Because he was totally freaking out.
His mom and Trevor’s dad were coming to Toronto.
Still trying to playact like everything was normal and okay. That their family was totally fine. The worst part was that Lanewashappy he’d be able to see his mom. He was even happy at the thought of seeing Tom, who he’d spent fruitless years trying to dredge up a resentment against, but it had never stuck.
“You’re distracted.” Aidan said it matter-of-factly, phrasing it like a statement not a question.
“Nah,” Lane retorted easily. “I’m solid.”
Aidan shot him a knowing look. “You were just standing there staring off into space.”
“Bro, he’s having really deep thoughts,” Levi teased.
“Deep thoughts?” Mo questioned.
Lane rolled his eyes. “I was thinking of how you ran that third and long route, and how I could’ve done it better.”
Mo just laughed though, because that was the kind of asshole Mo was. It was nearly impossible to ever penetrate his easy, laid-back chill. At leastLanehadn’t figured out how to do it.
“I don’t believe you,” Aidan said primly. “Let’s huddle up. I want to run these third downs again.”
Everyone thought Aidan was a great quarterback because he had the natural skill, but the actual truth was that Aidan Flynn was a great quarterback because nobody worked harder, or more relentlessly. A taskmaster for the freaking ages.
“Only because you think Mo is the greatest receiver on earth,” Lane muttered to himself.
“What?” Trevor appeared next to him, on the field for a jumbo blocking package.
“Ugh, nothing.”
“You’re off today,” Trevor observed.
Lane was not going to roll his eyes again. “You’re wrong.”
“No, I’m not,” Trevor said. They took their positions. “What’s bugging you? Not sleep well?”
“Fine,” Lane said shortly. “Let’s focus on this play, okay?”
Trevor nodded, not saying anything, but not looking like he really believed any of the bullshit Lane was spouting.
And itwasbullshit. He’d slept like absolute hot fucking garbage, staring up at the ceiling like it was going to miraculously give him answers to questions he didn’t even know how to ask.
But Trevor had clearly sensed a weird undercurrent after last night’s call with Delia and her suggestion that she and Tom come to Toronto, and Lane wasn’t going to give Trevor any more reasons to interrogate him on how he felt about it.
Conflicted, that was how he felt. Like there were two Lanes inside of him. One which was thrilled that he’d get to see his mom, thrilled that his mom wanted to come see him play great football with a great team.
Then there was the other Lane, who’d just gotten a taste of something he’d been craving forever, and wanted to yell and kick and scream that he refused to give it up, at least before he’d let himself gorge on it.
But if he kept acting so strange, there was no way Trevor would actually want to continue doing what they’d been doing.
Lane dragged his attention reluctantly back to practice. If he fucked up this play, Aidan was going to murder him, probably, and Lane would deserve it.
Griff snapped the ball, and Aidan dropped back into the pocket. Trevor blocked the edge rusher, helping Levi maintain Aidan’s pass protection, as Lane pushed off, running the route.
He was supposed to be a distraction—grab the defense’s attention, hovering right around the first-down marker—while Mo sprinted twenty yards downfield in a nice buttonhook pattern. Turning a long third down into an even bigger conversion.
It was the kind of play that was always a risk, but Lane had been playing long enough to know that you either played to win, or you played it safe. And the Thunder hadn’t gotten to where they were this season by playing it safe.
The defensive scout team they were practicing against had more of an idea of the trickery happening, and didn’t bite as hard as an actual opposing team might, but the beauty of the play was that if the defense converged on Mo’s position, they’d possibly leave Lane open to catching the pass and at least converting the third down.
