Fuck. At the earliest end, that puts us at Wild Card Weekend. At the later end…we’d be out of contention.
Everyone in this room knows it’s a team sport, but if we don’t have a quarterback who can put up points the way he has all season, we’re fucked.
Coach gives us some encouraging words before he heads out to his presser. I take a shower and change into my clothes before I head out of the locker room.
Tatum is waiting for me in the hallway. She’s standing beside some of the other girlfriends of players, and a wide array of emotions comes crashing into me. Disappointment that my season may be down the drain. Gratitude that she’s here. Frustration that we can’t heal Grant’s shoulder any faster. Love for the woman standing here waiting for me.
I rush toward her and take her in my arms, and not a single bit of what I’m feeling is fake—except if you count the fact that I’m holding back how much I actually feel for her.
She wraps me in her arms, and I force myself to remain the stoic man I’m known to be. I feel it, though. All of it. It’splowing into me from every angle, but mobile phones are out, and plenty of people are around to catch my reaction to what went down on that field today.
I’m not here to comment on it. It’s Coach’s job to share what happened with Grant, not mine. So I pull out of our embrace, grab Tatum’s hand, and lead her toward my car in the player parking lot so we can head home.
CHAPTER 26: Tatum Barker
Peppermint Schnapps
Once we’re on the road on our way back home, I ask, “What happened with the quarterback?”
Ford clenches his jaw, and I watch as it works back and forth. “He sprained his shoulder.”
“Ouch. What does that mean?”
“Torn ligaments. He’ll push to come back sooner, but if it doesn’t heal completely, he won’t have the range of motion to throw deep balls.”
I force away the rather immature inclination to make a joke about deep balls.
“But if he doesn’t come back sooner, our playoff run is fucked before we even get underway,” he finishes. He glances over at me. “Nice sidestep on the deep balls, by the way.”
I giggle. “You like that?”
He chuckles as he reaches over and grabs my hand, keeping his other hand on the steering wheel. At least he can laugh about it.
“I’m sorry, Ford,” I say quietly, and I squeeze his hand. “This must be so hard for you, but isn’t there still a chance you could make the playoffs?”
He lifts a shoulder. “There’s always a chance, I guess. But Reggie isn’t as seasoned as Grant. He doesn’t have the accuracy or the instincts. He’s nervous on his feet because he’s young and inexperienced.”
“Guess that means the tight butts have to work harder,” I say, and my cheeks burn when I realize my mistake.
“Tight butts?” he repeats, calling me out on it.
“Sorry. I know you’re a tightend. I know that’s what it’s called. In my head, though, I see those tight, white pants over your cute little butt, and that’s where my head goes.” So much for resisting those immature urges.
“You think my butt is cute?” he asks.
“Adorable.”
He chuckles, but the levity doesn’t last long. He lets out a heavy sigh.
“How does this time of year usually go for you?” I ask, genuinely curious. Christmas is a week from Friday. In my part of the world, we’re hanging wreaths and decorating trees and hosting office Christmas events. In fact, I should be in Vegas now, but I have Kenzie on it. She’s taking care of several Christmas events while I run away from my life in Vegas and attempt to create a new one here. Same last name, different brother.
He lifts a shoulder. “Depends on our record. There’s nothing predictable about December. Sometimes we’ve already secured our playoff spot, and other times we already know we’re out. And then there are the times like this year where every second on the field counts.”
“Which do you like best?” I ask. It’s a ridiculous question, right? Of course he’s going to prefer the year where his spot is secure.
He surprises me when he says, “Years like this one—minus the injury. I’m a competitor at heart, and there’s nothing more frustrating than being in a locker room with people who have already given up or, worse, who get cocky because the rest of the season doesn’t matter. I’m leaving everything I have out there each week, but you find all kinds in a locker room.”
“Are you close with your teammates?”
