Coach signals again—fade route, back corner of the end zone. Troy looks at me, a silent question. I nod. We’re going for it.
On the snap, I push hard, sprinting for the corner, my eyes locked on the goal line. The safety sees it, but he’s too late. Troy’s already lifted the ball, a high arc to the back corner.
I leap, hands outstretched, and pull it in right before my feet hit the turf.
The ref’s arms shoot up.
Touchdown.
The stadium explodes in noise, but it’s all white noise to me. My teammates tackle me to the ground, and Troy’s the first to yank me up by my jersey, grinning like a madman.
“Damn, man, you were flying!” he yells over the noise.
I grin back, but my mind’s already drifting. We won, but as I jog off the field, the excitement already fading, I can’t help butwonder if Alli saw any of it. I glance up into the stands, knowing she’s probably out there somewhere, but I don’t search for her.
I wipe the sweat from my face and chuck the towel aside, feeling the familiar tug of frustration in my chest. I don’t do this. I don’t think too much. I keep things light. That’s my move, and it’s always worked.
Until now.
I don’t even know what I’m avoiding anymore. Maybe it’s the way Alli looked at me last night when I showed up at her door with that stupid puzzle and ice cream, like she was waiting for me to explain something, say something. Like she was waiting for me to make a decisionI’mnot ready to make. When in reality, we ate our takeout and watched some trash reality show while working on the puzzle I stole. What was supposed to be a chill hangout between friends… it felt like more all of a sudden. I can’t shake the image of her face, her eyes calm and searching, waiting for something—anything—from me. It’s like she’s opened a door I’m not ready to walk through, and the more I think about it, the more I realize how badly I want to keep it shut.
It’s easier on the field. Here, you don’t have to think about what any of it means. You just act. But off the field, with Alli, I can’t seem to keep things straight. It’s like I’m caught between wanting more and being too much of a coward to admit it.
The locker room is alive with the after-game buzz, a racket of laughter and cheers as the guys unwind. The air is thick with the smell of sweat, locker room spray, and victory. I head straight for my locker, pulling off my gear and tossing it aside with ease.
I grab a towel and head for the showers, the steam enveloping me as I turn on the water. The warmth feels good, but evenas the tension in my muscles eases, the nagging feeling in my chest doesn’t go away. I push it aside, focusing instead on the mundane task of scrubbing away the grime of the game.
“Hey, Jared, great game out there!” Nate’s voice comes from behind me as he steps into the shower next to mine. He always seems to have a smile on his face, the kind of guy who never lets anything get him down. I envy him.
“Thanks, man,” I reply, my voice bouncing off the tiled walls. I keep my tone light, but inside, I’m still tangled up with thoughts of Alli. It’s frustrating how she’s managed to creep into my headspace so much lately.
And it’s not just Alli that’s been living in my head rent-free. The thoughts of my mom’s missed visits and her radio silence hit harder than I want to admit. Winning the game should make me feel like I’m on top of the world, but instead, I’m anxious that the spotlight will invite the wrong kind of attention. That’s how I ended up with stalkers in the first place. I’m anxious as hell, convinced it’s just a matter of time before a new one blindsides me.
Nate’s chatting away about his plans for the weekend. Something about a barbecue and his girlfriend, who’s apparently a great cook. I nod and make the right noises, but my mind’s wandering. I’m a pro at this surface-level conversation, the kind where you’re engaged but not really there. I’ve been doing this for years now. Like the time my dad started doing family game nights. The first one was right after my team lost the state finals in high school. I was too drained to care, so I spent the whole night nodding and pretending to enjoy the board game while trying not to think about blowing that final shot. Or when my aunt insisted on showing me her DIY wedding album during the summer I was supposed to be in the middle of a trainingcamp. She’s still bringing it up. Anyway, nothing’s as awkward as pretending to care about a scrapbook when your mind’s ten miles away.
As we finish up, I step out of the shower and grab my clothes, slipping on my jeans and T-shirt. The guys are gathered around the lockers, talking about the highlights of the game and who’s getting the MVP nod.
“Yo, Jared, you down for a drink later?” Troy calls out, his voice buzzing with its usual excitement.
“Probably not tonight,” I say, forcing a grin. “Got some stuff to take care of.”
He frowns. “You sure?”
“Yes, yeah.”
“But we won, dude!” He smiles and pulls me in for a hug. I chuckle lightly. “We’ll be at The Anchor on Delaney Street if you change your mind.”
As I finish getting dressed, I catch Kevin’s eye. He gives me a nod, like he’s picking up on everything I’m keeping quiet. “You good?”
I pause, debating how much to say. “Yeah, just… a lot on my mind,” I admit, though I’m careful not to dive too deep. It’s not that I don’t like the guys—hell, they’re the closest thing to friends I have. But personal stuff? That’s off the table. It’s easier to laugh it off, throw a joke out there, and pretend the game’s the only thing that matters.
My problems? They stay off the field.
At least, that’s the plan.
Kevin nods, understanding and not prying. “If you need anything, man, you know where to find me.”
I appreciate the gesture, but it’s also a reminder of my flaws. I’m great at bonding with my teammates over games, beers, and laughs, but when it comes to letting them see the real me, the one who’s struggling with more than just football, I shut down.
