Page 122 of On Her Team
I scan the defense. They’re lined up in a standard formation, but one linebacker is edging toward the middle like he might blitz, and the safety is sneaking closer to the line — both hint that pressure is coming.
I catalog it automatically. But my mind isn’t on the field or football. It’s on a patio. On tear-filled light brown eyes. On the words,maybe it’s best we end this.
I growl. Addy and I aren’t ending anything. There’s a solution. There’s always a solution. I don’t give up once I’m committed.
“Blue eighty!” Nolan calls.
The ball snaps. He pivots and presses it into my gut at the mesh point. I clamp down and step toward the left guard.
The line caves the defense exactly the way we drilled it. A crease opens between the guard and tackle. Daylight. Normally, I hit that hole like it owes me money.
But I’m not thinking about my run. I’m thinking about staying on the island in the off-season, Addy visiting for away weeks, spending holidays on Smuggler’s Hideaway and—
Wham! A linebacker wraps me before I’m two yards past the line.
The whistle blows.
“EDWARDS!” Coach’s voice slices through the field.
I peel myself up, hand the ball to the ref assistant, and jog back to the huddle.
“You waiting for permission?” Coach shouts. “That hole was wide enough to drive a truck through.”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Then drive the damn truck.”
We reset. I roll my shoulders and shake out my hands. Head in the game, Gage. Head in the game.
But my mind keeps circling. She loves me. I saw it in her face. She said it. I won’t walk away from love. Love I’ve never experienced before. A family I’ve never had.
“Pass pro!” Coach yells.
Nolan meets my gaze. “Keep your eye on the middle linebacker — if he blitzes, he’s yours.”
“Got it.”
We break. The defense shifts late. The weak-side linebacker widens. The middle linebacker creeps toward the line. He’s bluffing. Or maybe he’s not.
I scan. Count bodies. Read the alignment.
But instead of focusing on the linebacker’s feet, I’m thinking about flight schedules. About apartments. About how long I can stretch my off-season before organized team activities begin.
The ball snaps. I step left.
Wrong. The middle linebacker shoots the opposite gap. By the time I pivot, he’s already in Nolan’s chest.
Thud.
The whistle shrieks. I know before Coach opens his mouth. “EDWARDS! You trying to get our quarterback killed?”
“No, Coach.”
“Then why did you leave a direct path to the quarterback open?”
Because I was planning my future instead of reading the damn defense. “I misread it.”
Coach stalks toward me. “You don’t misread. That’s why you start.”
