Page 114 of Colliding with Ten

“You’re being weird.”

I watched him from the corner of my eye. “I’m hungry.”

His brow furrowed. My heart was beating so hard I was sure he could hear it. Then, his phone buzzed on the counter, pulling his attention. He glanced at the screen and muttered under his breath. The interrogation was over. I exhaled into the refrigerator.

“Did you watch the game?” he asked, his tone different now. He’d moved on from my disappearance to what was really bothering him.

“Of course, I watched the game. I was at the game.”

Technically true, but instead of watching the team, I watched number ten, which made me a terrible sister.

AJ started moving things around the kitchen, the spice rack first, then the cutting boards. Something was eating him. The worse the problem, the more aggressive the reorganization. He was approaching a full cabinet overhaul. Whatever happened in that game had gotten under his skin.

“They knew. He pulled the olive oil from one shelf and placed it on another where it had lived two weeks ago. “The Stallions knew who was banged up, and they went after them.”

I leaned against the counter and listened while he rearranged things that didn’t need rearranging. All I could do was wait for the pressure to release on its own.

“Micah got doubled all afternoon.” He moved the salt and pepper to the opposite side of the stove. “They knew his ankle was compromised, and they ran their routes into his zone over and over until he couldn’t plant. By the fourth quarter, he was limping. He tried to hide it, but it was no use.”

My stomach twisted for Micah. He’d been grinning through a Grade 1 sprain the other day. Standing in AJ’s kitchen, I listened as he described how his best friend had been hunted for two hours by the team whose quarterback I’d tangled with ten hours ago. Guilt knotted my stomach.

“I threw into double coverage four times trying to get him the ball.” AJ was reorganizing the glasses now, tallest to shortest, a system he’d soon abandon. “Coach pulled me aside after the fourth one and told me to move on. Find the open man. But it’s Micah. He’s my guy. I’m not going to leave him out there.”

I wanted to say something useful about adjustments or offer a tactical observation to show I understood. But despite years around football, my knowledge was surface-level—enough to follow, not enough to coach.

And I couldn’t tell him what I’d watched during the game, which was Lennox’s arm motion, Lennox’s pocket movement, Lennox’s footwork, Lennox’s body language when a throw didn’t go where he wanted it. I’d watched him the entire game, even when he wasn’t on the field. That confession would die with me.

“I’m sorry. Is Micah okay?”

AJ huffed. “He says he’s fine.”

“What did Hill say?”

“Hill says he’s not fine. He may miss a game or two.” He set the last glass down and stared at the cabinet, clutching the door until his knuckles went white. “I’m going to watch game film.”

He grabbed his tablet from the counter and headed toward the living room, then paused and looked back at me. His face shifted from frustration into his familiar affection. “I’m glad you’re home.”

My throat tensed into a ball. “Me too.”

He nodded, then disappeared around the corner. A minute later, game film started on the television. The guilt stayed in the pit of my stomach.

I headed to my room for the shower that would save my life, but stopped when Meadow walked into the apartment.

“Hey.” She smiled, set her bag down, and came for me with open arms.

I had two seconds to figure out how to greet her without letting her near the parts of me broadcasting another man’s bodily fluids, and the aftermath of a night I could never describe to anyone in this apartment. I failed. She pulled me into a hug, then pulled back and wrinkled her nose.

She frowned. “You smell different.”

My blood went cold. I whipped my head around in a panic, looking for AJ. Thankfully, he was gone. Then I looked back at her. “Huh?”

“Not bad, just . . . different. That’s not your usual.” She paused, looking suspicious of my behavior. “New perfume?”

“I . . . borrowed someone’s body wash,” I said, which was the closest I could get to the truth. The lies were piling up, and I felt terrible. “At my friend’s place.”

She didn’t look convinced. “Hmm.”

“It was one hug. How did you pick up on that?”