Page 21 of Heartstruck

Jared

The ball snaps, and everything else disappears. It’s just the field, the roar of the crowd, and the play we’ve been running all week. I sprint downfield, my cleats digging into the turf, cutting past the cornerback with a sharp juke to the right. The defender bites: perfect.

I glance back at Troy, our quarterback, just as the ball leaves his hands. It’s a bullet, arcing through the air in a tight spiral. I stretch my arms out, eyes locked on the ball as it cuts through the stadium lights. The corner is closing in, but he’s too slow.

My fingers brush the leather, and I pull it in. The hit comes a split second later, hard enough to knock the wind out of me, but my arms lock around the ball. I feel the turf slam into my back as I hit the ground, but the ball’s secure.

“First down!” the ref shouts, his arms slicing through the air.

I roll over and scramble to my feet, chest heaving. Nate, our left tackle, smacks me on the helmet as I jog back to the huddle.

“Hell of a catch, man,” he grins, sweat dripping down his face.

“Gotta keep us in it.” I mutter.

It’s the fourth quarter, and we’re down by four with thirty seconds left on the clock. Coach is already signaling the play from the sidelines, and I know what’s coming. One more pass. Troy nods at us in the huddle, his jaw set in determination.

“All right, same formation, Z out on two,” he barks, and we break.

I line up again, the corner watching me more closely this time, but it doesn’t matter. I know what to do. On the snap, I explode off the line, pushing with everything I’ve got. We only need fifteen yards. That’s all.

Troy drops back, and I cut across the field, weaving between defenders. I see him wind up, the ball sailing toward Kevin, our tight end. He leaps, grabbing it mid-air, landing just past the marker. The crowd erupts.

“Let’s go!” Kevin shouts, fist-pumping as he’s swarmed by the rest of the offense. I jog over, my heart pounding, adrenaline surging. Twenty seconds left. One more play, and we take the win.

Coach signals again—fade route, back corner of the end zone. Troy looks at me, a silent question. I nod. We’re going for it.

On the snap, I push hard, sprinting for the corner, my eyes locked on the goal line. The safety sees it, but he’s too late. Troy’s already lifted the ball, a high arc to the back corner.

I leap, hands outstretched, and pull it in right before my feet hit the turf.

The ref’s arms shoot up.

Touchdown.

The stadium explodes in noise, but it’s all white noise to me. My teammates tackle me to the ground, and Troy’s the first to yank me up by my jersey, grinning like a madman.

“Damn, man, you were flying!” he yells over the noise.

I grin back, but my mind’s already drifting. We won, but as I jog off the field, the excitement already fading, I can’t help but wonder if Alli saw any of it. I glance up into the stands, knowing she’s probably out there somewhere, but I don’t search for her.

I wipe the sweat from my face and chuck the towel aside, feeling the familiar tug of frustration in my chest. I don’t do this. I don’t think too much. I keep things light. That’s my move, and it’s always worked.

Until now.

I don’t even know what I’m avoiding anymore.

Maybe it’s the way Alli looked at me last night when I showed up at her door with that stupid puzzle and ice cream, like she was waiting for me to explain something, say something.

Like she was waiting for me to make a decision I’m not ready to make.

When in reality, we ate our takeout and watched some trash reality show while working on the puzzle I stole.

What was supposed to be a chill hangout between friends…

it felt like more all of a sudden. I can’t shake the image of her face, her eyes calm and searching, waiting for something—anything—from me.

It’s like she’s opened a door I’m not ready to walk through, and the more I think about it, the more I realize how badly I want to keep it shut.

It’s easier on the field. Here, you don’t have to think about what any of it means. You just act. But off the field, with Alli, I can’t seem to keep things straight. It’s like I’m caught between wanting more and being too much of a coward to admit it.

The locker room is alive with the after-game buzz, a racket of laughter and cheers as the guys unwind. The air is thick with the smell of sweat, locker room spray, and victory. I head straight for my locker, pulling off my gear and tossing it aside with ease.

I grab a towel and head for the showers, the steam enveloping me as I turn on the water.

The warmth feels good, but even as the tension in my muscles eases, the nagging feeling in my chest doesn’t go away.

I push it aside, focusing instead on the mundane task of scrubbing away the grime of the game.

“Hey, Jared, great game out there!” Nate’s voice comes from behind me as he steps into the shower next to mine. He always seems to have a smile on his face, the kind of guy who never lets anything get him down. I envy him.

“Thanks, man,” I reply, my voice bouncing off the tiled walls. I keep my tone light, but inside, I’m still tangled up with thoughts of Alli. It’s frustrating how she’s managed to creep into my headspace so much lately.

And it’s not just Alli that’s been living in my head rent-free.

The thoughts of my mom’s missed visits and her radio silence hit harder than I want to admit.

Winning the game should make me feel like I’m on top of the world, but instead, I’m anxious that the spotlight will invite the wrong kind of attention.

That’s how I ended up with stalkers in the first place.

I’m anxious as hell, convinced it’s just a matter of time before a new one blindsides me.

Nate’s chatting away about his plans for the weekend.

Something about a barbecue and his girlfriend, who’s apparently a great cook.

I nod and make the right noises, but my mind’s wandering.

I’m a pro at this surface-level conversation, the kind where you’re engaged but not really there.

I’ve been doing this for years now. Like the time my dad started doing family game nights.

The first one was right after my team lost the state finals in high school.

I was too drained to care, so I spent the whole night nodding and pretending to enjoy the board game while trying not to think about blowing that final shot.

Or when my aunt insisted on showing me her DIY wedding album during the summer I was supposed to be in the middle of a training camp.

She’s still bringing it up. Anyway, nothing’s as awkward as pretending to care about a scrapbook when your mind’s ten miles away.

As we finish up, I step out of the shower and grab my clothes, slipping on my jeans and T-shirt. The guys are gathered around the lockers, talking about the highlights of the game and who’s getting the MVP nod.

“Yo, Jared, you down for a drink later?” Troy calls out, his voice buzzing with its usual excitement.

“Probably not tonight,” I say, forcing a grin. “Got some stuff to take care of.”

He frowns. “You sure?”

“Yes, yeah.”

“But we won, dude!” He smiles and pulls me in for a hug. I chuckle lightly. “We’ll be at The Anchor on Delaney Street if you change your mind.”

As I finish getting dressed, I catch Kevin’s eye. He gives me a nod, like he’s picking up on everything I’m keeping quiet. “You good?”

I pause, debating how much to say. “Yeah, just… a lot on my mind,” I admit, though I’m careful not to dive too deep.

It’s not that I don’t like the guys—hell, they’re the closest thing to friends I have.

But personal stuff? That’s off the table.

It’s easier to laugh it off, throw a joke out there, and pretend the game’s the only thing that matters.

My problems? They stay off the field.

At least, that’s the plan.

Kevin nods, understanding and not prying. “If you need anything, man, you know where to find me.”

I appreciate the gesture, but it’s also a reminder of my flaws. I’m great at bonding with my teammates over games, beers, and laughs, but when it comes to letting them see the real me, the one who’s struggling with more than just football, I shut down.

It’s always been that way, really. I learned to keep everything tucked in.

When it felt like too much, I just buried it deeper.

No one knows about the times I’d lie in bed, wishing I could figure it all out.

When things go south, I compartmentalize.

It’s easier than opening up Pandora’s Box and explaining why I feel the way I do and what the hell I’m supposed to do to fix it.

I’ve always dealt with it alone. The idea of someone offering comfort?

Never really crossed my mind. If you’ve been making it through life without help, why start asking for it now?

I manage a grateful smile. “Thanks, Kev. I’ll be fine.”

As I walk out of the locker room, the noise and camaraderie fading behind me, I realize how football, usually a safe escape, my way of keeping things simple, is not working as well as it usually does.

I glance at my phone. A text from Alli, a simple congratulation that somehow feels loaded with meaning. I’m tempted to call her, but I know I shouldn’t in case I do something stupid like years ago.

The parking lot is still alive with energy, a few scattered groups of fans lingering to celebrate the win.

The night air is cool, carrying the distant sounds of laughter and music from the campus bars.

I push through the throngs of people, trying to blend in and escape the feeling of being constantly watched.