Page 37 of Forever Offsides

But it wouldn’t have happened. Colsen wouldn’t have been that close if I were doing my job instead of tracking the girl.

Trainers and our resident doctor run toward the kid while I get right up in Colson’s face. I’m pissed, and he’s going to feel it.

“What the fuck were you doing?”

“My job,” he barks arrogantly, his dark eyes hard on my face. “The kid is light.”

“Except today isn’t hard, and you know it. It’s running routes. It’s mechanics. It’s fundamentals. It’s fucking peewee football until next week. What it’s not is the fucking regular season, and that kid is not an opponent on another team. You do shit like that again, and I’ll cut or bench your ass. I don’t give a fuck about your contract.”

His nostrils flare, but smartly, he keeps his mouth shut.

I storm away from him and over to the kid, who now has his shoe off and already a nasty contusion on the top center of his right foot.

“What’s the verdict?” I ask, my voice measured as I address the training staff, who are all crouched around him.

“He needs an X-ray,” Quinn answers, annoyance in her tone that I’m ignoring her, but I’m not ignoring her.

I’m acutely aware of her.

That’s the problem.

She’s on one knee with the kid’s foot balanced on the other and held in her hands. She’s in a basic white T-shirt with her practice’s name on it and light shorts with her pale, mile-long legs on display. Her dark red hair is on top of her head in a neat ponytail, and her sunglasses are perched in the middle of her cute, freckled nose with a peek of her narrowed green eyes above the top of the frames.

“I don’t think it’s broken though,” she finishes, reassuring Avery.

“Then why does he need an X-ray?”

Her venom comes charging back. “Because there could be a small hairline fracture, and since I’m not Wonder Woman, I can’t see the bones in his feet without one.”

My lips almost twitch. Almost. No one speaks to me that way, and never on the field.

“Then get it done, Doctor.” I pat the kid’s shoulder. “You’ll be okay, Avery.”

“Thanks, Coach.” Avery is a talented kid. He also has manners for days and doesn’t say boo to anyone. That’s going to have to change if he wants to make it in this league.

The training staff gets him up and holds him up, acting as crutches so he doesn’t have to put any weight on his foot. They walk him off the field to a cart on the sidelines since today we’re at the small, outdoor practice field and the facilities aren’t that close and certainly not walkable for him.

I release a tense breath, rub the back of my neck that’s hot from the sun and sticky with sweat, then get our asses back to practice. I work them hard for another twenty minutes, running drills and sprints until they’re exhausted and dripping with sweat. I show no mercy because they need to know that’s how it’s going to be this season for them.

Eventually, I blow the whistle again, this time not as hard.

“Nice work today,” I call out to a few players on things they need to improve on and praise a few others. “Go shower. We’ll be back at it tomorrow.”

The players head off the field toward the main building and the locker rooms there, and I follow behind, talking with the position coaches along with my defensive and offensive coordinators. We go through it all on our walk, even if we’ll be discussing it more in depth sitting at a large table in an air-conditioned room after we’ve all showered.

But first, I make a pit stop in the trainers’ area.

Avery is sitting up, watching as the trainer slides on a foot sleeve, but there’s a boot sitting on the table beside him. He looks crestfallen, his brows pinched together and his posture stiff. Quinn is on a rolling stool with her back to me as she does something on a tablet.

I head over to Avery and drop my hand on his shoulder. His big, brown eyes draw up to me. “Doc says it’s broken.”

“It’s a tiny hairline fracture of the fourth metatarsal,” Quinn concurs in doctor language. She stands and goes to the other side of him. “Honestly, most people might not even get an X-ray for it or know they have it other than some discomfort. It’ll fully heal in about four weeks. I don’t even think you’ll feel it so much with running as you will with pushing off.”

“Which is essential to his position. How long before he can be back on the field?” I ask, keeping my tone even.

I need to talk to her. I need to tell her about Russel. But I’m also not particularly anxious to be alone with her either. I don’t like that a woman I had the best sex of my life with, whom I’ve thought about and fantasized about and spent hours and hours texting with, belonged to my son.

The first woman to spark something in me is the one I can never touch again.