Page 83 of Forever Offsides

“Quinnious…” he warns.

“My name isn’t Quinnious.”

“It is when you’re not telling me something.” He throws a piece of breakfast pastry at me. I pick it up off my shirt and toss it back at him, smiling victoriously when it hits his forehead.

I hate how perceptive he is. I don’t want to tell him though. I’m not even sure what I would tell him. Rhett and I didn’t exactly talk much last night. He said it wasn’t only going to be one night, but that doesn’t mean it can be more than sex either. It also might have been what guys say when their dick is hard, and the idea of sex on the regular is more than a little appealing.

There’s a reason we’ve skirted around this for two months, and regardless of last night, nothing has changed.

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

“You need a break. A real one. You work too much and too hard. You should take a vacation.”

“What’s that?” I quip, and his lips twitch.

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are, but I’m a surgeon.”

“And you have to be the best no matter the cost.” His lips twist with his sarcasm.

I shrug, hoping to blow this off. I know what he’s saying and where he’s going. It bothers Crew that I push myself as hard as I do. He works his ass off all year so he’s not one to talk. We’re a high-achieving family. I trained for the Olympics harder than anyone, and I did that with my best friend. We drove each other and set our bar high.

It was the best.

Then she betrayed me and had my name and achievements called into question, nearly sending me into a total emotional breakdown. I put in everything I had into college, then medical school, before I met Russel. I worked just as hard at training to be a doctor as I did at anything else, but I also worked my ass off to be with him. Then he walked away from me and broke my heart.

Now I’m a surgical resident, and they call me Yang behind my back because I’m the fucking best and make no apologies for being as driven and determined as I am. Maybe what happened to me has made me cold. Detached. Wanting to be better and better as a fuck you to them. What Kierra and Russel taught me is that I can’t control the actions of others. I can’t stop the things they say about me. I can only control what I do and who I am with that.

Rhett is the first person I made time for—other than my family and lifelong friends—since Russel. It makes me nervous.

“We have a bye week in four weeks,” he continues, pulling me from my thoughts. “We were talking about doing Hayes’s bachelor party then.”

I smirk. “Oh, and you want your sister tagging along for that?”

He smiles, showing off his pearly white teeth. “Hell no. But maybe you can talk to some of your people and⁠—”

“Braelyn has been using up all her PTO to visit Roman in Germany while he’s there getting his restaurant up, and Skylar is due to have her baby next month.”

“What about Wren or Tinsley or people like that? I know Katy has a new baby, so she’s likely out.”

“I’m fine, Crew. Honestly. I don’t need you mothering me. Maybe I’ll take a few days off and chill out, or maybe I’ll enjoy the time in the OR and away from football. Either way, I’m good. Today is about you. Focus on your game.”

“I do focus on my game. But I also see the bigger picture with that. I can have a shitty day, and I can drop a bunch of passes, or I could get hurt tomorrow with a season-ending injury. There are things out there that are more important than your ambition. Finding them and accepting that as truth doesn’t make you weak or less. You can have it all, Quinn. It doesn’t have to be either or. It simply has to be a healthy balance.”

Hours later, we’re on the field and well into the second quarter just before halftime. It’s unseasonably hot and insufferably humid today with a cloudless sky providing no shade from the blinding sun. Misting fans are going up and down the sidelines, and the players are loading up on electrolytes, but they’re sweating it out as fast as they can take it in.

I’m standing with the medical staff, discussing IVs and leg and body cramps that some players will inevitably get.

“Halftime will help,” Marcus comments. “The air conditioning and break from play. But with dehydration, their muscles are fatiguing faster.”

“More than just cramping,” I agree, “they’re at risk for muscle strains or worse with decreased coordination.”

“We’ve got ice towels and hand coolers standing by, and if anyone really needs it, cold tubs,” Jane, a trainer, tells us.

Movement out of the corner of my eyes stirs me away, and Russel is there with his helmet in his hand and a grimace to his brow. “Hey, I came down funny on my left leg with that last play. Would you mind taking a look during halftime?”

I glance down at his leg, but I don’t see anything obvious, which isn’t abnormal. “Yeah. I’m sure the trainers can check you out?”