Page 42 of Colliding with Ten

I finished the set and stood, shaking out my legs before moving to the wall. Mateo handed me a medicine ball.

Chicago was next, and it was a must-win. But every game was a must-win. That was the difference in my fifth season. On paper, we were one of the best with the league’s top receiver and a depth chart stacked with talent. In reality, four years of me at QB1 had produced two playoff runs, one to the final game, but still no ring.

I caught the medicine ball off the wall and fired it back. A thud echoed through the room. I did it harder again and again.

I lost two of those years to injuries, grinding my teeth and watching my team fail to reach its potential. First, the torn knee, then the wrist, a problem I thought I’d buried back in college. The labels followed me after that. Injury-prone.

I caught the ball and held it against my chest, breathing through my nose as my lungs worked.

Some blamed the offensive line, saying they didn’t protect me. Others blamed me, saying I pushed for two elite receivers with monster contracts, leaving the defense thin, like I ran the front office instead of throwing balls for a living.

Reporters treated press conferences like tribunals. They said we were wasting our window. I shut it out. When I stripped it down, it came back to one thing. No one wanted me to win more than I did.

The last three weeks, I doubled down on football. After my call with Ayla, I stopped reaching out. Not because I didn’t think about her. We had chemistry. She was funny, but off-limits under our non-fraternization clauses, though I didn’t give a fuck about that. But she was still distracting. So, I stayed late in the facility to avoid going home and thinking about her.

I was committed. Watching the playoffs from my couch made me sick. This team and I were too talented for that. We wanted January football. No money or endorsement made up for it. Football without winning felt empty, and the only win that mattered was the last one.

I handed the medicine ball back to Mateo and moved to the ladder he had laid across the turf.

“Three rounds,” he said. “Clean footwork. No hero shit.”

I looked at him. “Hero shit?”

“You heard me. I don’t want you pushing through pain or going faster than I want you to. Steady wins the race.”

I nodded and started working through the ladder with quick steps. Mateo knew me better than most. That’s why we gelled.

Staying late meant doubling down on extra film and footwork. Timing routes long after practice ended. I came in early too and treated my body well, knowing I couldn’t afford to get injured again.

The reporters were right. The window wouldn’t stay open forever. This might be the best roster we’d ever have, with weapons everywhere. The problem wasn’t talent. It was putting wins together, and that started with me.

The next day, Mateo caught me as I left the locker room. He fell into step beside me, and I knew then that he had news he didn’t want to tell in front of anyone.

We turned into the training wing, and he pulled the door shut behind us. The room had two ice tubs, an ice machine, and a counter stacked with towels.

“She tried to go back to rehearsal.”

I reared my head back. “Already?”

“Yeah, she showed up and tried to dance. I think she tried to tell them she was observing. They sent her home.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. Before I could stop it, I laughed. It surprised even me.

Mateo raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” I said, shaking my head, but I didn't lose the smile fast enough. “Yeah. I’m not surprised.”

She didn’t seem like someone who stayed still for long. The image of her in a knee brace, insisting she was just observing, shouldn’t have been funny, but it was.

Mateo watched me. “Callahan said she’s driving him out of his mind. He’s begging them to get her back to work.”

That brought another chuckle, which I pressed down by rolling my neck and clearing my throat.

“Swelling?” I asked, getting back on track.

“It’s down, and her strength is coming back. She’s moving in the right direction. I’m told she was in good spirits and looked happy to be out of the house.”

I nodded. “Sounds promising.”