A trainer kneels at my feet in the locker room, checking out my swollen right foot. He helps me walk to the training room and I sit on the table while he applies ice packs. He tells me to alternate with hot and cold then dashes off to check with the doctor on getting the X-ray.

“Blaze? You okay?” Charm says as she comes in the door, her eyes too big.

She shouldn’t be back here, but Dillon’s next to her.

“I’m fine,” I mutter, tearing my eyes off her and looking at my propped-up foot.

She leans in and kisses me. “You looked good out there.”

“Yeah, right.”

“You did.” Her gaze goes back to my ankle.

I take her hand and thread our fingers together. Being with her these past few weeks has meant everything to me, and that frown on her face is bugging me. “I’ll shake it off and be fine tomorrow. Don’t worry, ’kay?”

“He’s bounced back from worse hits than that,” says Dillon.

I glance at him and give him a head twitch toward the door. I don’t want her to see me like this.

Dillon touches her arm. “He’s just waiting. Wanna walk with me to Dr. Cartwright’s class? Might up your street cred to be seen with me.”

She frowns. “I’m not going to class until I know what’s going on.”

I exhale. Please, get her out, my eyes tell Dillon. He just lifts his hands.

“I need you to take notes,” I say. “Besides, I might be here for hours.”

“I’m staying.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

My jaw tightens and I snap. “I need to do this alone.”

“Why?” she asks, hands on her hips.

Because I always have. I’ve never had parents or my aunt and uncle rushing to me when I was injured on the field. It was just me. Besides, I can’t have her seeing me weak and scared. What if I fall apart? Because…I might.

My teeth grind in pain. “Just go, okay?”

She lets out a sigh, brown eyes are back on me. “Fine. Will you text me when you know what’s going on?”

Fear slides over me at what kind of news I might get. “Yeah.”

I watch them leave, and nervousness ratchets up, riding me hard. I want to call her back, but I don’t. Out in the hall, I hear Archer and some of the other players walking into the locker room down the hall. “Farm boy is probably crying.” I hear him say.

My fists clench.

Ryker comes in the room and takes me in. His lips flatten. “That was a dirty fucking play by Archer, man.”

Yeah, it was. I nod. “Cedrick…did he say anything?”

“Don’t worry about him. Everyone saw the way you went down and kept pushing through. I think he knew what was really up.”

But…did he?

I drop his gaze and stare at a point over his shoulder. “Thank you for trying to help me. I don’t know if you had anything to do with Cedrick coming back, but I figure you did, and I appreciate it.”

“He came on his own, bro. You’re a natural—he’ll see it.”

I clear my throat. “You should get going. Charisma mentioned you’re getting fitted for a suit for the draft today.”

He’s quiet for a few moments. “Yeah, it’s kickass, serious dark gray on the outside with a paisley lining in school colors. Sharp. Penelope helped me pick it out.”

I try to laugh but wince when a bolt of pain ricochets across my foot. “Go get it.”

“Trying to get rid of me?”

“Just…go.”

“I’m not leaving, so shut the fuck up.”

I meet his eyes and see the careful, apprehensive expression he’s wearing.

“We’ve known each other for four years, man. You’ve been my go-to on the field and my roommate. That shit runs deep. We’re family,” he says.

I close my eyes, my throat tightening as I fight back emotion. Family. I like that, I do, but right now I’m barely keeping shit together. I want to stand up and beat on the wall. I want to slam my fist into something hard over and over.

“Dude…just go. Please.”

He gives me a long look. “No. That suit can wait. You can’t. Whatever happens, I’m here.”

I may not have a real family, but he’s here and it means something. And Charm?

Why did I push her away? Why am I still holding part of me back— I forget that as Jack Calloway, the head trainer and our team doctor, comes in and examines me.

I glare down at the foot. It’s gotten bigger, looking ugly and turning purple.

“What kind of pain level are you at?” His manner is brusque, keeping his face set.

“Fine, none. Just a twinge, really.”

He frowns. “Blaze, look at it. His cleats tore you up. What’s your pain level? I need to know so I can prescribe something if needed.”

I swallow and look away from him. If I tell him the truth, that it’s making me want to pass out, he’ll write me a script for heavy drugs, and that’s not good. It means I’m close to being unable to run for several days.

“Aleve will knock it out, sir. Swear.”

He thinks about that and gives me a level look. “Okay, if you say so. Let’s get you X-rayed.”

One of the trainers comes in and helps me into a wheelchair, and my fists stay clenched in my lap. This is…bullshit.

Later, I’m back in the room, and minutes tick by in the quiet space. I’m constantly changing out packs, switching from ice to heat and back again.

Archer walks by the room and stands at the doorway. There’s no remorse on his face, not an ounce.

“Even with a hurt foot, I’m faster than you, asshole,” I say, teeth grinding. “Your day is coming.”

“Move on, Archer,” Ryker says, marching over to the door and glaring at him, his fists curled.

Archer looks like he wants to trash-talk, but in the end, he just curls his lip and keeps on walking.

Ryker walks back over to me and takes a seat next to the exam table. “You got this, man. You got this.”

But I think I hear uncertainty in his voice and it crawls over me.

I dart my eyes around at the room. God. The wait kills me, my body jacked and itching to get up and move around. I count the tiles on the ceiling, on the floor, mind spinning. I close my eyes and think about the Combine, about going and sitting on the sidelines while all the other wide receivers from other teams show what they’ve got.

If I don’t have football…

Would Charm want me? Would she leave?

How miserable would I be to live with?

Stop, just stop!

Maybe it’s not that bad. Maybe it’s just a strain and you need to rest. Maybe it’s just a blip in the big picture. Think of all the shit your body has been through, the bruises, torn ligaments, sore muscles…yeah, it’s like that, it is, it is, it is, it is— Jack Calloway walks in holding an ankle brace. Coach Sanders and Head Coach Alvarez are with him, faces grim.

I feel the blood draining from my face. “I don’t need a goddamn boot!”

His mouth flattens to a straight line. “I’m telling you the good news first. You don’t need surgery to repair anything. I don’t see any compound damage.”

“But?”

“You have a hairline fracture in the high-ankle region. Nothing career-ending, but you need to get keep weight off of it for a few weeks, at least two at minimum. Frankly, that’s pushing it. You’ll need the boot on to walk. You can take it off when you’re resting—”

My chest heaves as I cut him off. “That’s crazy. The Combine is in a week! I need to be at full speed.” I look down at my ankle. “Look, let me show you.” I move to stand, tentative as I place my right foot on the floor. Shards of sensation rocket over the muscles, and I grit my teeth. Sweat drips down my back. “Fresh as a daisy, sir.”

A long exhalation leaves his chest. “Sit your ass down. Take the next four days and really rest, no class at all. Coaches will take care of your absence with your professors. No driving and no walking except to get up from the bed and eat and piss, you feel me? Get one of those girls you got to help you. You can go back to class on day five. Normally, for a regular person, I’d okay it sooner, but that ankle is your moneymaker. The more you rest, the better it will be later, plus it might improve your healing process. I’ll give you some meds for the pain at first—”

I’m barely listening. All I can think about is that it will be two weeks before I can run.

“I don’t want meds. Let’s get another doc in here, get another X-ray.” I scrub my face then look up at him. “Please.”

Ryker stands next to me. “Blaze, these guys are the best. This isn’t career-ending.”

Jack’s gaze is filled with sympathy. A grimace crosses his face. “Listen to Ryker. It’s just a couple of weeks. Don’t let it get in your head. Accept it, refocus your goals, and move on.”

Coach Sanders puts his hand on my shoulder, and I shake it off.

Move on? MOVE ON?

He wants me to refocus?

On what?

On giving up the only thing that keeps me going?

No.

I throw the water bottle I’m holding across the room, and it smashes against the wall and spills onto the floor.

29

“Thanks,” I say as Charisma brings me a glass of iced tea. I’m on day three of sitting propped up on pillows on my bed. Sometimes I sit out in the den to mix it up, but honest to God, I’m going crazy in this dorm room. Yesterday it was sunny, and I sat out on the landing and talked to everyone who passed by.