“I didn’t say I was, but I also don’t do things that don’t make me happy. I have everything I could ever want though. A beautiful woman, who will be my wife this year. My dream career. And an awesome father and sister. Oh, and friends who will be around for a lifetime. My cup, little sister, is full.” He stands. “I want the same thing for you. But first, you need to find what makesyouhappy.” He points at me.
“Okay, Dr. Phil. I’ll think about it.”
“Ha! Dr. Phil. Speaking of, are you still seeing Kaitlin?”
I nod. “Yeah, I just saw her before break.”
“Keep up with it. It’s really helped me. And Dad’s going now too. Did he tell you that?”
No, he hasn’t told me, and I feel a little hurt that he hasn’t. “He didn’t mention it, but I’m glad he’s going too.”
My dad and brother may know that I go, but they don’t really know about my anxiety attacks. Like the severity of them. It would worry them too much.
“Me too. All right, I’m heading back to bed. You getting tired yet?” He holds out his hand to help me up. “I’ll sit with you longer if you want.”
I take his hand and let him pull me from the couch while I keep a firm hold of my tea. “I think I can probably get some sleep. My tea should kick in soon.”
He wraps me in a hug. “I love you, you know.”
“I know. And I love you too.”
When he pulls back, he touches my shoulder. “Think about what I said about Vegas. We won’t let you do anything too crazy, but I think you should have some fun and step outside your comfort zone, you know?”
“Okay, we’ll see. Funny, but Kaitlin said the same thing.” I laugh, walking into the kitchen to set my mug in the sink.
“Great minds think alike. You should listen to us. See you in the morning.” He waves over his shoulder.
“Night,” I say quietly.
Me, let loose in Vegas? I can’t even imagine it.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
SILAS
The clock is winding down,and we need to get the ball back. It’s third and six, and the crowd noise is deafening. Their offense needs this conversion in order to win, but we’re gonna be ready for them.
I look over to the sideline at my defensive coordinator, Ty, and he calls acover two trap boundary corner. Which means this is all me. My adrenaline is pumping, and I’m hungry for this win. I’m not here just to cover; I’m here to hunt.
I’m aligned press-bail on the receiver, which gives me inside leverage. I stay focused in on him. My heart is pounding but controlled. My eyes are focused and unwavering.
Our safety over the top shows deep half, making their offense see a soft spot in our line. Then our nickel creeps in toward the direction of the box, hinting we might go for the blitz. We want to make their quarterback think he’s got an easy-out route to his receiver.
When the ball is snapped, I give a half-step bail, just enough to make the quarterback think I haven’t read their play to make him believe he has time. But then thereceiver releases to the outside, just as I thought. I’m watching the quarterback though and see that he’s watching the receiver, but my eyes are locked in on his shoulder and not the receiver.
At three steps, I see the receiver snap into the five-yard out in my peripheral vision. Then the quarterback fires off a missile confidently. As he releases it, I plant hard off the inside of my foot and take off, directly into the line of fire.
I get to the receiver before the ball reaches him and stretch my arms through the catch point, but my helmet knocks the ball out of his way. I shoulder the numbers on his jersey, knocking him on his ass. I jump up and hold my hand out to the receiver.
“Not your day, Evans,” I heckle.
“Fuck you, Arbuckle.” He swats my hand away and stomps off toward his bench, head hanging.
I run back over to my sideline as our special team unit takes the field for the punt return. Bo is ready to get back on the field, anxiously shifting back and forth on his feet, but smacks my helmet as I walk by him.
“Good job, man. You got this for us.”
