Page 15

CALEB

The next day, we’re in the middle of drills. Thankfully, the weather feels good today, not as scorching as usual.

I’ve been doing this for about an hour now, my body on autopilot as I dig my cleats into the turf. My muscles tense, every nerve in my body coiling tight. I squat low, feeling the burn in my legs as I settle into position.

The piercing whistle blows, and I charge forward, driving with my legs, pushing with all my strength as I crash into the dummy with force feeling the vibrations throughout my chest and arms.

It topples over with a heavy thud, adrenaline surging through me. I exhale hard, ripping off my helmet to meet the cool air.

“You busy for lunch?” I pant, using my helmet as a visor to block the sun.

“You paying?” Marcus asks, coming up beside me, gearing up for his red light-green light drill, one of his favorites.

Orange cones line the field as he readies himself, feet flat on the ground, body low and locked in on each bright marker. Coach blows the whistle and instantly Marcus sprints forward in three quick steps to the first cone. His moves are sharp and calculated.

His footwork is one of the most impressive I’ve seen in the league, he knows how to keep it light and controlled. If you blink even once he’ll already be halfway down the field by that time.

“I’m paying.”

“Then of course I’m not busy.” He jogs backward toward me, chest rising with every breath, winking.

This guy.

After a long few hours of practice, we head to In-N-Out, posted up in one of the red and white booths, chowing into our burgers and fries like it’s our last meal. And I tell him everything.

Not our cheat day, but screw it. I need this.

“YOU AND AMELIA ARE WHAT?” Marcus practically shouts, nearly choking on his half-eaten burger. A few heads turn our way, some curious, some amused, but no one approached.

“Don’t blab,” I say in a hushed tone. “Only you, Amir, and the girls know.”

He zips his lips and tosses the invisible key over his shoulder.

“How did that even happen? I specifically told you to tell her how you feel. Not…get into a situation where you can’t .” He suppresses a laugh. “Was I not clear?”

I roll my eyes and bite into my burger.

“And you’re cool with that?” He leans back against the booth, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” I shrug. “We both get what we want. Problem solved.”

My image gets cleaned up. She has an easy time at the wedding. I get another reason to fall harder. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Partially.”

I glance up. “Partially.”

He’s right. At the end of the day, what I really want is her.

I picture it all the time. Her hand in mine, waking up to her in bed in my T-shirt. But then I blink and it’s gone. It’s only a dream.

Marcus watches me like I’m a wounded puppy.

“Don’t look at me like that.” I scoff.

“Just don’t start reading into anything,” he says, his tone filled with concern.

I press my lips into a thin line. “I know.”

After lunch Marcus and I return to the training center, and I head straight to Coach Banks’ office.

“It’s open,” Coach calls out.

I slowly push the door open, stepping inside. “Hey, Coach. Got some good news for you.”

“Yeah?” He cocks a brow, and closes his laptop, gesturing me in.

I sink into the old leather chair across from him, squeezing my thumb. “Our problem is handled. Give me a week.”

“Alright, we’ll see about that,” he says curiously, already reaching for his phone. “I’ll let Daryl know, maybe he can get Driftwear to cool down in the meantime.”

I force a smile, even though my stomach’s tying itself into knots.

No good is going to come from this. Not a damn thing. I spent years, years coming to terms with the fact that I’d only ever be her friend. And now? Pretending she’s mine? This might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Harder than football.

Maybe us “dating” will change something. At least, that’s what I’ll keep telling myself.

It’s the only way I’ll survive it.