Midway through the fourth quarter, it’s third down and seven, and I drop back to pass. My first read is covered, and as I move to number two in my progression, I catch sight of a player in blue from the corner of my eye. But before I can step into my throw, I’m knocked clean off my feet and my head hits theground. Hard. Before I know what’s just happened, I know something is wrong.
“Don’t worry about me,”I tell Cam as he follows me into my bedroom a couple of hours later and starts fluffing up pillows. “Go hang with Lenni and get some drinks. It’s a minor concussion.”
“Nah, I’m tired anyway. I’m gonna chill and go to bed early. Speaking of, you can expect a call from Minnie any minute, and I’d suggest you be asleep.”
I sit back on the bed and exhale through my teeth at the sharp stab of pain in my shoulder. On top of a concussion, that second-quarter sack fucked up my shoulder, though my trainer says it’s nothing serious. “Is she upset?”
“You know how it is. Lots of fretting and hand-wringing.”
“Of course this shit had to happen when she’s here with her whole lady crew.”
“No, man, this just makes you even more of a stud. They couldn’t stop talking about how tough and brave you are.”
I smile for the first time in hours.
“Yeah, it was disgusting. And the press conference was painful without you. I actually had to talk.”
Poor Cam. He’s an introvert to the max, and I’m, well, the opposite. That’s why I do 80 percent of the talking at our postgame press conferences; that and the fact that the media fucking loves me. Put a camera on me and I become the world’s wittiest football player. Probably goes back to when I was a kid and making my mom laugh was the only way I knew to get her attention.
“What about Cash? He must have been like a pig in shit without me around to get all the attention.”
“Tell you what, Cash isn’t half as funny as he thinks he is. Just ask that roomful of reporters.”
“What about Beltman? How’d he do?”
Cam avoids my eye and opens the closet. “He’s not exactly charismatic.”
“Not the press conference. I mean how’d he play?” I never made it back to the field to see how our backup quarterback did.
Cam shrugs and pulls an extra pillow out of the closet. “Good. Fine. Whatever.”
“Obviously he didn’t do too bad considering we blew them out.”
“You put thirty points on the board before he even stepped on the field.”
“Don’t bullshit me. He looked good, didn’t he?”
“He looked good for a backup, but he’s a backup for a reason. Don’t worry about him.” He tucks the pillow behind me. “What else do you need? You want some food?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You sure? I’m ordering.”
“I’m just gonna sleep. Thanks.”
“All right, text me if you need me. I’ll come back to check on you. And hey, stay off your phone. We need that brain of yours in full working order.”
“I know the rules, Coach.”
After he leaves, I close my eyes, but I can’t sleep.
This concussion is the last thing I need. If I take care of myself, hopefully I won’t be out too long. And in the meantime, sounds like Beltman can handle the pressure of stepping in for me, which is a relief. I guess I just wasn’t expecting him to be the star of the game. But I need to focus on the team, not my ego. This team has what it takes to win, whether I’m on the field or not, andI’m proud of that.
I shift in bed, trying to ignore the pain in my shoulder, reminding myself this is only a minor concussion. It sucks, but I’ve dealt with way worse. I might even be able to start next weekend if I make the right moves and luck is on my side. I’ve been here before and still pulled out an awesome season. But anxiety gnaws at my stomach, and I know it won’t go away until I reclaim my spot on the field.
FOURTEEN
jade
