Page 7 of Defensive Zone (Chicago Thunder #3)

Chapter Six

November

Carter

This day can’t get any worse.

Keeping my gaze lowered, I head back to the visiting locker room, shoulders slumped in defeat. I don’t know what happened out there. It was like my hands were covered in butter. Every tackle I made was a fail, and I couldn’t have sacked the quarterback if my life depended on it. I botched every play. Tripped over thin air.

I played like a fucking embarrassment.

Throwing myself into the seat in front of my designated stall, I toss my gloves against the wood paneling a little harder than necessary and let out a heavy sigh.

Fuck. This game was shit.

For the last seven years, I’ve always been voted within the top 5 defensive ends in the NFL. There were some guys who didn’t like coming up against me because I didn’t hold back. Off the field, I’m laid-back and happy-go-lucky as they come, but when I’m out there, when I get into position, it’s like my vision turns red. I have one target in my sights, and I’m a hungry bear until I get it.

This season, however? I couldn’t have stopped the opposing team if they had stood dead still and slapped me in the face.

Like I said, I’m an embarrassment, and there’s only one thing that will make this day any better.

Zach Reid.

Stretching as far as my pads will allow, I retrieve my phone from my bag and swipe my finger across the screen to unlock it. I wonder where he’ll take me today. It’s been four months since I’ve seen him, and I’ve been counting down the days. We don’t get to see each other much during the season, especially because the NFL and NHL seasons overlap until January, but we always meet up whenever we’re in each other’s city, and Zach always takes me to grab some food before I catch my flight back to Denver. Last time, we hit up this incredible pizza place that was worth breaking my strict in-season diet.

But the rush of dopamine I typically get when I see his name on my phone doesn’t come. No matter how long I stare at the text message on the screen, it doesn’t change. There’s no Just kidding! follow-up text.

Zach

I’m sorry, I can’t make it today. Maybe next time?

An unpleasant ache that has become all too familiar recently blooms in my chest. There won’t be a next time. I’m only playing in Chicago once this season—the next time we face them will be at home—and when Zach is in Denver, I’ll be away in Pittsburgh. This was the only chance we were going to get to see each other until January at the earliest, because I doubt we’re going to get a spot in the wild card round, and he’ll be on a road trip during my bye week.

We made a pact, goddamnit.

Nine years ago, when we were lying on his bed in college on New Year’s Eve, we promised we would always see each other whenever we were in the same place. We might have been nothing but two punk-ass twenty-year-olds with big dreams of making it to the pros, but we weren’t na?ve enough to think the odds would be on our side and we would land on teams in the same city. Being apart for the first time since we met was tough; throw in the fact that we were now states apart, not even in the same time zone, and it’s been hell. But we always got through it by sticking to the pact.

Until now, and this is the second time he’s broken it. I forgave him in the summer when he went back to Chicago six weeks earlier than planned. But now…

My fingers are flying over the screen, typing out a reply before I can think it through. A mix of desperation and frustration bubbles away inside me, causing me to not think clearly.

Carter

What? Why? What’s so important you can’t see me for 20 minutes before I have to leave for my flight?

Zach

I’m seeing the trainer about my shoulder before the game tonight. I’m sorry.

Jaw clenching, I let out a frustrated groan. Now I feel like a dick because I know his shoulder has been bothering him since last season, but still, he knew I was coming. He knew this was the only game I have in Chicago all season. I sent him my schedule the second it came through. Hell, I sent it to him before I even had a chance to read through it myself.

Why does it feel like he’s avoiding me?

I scroll through our message thread. It’s a sea of blue bubbles. A one-sided conversation. His responses have become shorter, less frequent over the last few months.

I don’t know what has happened to cause this… distance between us, but I don’t like it. Not one bit.

I miss my best friend. I miss him to the point it’s causing me physical pain.

Rubbing the aching spot over my chest with my palm, I close my eyes and take a deep, steadying breath. There’s no point in getting angry because there’s nothing I can do about it, but it doesn’t stop me from being disappointed. I’ve been looking forward to seeing him for months.

The football season hasn’t gone as well as I’d hoped. I genuinely thought this was going to be our year. Our time to shine and bounce back after our Super Bowl loss last year. Instead, I have reporters questioning whether being awarded Defensive Player of the Year last season has become a curse because I’m having the worst season of my professional career.

Knowing that I was going to be seeing Zach today has kept my chin up. It has kept me from spiraling into a cloud of negativity, especially now, given we just had our asses kicked by Chicago on the field.

But now the cloud is looming, darker than before, and I don’t know what to do.

“Not seeing your boy today?” Walker asks as he sits down in the stall next to mine to lace up his shoes. He’s a defensive tackle on my D-line and probably one of the guys I’m closest to on the team.

I haven’t even begun to get undressed, not feeling the usual urgency or eagerness to get out of here.

“No.” I shake my head. “He’s got a session with the trainer.”

Walker winces. “Shit, man. Bad timing.”

Bad timing, indeed.

Or purposefully bad timing.

No, that’s unfair. I don’t think Zach would intentionally avoid me like this. He’s quiet and introverted and so damn intelligent. Nerdy, too, but I think that’s what makes him so endearing. The guy could recite the entire script of Return of the Jedi by the time he was ten, and I made it my mission to learn it so I could impress him like he constantly did me.

Throughout my life, his opinion was the only one that mattered. I’ve never cared for the press or the so-called fans who comment on whatever slice of life I decided to share on my social media. I’ve never cared about what anyone else thought. Only Zach.

Because Zach Reid has been my buoy for the majority of my life, keeping me afloat, and now I’m lost, drowning without him.

Heaving a sigh, I muster up the energy to get undressed and head into the showers. My movements feel sluggish, like that stupid text has sucked every ounce of energy out of me. By the time I’m dressed in sweatpants and a team-branded hoodie, I shove my feet into my sneakers and make sure all my belongings are in my duffel bag. I’ve been in this game long enough that I’ve learned to double-check my stall before I go. I’ve left way too many things in visiting locker rooms over the years.

I thank the equipment team as they load our gear onto the specialized container units, then make my way out of the arena to the bus that’s waiting to take us to the airport. Normally, I would be rushing through my post-game routine, eager to get out so Zach could pick me up so we could do our thing before he dropped me off at the airport.

But there’s no reason for me to rush today.

Fuck, I can’t keep torturing myself like this.

I run an agitated hand through my hair. I don’t know what to do with myself. As I take the steps up into the bus, I’m greeted with surprised expressions.

Palmer’s, another defensive tackle on my D-line, eyebrows rise to his hairline, jaw dropping open. “Holy shiiit. What have you done with Carter Lockwood? He doesn’t ride the bus with us in Chicago.”

I want to flip him the bird, but I don’t have the energy. I just grunt in response, glaring down at my shoes as I head further in and take a seat, quickly pulling my noise-canceling headphones out of my bag. A clear sign for nobody to bother me.

Selecting an upbeat, pop playlist, hoping it will boost my mood, I scroll through our message thread again, then close the app to go on Instagram. I bring up Zach’s profile and click on the stories, just like I’ve done a thousand times since last night. I go through each of the slides and pause on the photo of him and his teammate Elliot at Gino’s. Elliot has his arm wrapped around Zach’s shoulders, both of them with a beer in hand. Zach’s hair is tied up off his face in a bun, and my hands itch to take it down. I love his hair. It’s so long and silky, I find it relaxing to run my fingers through it.

My ex-girlfriends always thought it was weird how I would be so openly affectionate with him. I love him, he’s my best friend—why wouldn’t I show my affection? I always wanted to be near him, touching him, even if only our knees connected. His presence has always brought me peace, but it’s his smile in this particular photo that makes my stomach twist uncomfortably. It’s like a sucker punch to the gut.

He hasn’t smiled at me like that in so long. Probably since the summer, come to think about it. When we were in Oahu on our vacation.

Our video calls haven’t been as regular, either, and whenever we’ve spoken, it’s like there’s this… something… between us. I don’t know, some kind of awkwardness.

Ugh. I’m probably overthinking this. I’ve been doing a lot of this recently, too, which isn’t like me.

When we board the team plane that will take us back to Denver, I stow my bag in the overhead bin and drop into my usual seat by the window and press Call on Zach’s name. He might not want to see me, but I’m not going to allow this… whatever it is, to come between us. I’m not going to be the one to break routine. Not being able to see him has already put me on edge. Going hours without hearing his voice might just break me.

I suck in a breath when the phone connects and instantly relax at the sound of his familiar voice.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.” I clear my throat, then let out a strained laugh. “I… It’s weird, I kinda don’t know what to do with myself not being able to see you.” I pick at a loose thread on my sweatpants. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in years, and I’m kinda going out of my mind.”

I’m expecting laughter or a joke about how I saw his face on FaceTime only the other day, but none of that comes. There’s silence, and after a beat, nausea sets in.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. It was the only time Joe could see me, and I need to get myself strapped up for the game tonight. I just got out of the ice bath.”

“No, no, I understand.” I wanted to see you. I needed to see you . “How do you feel about facing Ottawa tonight?”

“Eh, I’m not too concerned. We’re prepared. They won’t shake us.”

I chuckle nervously under my breath. Ottawa has been known to try and ruffle feathers, trying to get under the players’ skin, but the Thunder boys have been cool as cucumbers this season. They have the lowest penalty minutes served. Even Blaine Olsen has managed to keep his visits to the penalty box to a minimum, which is a record in itself.

“Will you call me later after your game?”

Another long pause. “I’ll try, depends what time we get out.”

“I’ll be awake.” I hate how the panic is evident in my voice.

He sighs. “If I can’t call you tonight, I’ll call you in the morning.”

Fuck. Why is it so difficult? It’s never been like this before. We always had so much to say to each other, often getting into trouble because we didn’t want to hang up and say goodbye even as the plane was about to take off.

“I better go,” he announces, and I have to fight the urge to beg him to stay on the phone a little longer.

“Okay.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m on the plane now. I hope you have a good game.”

“Thanks.” Another pause. “Have a safe flight.”

“Thanks.”

The line goes dead. My stomach twists and curls as I drop my phone into my lap and close my eyes, hitting my head back against the seat.

Between my career being at its lowest and my best friend drifting away, I don’t know who I am anymore.

It feels like my world is falling apart, and I don’t know what to do to make it right.