Page 32 of Colliding with Ten

I’d spent years building my life around football, leaving little room for anyone else. The season always came first. Besides, there was Shay. If I opened the door to distractions, it should be for her. She was the one who let me in. Ayla hadn’t. So, I wasn’t looking at Ayla Callahan with that kind of interest.

“I don’t need details. Just progress news.”

The less I knew, the better.

He stayed silent behind me before saying, “Alright. I’ll keep an ear out.”

I left the room not knowing what I’d do with the information when it came. But knowing things about Ayla seemed important somehow. Sending flowers wasn’t an option anymore. It wouldn’t matter anyway. Ayla didn’t strike me as a person who would be satisfied with what I could buy to cover what I couldn’t give.

The flowers amused her more than impressed her. She liked them, but she hadn’t gotten soft for them. Keeping her attention would take effort. She’d make a man show up before believing him, and I didn’t have room for that. Getting updates through Mateo was best. I’d keep checking in until she was back on her feet. It was the least I could do.

The next day, I rolled my shoulders before stepping inside the media room. The reporters murmured, and someone cleared their throat too close to a mic. I was wearing a team shirt with a bold number one across the chest. It wasn’t my number, obviously, but it wasn’t a mistake either. It hadn’t been a mistake for a long time.

The first time, the PR team rushed me to do press after a late-game comeback like the building was on fire. I grabbed the first clean shirt in my locker without looking. Only when a reporter asked about my position switch did I realize I wore number eighty-five, Theo’s shirt. By the next week, guys were asking me to wear their shirts next. Coach hated it, claiming it confused identity, but I didn’t care. Let them confuse me with someone else. Today’s shirt belonged to Jace.

“Alright,” Coach said. “Let’s get started.”

Questions started about the last game. Our Red Zone decisions were solid, so we discussed that at length. Someone asked how it felt to silence a hostile crowd. I shrugged. They got the show they wanted.

Then, the third-and-eight conversion conversation began, and my shoulder straightened. A hand went up in the second row. It was an older veteran reporter.

“Lennox, can you talk about the play that sent you out of bounds in the third quarter? The collision on the sideline.”

Cameras were angling a degree closer. One of the reporters paused mid-scratch. I leaned back, lowering my eyes to the table.

“Yeah. I wish it hadn’t happened.” I continued, “I should’ve slid earlier or run faster. She got hurt because of it, and that’s on me.” I looked up then, meeting the room head-on. “I regret that it happened the way it did, but I’ve been told she’s resting, and I hope she’s recovering well.”

A murmur moved through the room. I thought that would end it.

Another reporter lifted his hand. “Are you aware that several videos of the collision have gone viral?”

I kept my face still, but my muscles tensed. “No.”

I didn’t go online looking for distractions after a game, especially when it involved a woman I’d already spent too much time thinking about.

The reporter glanced down at his phone. “There’s the broadcast clip, but also a few fan videos from the stands. One is getting a lot of attention because it shows you staying with her after the hit. People are calling it a softer side of Lennox Monroe.”

A few laughs moved through the room.

“That’s alleged,” I said.

They chuckled more.

The reporter nodded, but he wasn’t done. “There’s also been a lot of attention on her. Ayla Callahan. A lot of fans are discovering her from the clips. Some of the comments are about the collision, and the Flight Crew has been trending too.”

I kept my hands folded on the table, giving no reaction, even though I could picture people zooming in and slowing down clips of her. Men who’d never known her name would share her pictures, comment on her appearance, and, if I guessed right, some comments wouldn’t be appropriate. Heat moved under my skin.

Men noticing her was not surprising. Ayla didn’t need a viral video to confirm how beautiful she was. She would never be short on options. But knowing that in theory was different from a reporter telling me more men would see her and the interest would go beyond curiosity.

I clasped my hands beneath the table. I had no right to an opinion or even to dislike it. We’d exchanged texts. That was all.

The reporter waited.

“She deserves privacy while she recovers. That’s the only thing I care about.”

A camera shutter clicked.

Someone else spoke up. “Do you think the attention puts any added pressure on the organization, considering she’s connected to AJ Callahan and the Hawks?”