Chapter 13: Bryson

Bryson’s POV

The tackle came out of nowhere, hitting me low and hard enough to knock the wind out of my lungs. I hit the ground with a grunt, grass stains already forming on my practice jersey.

"What the hell, Gray?" Carter's voice came from somewhere above me. "Jenkins was wide open on the right. That was an easy pass."

I rolled over and sat up, spitting dirt. "I saw him."

"Then why didn't you throw to him?"

Because I was too busy thinking about Gabriel Castellanos's hands on Avery. Because I couldn't stop picturing her in those bleachers, cheering for someone else, looking at someone else the way she used to look at me.

"Just missed the window," I lied, pushing myself to my feet.

Carter gave me a look that said he wasn't buying it, but he jogged back to his position without another word. Coach Williams, on the other hand, wasn't so easily dismissed.

"Gray!" His voice boomed across the practice field. "Front and center!"

I jogged over to where he was standing on the sidelines, his clipboard clutched in one massive hand and his expression somewhere between frustrated and concerned.

"You want to explain to me what's going on out there?" he asked.

"Nothing, Coach. Just an off day."

"An off day?" He gestured toward the field. "Son, you've missed three easy passes in the last ten minutes. You're running plays like you've never seen them before. This isn't an off day. This is whatever's been eating at you for the past two weeks finally coming to a head."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he held up a hand.

"North Ridge is Monday night. Prime time, college scouts in the stands, the whole nine yards. This is your shot, Gray, and right now you're playing like you couldn't hit water if you fell out of a boat."

"I can fix it—"

"You better. Because I'm this close"—he held up his thumb and forefinger with barely any space between them—"to benching you for the opener. And if I have to explain to Principal Hayes why our starting quarterback is riding the pine, it's not going to be because of whatever girl has got you twisted up in knots."

The mention of a girl made my jaw clench. "It's not about a girl."

"Right. And I'm the Queen of England." He shook his head. "Fix your head, son. Whatever it is, figure it out. Because I won't hesitate to put Richardson in if you can't get your act together."

Richardson. The sophomore backup who threw with all the accuracy of a lawn sprinkler and had the arm strength of a paper airplane.

"I'll fix it," I said.

"You better."

He walked away, already shouting at the offensive line about their blocking assignments, and I stood there for a moment trying to get my head on straight.

The problem was, I couldn't stop thinking about her. About the way she'd looked when she'd said Gabe's name. The little smile that had crossed her face when she'd mentioned the soccer game. The fact that she'd wanted to go.

Would she come to my game if I asked? Would she sit in those same bleachers and watch me play the way she'd watched Gabe? Would she care if I threw the winning touchdown, or would she be thinking about someone else the whole time?

Christ, I was losing my mind.

But I couldn't help it. Having her back, having her close enough to touch, to smell, to see the way her lips moved when she talked, it was like being addicted to something I'd been forced to go cold turkey from, and now I was getting a taste again.

I wanted her so badly it was making me stupid. Making me sloppy. Making me the kind of player who missed easy throws because he was too busy thinking about a girl.

"Gray! What the hell is going on with you!"

Coach's voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I realized I'd still been standing in the middle of the field.

"I'm this close to taking you out of the game on Monday!" he continued, stalking toward me with murder in his eyes.

Crap. I had to get it together. At this rate, I wasn't just going to lose my starting position, I was going to blow any chance I had at a football scholarship.

"Sorry, Coach," I called, jogging back toward the huddle. "Won't happen again."

"It better not!"

For the rest of practice, I forced myself to focus. To see the field, read the defense, hit my targets. I became the quarterback I was supposed to be, the one who'd led the team to the state semifinals last year, the one college scouts came to see.

By the time Coach blew the final whistle, I was exhausted but satisfied. I'd thrown for three touchdowns in the scrimmage portion, completed every pass in the final drill, and generally looked like someone who deserved to start on Monday night.

"That's more like it, Gray!" Coach called as we headed toward the locker rooms. "Whatever you did to get your head right, keep doing it!"

I nodded and jogged off the field, already dreading the moment when I'd have to stop concentrating on football and go back to thinking about everything else.

The cheerleaders were finishing up their own practice on the adjacent field, and I could see Brooke breaking away from the group to intercept me before I reached the locker room.

"Hey, superstar," she said, falling into step beside me. "You looked good out there. Especially towards the end."

"Thanks."

"I was thinking," she continued, slipping her arm through mine, "maybe we could hang out tonight at your place? Have a party? Get our mind off some things.My parents are out of town and I know yours haven’t come back yet, so I can stay over after..." she trailed off.

I looked down at her, beautiful, uncomplicated Brooke, and tried to summon some enthusiasm for the idea. She was everything any guy was supposed to want. Popular, gorgeous, sweet when she wanted to be. We'd been together for two years, and most of the time it was easy.

But it wasn't what I wanted.

"Yeah," I heard myself say. "Sure. Let’s have a party."

Her smile was radiant. "Perfect. I'll text Maddie and the girls. It'll be fun."

“Yeah. I’ll text the guys.” 

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek before heading back to collect her things, and I watched her go with a growing sense of unease.

Because the only person I wanted to spend Saturday night with was probably getting ready for her own evening. Maybe texting Gabe about their “date”. Maybe picking out something to wear that would make him look at her the way I'd been looking at her for years.

I shook my head and headed for the locker room. I had a party to host, a girlfriend to keep happy, and a starting position to maintain.

I just had to figure out how to do all of that while half my brain was stuck on a girl who'd made it very clear she wanted nothing to do with me.

This was going to be a long night.