Page 27 of The Interception (Southern Sports Sweethearts #2)
Chapter Twenty
Ender
Thinking about anything other than that kiss with Layne has been impossible.
I left shortly after because of an early practice, but all I’ve been able to focus on since leaving is seeing her again and trying to figure out where we stand moving forward.
I need to talk to my sister about it, too.
Even though my brain tells me this is between Layne and me, I still can’t shake the guilt I feel when I think about being happy while she’s… not.
On the sidelines of a game is probably the worst place to be thinking about all of this. We’re down with ten minutes still on the clock, inching ever closer to the competition.
“Your head in the game or somewhere else, Langley?” Coach Holmes asks. He agreed to let me drive on my own and leave after the game, but only after agreeing that I wouldn’t play like junk. So far, I’ve been on the ball.
“Yes, sir.”
Leo nudges me and smirks. “That was a lie. I know what you’re thinking about. Don’t get pummeled because you’re recreating that kiss in your head.”
“Shut up, dude.” It was a mistake telling him I kissed Layne, but I had to tell someone. I needed advice, and Leo is full of it.
“I’m happy for you. I told you she was interested. Have you told Sarah Beth?” He sways back and forth, keeping his eye on the game while we chat.
“Not yet. I will as soon as I get a chance, but I’m pretty sure she’s going to be excited about it. Still hard to shake the guilt, you know?” I’m about to be sent in. I need to refocus.
“You are allowed to be happy even if she’s not. Talk to her, but for now, get your head in the game for real. I don’t want to ride to the hospital with you because you got your head taken off.”
A smirk tugs at my lips. “You’re supposed to defend me, remember?”
“Yeah, but you don’t make it easy when Layne is on your brain.”
We’re both sent in as Coach hollers at us to hustle.
We’re up by seven, but with this much time left in the game, anything can happen.
I settle in beside Lucas at the line of scrimmage and prepare to get pummeled.
He won’t risk losing a game to take me out, but he won’t make it easy on me either.
Not after I embarrassed him the other night in front of Layne.
I’m prepared for one play, the one that makes the most sense, but Lucas calls off something completely different.
At the snap, he moves to throw the ball, then pulls a draw and hands it off to me.
I’m covered in two seconds flat, but Leo blocks enough for me to squeeze through the defense.
Lucas’s junk move gets him leveled, but I can’t celebrate.
I only make it twenty yards before a bulldozer flattens me, too.
At the whistle, I hop up and glare at Lucas.
With the way Coach yells, Lucas ought to know what kind of hot water he’s in.
On the next play, the guys make sure I have room. I catch the ball and blast full speed down a lane with our best defensemen on either side. There is every chance I make it all the way, so I set my eyes on the end zone and fly.
Twenty yards…ten…five…
I dodge a tackle at the last second and score. Exhaustion from the past couple of weeks might have worn out my mind, but at least my body is still on autopilot. The crowd boos…because we’re not home, after all, but I couldn’t care less. Scoring gets Coach off my back about being distracted.
Leo hoists me off the ground and smacks my back. “Still got it, even with a woman on your mind.”
I shove him and we head to the sidelines. There’s less than two minutes on the clock now, but still, stranger things have happened than a last-minute score. Which is why I’m shocked when Coach nods at me and says, “Hit the bricks, Langley. Go bring home another cook-off trophy for us.”
“What?”
“Go on! Get out of here!” Coach turns his back to me and starts screaming again.
“Better go while the going is good.” Leo smacks my back again. “Good luck.”
“You too. Don’t get beat up.”
He chuckles and raises his helmet. “That’s kind of what I signed up for.”
I grab my bag and bolt to the locker room. With a quick check at the time, I realize if I run straight to my car and miss the traffic, I could make it back to Charleston before the final round. Without a second thought, I run to my truck, throw everything in the back, and set my sights north.
It’s a small miracle that I make it through security and down to the contestants’ area without getting caught by fans. When I reach our table, I realize the time has only recently begun. I stop at the judges’ table to get my official go-ahead.
“Hi,” I pant and take a deep breath. “I’m Ender…Langley…the one who—”
“Go, go!” the judge yells, and motions for me to enter the lower stadium and field.
I grab an apron and tie it on while navigating my way toward our assigned table.
What I find is an array of ingredients, unopened, on our table, and Layne absolutely frozen.
She’s not moving a muscle, not so much as a finger, and the clock is ticking.
“Layne? What’s wrong?” I ask, but she’s glazed over.
Her eyes dart from item to another, but she makes zero move to do anything.
It can’t be because of the crowd or the cameras.
She’s been through this twice already. She knows this recipe.
It’s something else. “Layne?” When she still doesn’t respond, I grasp her hand and force her to look at me.