Page 131 of Forever Offsides

Russel doesn’t even know about it, but how long until he looks up her address and shows up at her door? And what if I’m there when he does? He’s been all over her to hang out and spend time and chats her up on the field at practice and before games. And every single time that happens, the press sees it.

They photograph or video it.

Then it’s all over the internet.

How can we ever come out as a couple when the world thinks she’s dating Russel?

I’ll be villainized. More than I already would be. And what happens to Quinn with that? It’ll put us in the spotlight, and neither of us wants that. So yeah, bad fucking mood.

My car had a flat tire that I had to change. Then traffic was horrendous getting to the stadium due to an accident. I didn’t see the accident, just some of the aftermath that was being cleaned up by the time I passed it. I went searching for Quinn when I got here, but couldn’t find her, and it’s not as if I can ask if anyone’s seen her.

Two of our field iPads aren’t working.

Oh, and we’re down a touchdown leading into the half.

“What the hell is going on out there?” I bark to my stoic group of guys who have their heads down and towels over their heads. “Miami is a good team. We’re a great team. We’re smarter, faster, and more talented. There is absolutely no reason we should be down. What does that tell me?”

Now some of their heads are quirking up. I pace around in a circle in the center of the locker room as I talk.

“It tells me that this second half is ours. This is our house. No one comes into our house and beats us. Certainly not a team whose ass we should be kicking. I want tighter ball coverage. No one gets to Mason. There needs to be a fortress around him.” I point at two of my offensive linemen who allowed sacks. “Our game plan is as it stands. We are running and throwing the ball equally. That means fucking blocking and finding holes, even if there’s no hole to be found. That means sticking to our routes and beating out corners and safeties. Are you hearing me?”

“Yes, Coach,” they all chant out.

“Good. Because I want to see us roll over Miami!”

I clap my hands and go to the back area. It’s against the NFL rules and regulations to use my phone during game hours, but for the first time in my career, I’m tempted to break the rules. I still haven’t seen Quinn. She’s not on the field. I thought she was coming today, but maybe they needed her at the hospital instead.

I don’t like that I haven’t seen or spoken to her. It’s filling me with a strange unease. A jittery feeling I can’t quite place or shake. I have to remind myself that if something were wrong, her brothers would know about it.

We head into the second half blazing, and I focus on the game, on my team, on my job, and not on the woman who makes me forget everything but her.

We tie it up in the third quarter and put up an incredible defensive stand to stop them from scoring again. The only problem is that we don’t score again either.

There are few things coaches hate more than overtime, and that’s where we’re headed.

We tell our players it’s a great test of our inner fortitude. Now it’s anyone’s game, and we can go out there and win it fast.

But heartbreak happens in overtime. Season moment swings do too.

One loss can disrupt everything and beat the heart out of you.

I walk over to the sideline where Mason and Crew are sitting. Russel is over to the side a bit, and I wave him in along with our two primary running backs and wide receivers.

“We’ve got ten minutes to do this,” I start, looking each player in the eye. “They won the kickoff and are getting the ball first. Good. I like that. Because when our defense stuffs them, then we’re going to go in and win this. I want good, clean, situational football.”

“You’ve got it, Coach,” Mason states emphatically.

I clap a hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad you said that because I want you to call the plays unless I or the offensive coordinator tells you otherwise. I want them on their toes and not knowing what to expect. You’re the leader of this team, Mason. Lead us to a victory.”

I get a firm nod with a slight smirk that tells me he’s happy I’m putting so much faith and trust in him, and I return to the sidelines.

Miami doesn’t score. We make them go three and out and punt the ball to us. Mason and I exchange glances as he runs onto the field. My pulse is thrumming in my neck as my body feeds me a steady dose of adrenaline. It’s the high I love. But it’s moments like these that as a new coach, I’m terrified of.

Another loss is more than I can afford.

Except that’s not how this goes.

On the first fucking play, Mason calls an audible at the line, and I do everything I can to tuck in my smile. And my nerves.