Page 36

CHAPTER 36

ZANDER

I got up early, motivated to get through my workload so I could call Sienna as soon as I was done.

Loaded up with caffeine and nibbling on a bagel, I managed to get through two hours before the text on my screen and the pages started to blur.

I need a proper breakfast, but if I can power through, then I’ll be free for the rest of the day. And I want to spend every second I can with Sienna and Zoey.

I’m stoked with my progress this morning and glad I skipped my one sleep-in this week.

The essay I have to get written for my sports psychology class is almost finished. I just need to proof it and make any final tweaks.

I’m now free to jot down some game analysis notes. I don’t normally do this, but I want to impress Coach Jones after my serious fuckup on the field. Yes, we won. Yes, I dominated for most of the game, but that first pass… he saw right through that shit, and I need to prove to him that I can be in a relationship and still focus on the game .

My plan is to have a meeting with him next week, update him on my personal life—because the guy has always had my back, and he cares about his players that way—and then talk through strategies of how to make the most of my season.

He’s been going the extra mile and helping any players who are keen to take this to the next level prepare for the scouting combine in February. It’s going to be the week of our lives. This is what we’ve been working for all along. Wily’s going to ace it. He was born to play ball, and I guarantee there will be teams vying for him.

Me?

I’ve got a decent shot—according to Coach—but there are no guarantees.

I can’t go screwing things up.

But I can’t turn my back on Sienna and Zoey either.

I have to find a way to have both.

And I can.

I will.

My parents might say otherwise, but…

I shake my head and glance at my phone. I turned it off last night before I went to bed. Dad will be calling today. It’s inevitable. He always loves to do our own little postgame analysis, and it’s painful. He’d already told me he couldn’t watch the game yesterday due to work commitments, but he will have recorded it and watched it last night, no doubt taking notes so he can have a long string of criticism to load me down with.

Brushing my thumb over my black phone screen, I shake my head.

I sit through that damn conversation every week, doing my best to keep the peace. Occasionally what he says is really helpful. Most of the time it’s nitpicky, and more often than not, he has my muscles tensing with irritation.

He’s going to be all over me after that awful pass, and he’ll want to know why.

I can’t tell him.

Not yet.

Shit, he’s going to hit the fucking roof.

I clench my jaw, tapping my thumb on the phone screen. I’m hoping Sienna isn’t trying to call me, but it’s first thing in the morning, and she might not even be up yet. If she is, she’s probably padding around the house in those Tweety pajamas with a sleepy smile while Zoey plays at her feet.

I gaze out the window, loving the image in my mind’s eye. Shit, how can something be so sexy and adorable at the same time? My woman.

I grin, but my smile fades when I think ahead to the conversation she’s going to have with Russell today. I hope that jackass doesn’t make it hard for her. If he’s got a problem, he can speak with me.

The thought sends a spike of unease shooting through me, and I nearly switch my phone on, but…

Dad might call.

And I have to get this done.

“Focus. One thing at a time.”

I’ll give this one more hour, and then Sienna can have the rest of my day. I’ll call her as soon as I’m done and do whatever she needs me to.

If I can just get some notes down on yesterday’s game, I might be able to speed up my call with Dad. He’ll be able to see that I thought it through, and I can hopefully counter some of his points.

Typing everything I can remember, I take full ownership of my shitty pass and list some possible ways not to make that mistake again. I pull up old seminar notes and videos I’ve watched on mental conditioning. I should have put some of those strategies into practice yesterday, and I didn’t. I’ll spend more time on it before the next game.

Pulling up the schedule, I scan ahead to the upcoming teams we’re facing, and my gut sinks when I spot the Kelsey U Titans. We’re playing them in early November, and I’m already dreading the game. Last year was total shit. They were out to demolish me, and I got bashed around so badly that Coach pulled me for the second half of the game. He was furious. They played dirty and mean, and they were obviously targeting me. The offensive line was spent trying to protect me, and Coach wanted me off the field to give everyone a break.

“Their tactics are underhanded. It’s why I chose to leave the first chance I got. Don’t lower yourselves to their level,” he warned the rest of the team at halftime. “You go out there, and you beat them fair and square.”

We didn’t.

It was our biggest loss of the season.

But that’s not going to happen this year.

We’re going to face those fuckers, and we’re going to win.

My nostrils flare as I keep pounding my keyboard and making sure I’m doing everything in my power to be in perfect form for that November game.

I get so absorbed in what I’m doing that I’m only vaguely aware of the knock at the front door. One of the other guys will get it.

It’s no doubt some chick here to see Carson… or Carson himself because he forgot his key again and no one’s been downstairs to unlock the door yet.

I roll my eyes, shaking my head and focusing back on the screen in front of me.