Page 67 of Hard Pass

My receiver is open. In perfect position.

Throw the damn ball.

My arm comes forward and there’s that goddamn fraction of a hitch again. The ball flutters. It’s pathetically ugly and short of the receiver.

A few guys shift on their feet. No one says anything, but they don’t have to. They see it. Anyone with eyes can see it.

The yips.

“Fuck,” I mutter, yank my helmet off, and drag a hand through my hair.

“That’s enough for today,” Coach says to the group.

My shoulders sag. Put the extra fucking time in and it doesn’t seem to be helping for shit.

“Valor,” Coach says and motions me over to where he’s standing. He studies me the same way he’s been doing all practice—as if he’s trying to decide how hard to push.

“Coach?” I hand off my helmet to an equipment aide offering to take it in for me.

“Talk to me,” he says. “How’s it going?”

My laugh lacks all humor. “Assuming you already know since you just watched this session.”

“I need words, Cole.”

“I’m frustrated as fuck.” I shake my head. “I’ve gone twice to Doc Hawley and done the breathing exercises and visualization she suggested last session. You’ve seen me out here every damn day putting extra reps in.” I gesture to the field. “And I still can’t hit a routine five-yard pass.”

“You can and you did.”

“Not at my normal completion percentage.”

“Because you’re forcing it,” Coach says.

“I don’t have a choice. I’m paid to perform. To be the guy you signed and—”

“You can’t muscle your way out of this,” he says. “The more you push, the deeper you’ll dig the hole. You’ve got to let it come back to you.”

“Easier said than done,” I mutter. “Considering . . . everything.”

“Everything.” He lets the word hang there as he holds my gaze. “Did you do it?”

His bluntness startles me. “What?”

“Don’t believe I stuttered.”

For a second all I feel is heat and anger and disbelief. “You think I’d risk everything I’ve worked for over some bets?”

“You addressed your team, but you’ve yet to face or talk to me.”

“Because I didn’t think . . . I thought you of all people would know that I didn’t fucking do it.”

His eyes hold mine before he nods once. “That’s all I needed to hear.” He cuffs me on the shoulder. “It’ll come back to you. I have faith in you.”

And then he walks away with me staring after him, teeth clenched, shoulders tight. Coach doubted me?

Jesus Christ.

I shake my head in disbelief and that’s when I spot her—Dublin. She’s standing just outside the tunnel, hair moving in the warm breeze.