each other—neither of us reaching our goal successfully. I hear a whistle blow and the officials end the play, calling “in the grasp”—a call used to protect a quarterback from getting unnecessarily slammed to the ground and one they’ve not had to make for me for quite some time. I’m usually better than this.
I know I should be thankful the officials are trying to protect me, but I think I would’ve welcomed the pain of being slammed to the ground instead. Maybe it would finally ease this painful ache in my chest.
With every second that stretches on, I fight against the overwhelming urge to look back at the stands and see Paige. When I saw her before the game started, I was so frustrated with myself for not handling this situation right from the beginning that I couldn’t stop the scowl from overwhelming my face. It wasn’t until I turned back to the field that I felt the relief that flooded my body just from knowing she was here.
Over the past few days, I realized I was fucking things up, but I’ve still been struggling and couldn’t pull my head out of my own ass. Seeing her today is the reminder I needed. She’s too important to me to fuck this up anymore.
I’ve been distracted most of the game, trying to figure out ways to fix this mess I made. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her again for fear that my body might actually betray me and take me straight toward her. Maybe I should’ve let that happen, because I’ve been playing like shit. I even noticed Max frowning at me before he left the field. I must really be sucking tonight if Max can’t even stand to watch.
I continue playing like shit for the next half hour and feel my body sag with relief when we reach halftime. As we hustle off the field, I see Max back on the sidelines and shout his name to get his attention. I gesture for him to follow me, and he makes his way toward the tunnel leading to the locker rooms.
“What’s up?” he asks when he finally reaches me.
“I need you to get a note to Paige. She’s sitting in her usual seat.”
He frowns at me and grips the back of his neck. “Actually, she’s not.”
“What do you mean?” My panic starts to rise.
“Dude, you were playing like shit. I saw you look at her at the beginning of the game and figured she was messing with your head. You’ve made it clear that you don’t want to talk to her, so I made the decision to ask her to leave so you could focus on the game.”
I shove him hard against the wall before my brain even registers what I’m doing. “You did what?!”
We’re both surprised by my actions, but I don’t release him. “You had no right to do that,” I seethe.
His eyes are wide in shock, but his expression quickly morphs to an angry scowl as he puts his face right in mine. “Has something changed? Did you finally listen to her fucking messages? Because last I checked, you were being a fucking pussy. Excuse me for trying to protect the only thing you have going for you right now—your job!”
I stumble away from him and pace back and forth.
“Jack, you need to figure this shit out, man. You’re a mess, and so is she.”
That gets my attention. “What do you mean?”
I think back to my brief glance at her before the game started. She looked fucking beautiful as always. It nearly gutted me that she could look so put together while I’ve spent the last week feeling like a shell of a man.
“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?” he says angrily. “She was devastated to be asked to leave. Although weirdly enough, not all that surprised.”
Fear prickles along my skin. “What do you mean by that?”
“She said something about how she shouldn’t be surprised you were doing this—not fighting for her. She said you did this last time. You gave up without a fight.”
He might as well have punched me in the gut for the effect his words have on me. Fuck. I did give up last time without a fight. And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing, isn’t it?
Why do I never fight for her when it matters?
Did I learn nothing from the last decade without her?
It’s that last thought that nearly brings me to my knees. This is very different from last
time. If I lose her now, I’ll never get her back.
I can’t live without Paige.
I can’t, and I won’t.
“I don’t care if she wrote that article or not, I want to be with her. I need to fix this.” Max nods like he’s been waiting a century for me to come to that conclusion.
The clearing of a throat interrupts us, and we both turn to see Matt Fischer standing there looking at us. “Sorry to interrupt, but Coach is looking for you, Jack.”
Fuck, I wish this stupid game was over already. I need to get to Paige. I need to talk to her like I should have days ago.
I nod at Matt, and then we start heading into the locker room, leaving Max to go back out to the field. Matt stops me right as I reach for the doors. I look at him questioningly and am surprised by the guilty expression marring his face.
“I couldn’t help but overhear what you and Max were talking about.”
“Matt…” I go to stop him, but he quickly interrupts me.
“I think I was the source for that article,” he says quietly.
“What?”
“I hooked up with some woman from that nightclub event we all attended. I was trashed,
and she kept asking questions about you and Paige. I didn’t think anything of it.”
I stare at him, thinking back to that night. He was wasted, I remember that clearly enough. I don’t know what happened to him after I went to dance with Paige, but he overheard everything I shared with Max and Will. We all thought he’d be too drunk to remember anything the next morning. Clearly, we were wrong. I should’ve kept my mouth shut that night like I usually do.
My heart sinks further when he continues talking, and I realize with every word out of his mouth that I’m to blame for this article, not Paige.
Shit.
“Honestly, I figured she was just a jersey chaser looking to get in your pants and feeling out if you’d ever be available. I think I drunkenly told her some stuff about the two of you. Stuff you’d shared that night and things I’d heard in the locker room. I’m so sorry.” He looks overwhelmed with grief and guilt for betraying a fellow player.
He continues, “I know this doesn’t fix what I did. I read that article and felt sick to my stomach when I recalled sharing those things with the woman I met at the bar. She was gone before I woke up, and I never got her name. She said she was an office secretary, not a journalist. I know that’s no excuse. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Fuck, I should never have been as drunk as I was. I’m just so fucking sorry, Jack. I’ve been trying to tell you all week, but you’ve either been MIA or surrounded by other people. I didn’t realize you and Paige had broken up over this, and now I feel even worse that I did this to you guys.”
My brain is trying to absorb the information bomb he’s just dropped on me. My body sags with relief while my heart drops to my stomach in despair. I’m relieved because this confirms that Paige wasn’t behind this, but this also means I’ve royally fucked up, even worse than I already thought. I should’ve never doubted her in the first place. I’m way more at fault here than she is.
I need to fix this.
I pat Matt on the shoulder and forgive him because at this point, what’s done is done, and it’s clear he’s been beating himself up over this. Besides, the realization that I’m the most to blame in this situation has changed my perspective.
The most important thing to do now is to make sure I can fix things with Paige. I head into the locker room with a vow to listen to her voicemails as soon as the game is over.