Page 31

“Tough loss for the Orlando Thundercats, Tom.”

A different, deeper voice replies, “Definitely. Especially considering how badly Caleb Cross cost his team a touchdown when he fumbled the ball, not once, but twice. His head was definitely not in the game. He might be distracted by things in his personal life like his new girlfriend.”

I roll my eyes. Yes. Let’s make it my fault.

“His head definitely wasn’t in the game, Tom. Looking back, William Coffer’s injury two seasons ago paved the way for Caleb Cross to stake his claim as the most valuable running back. He and Trevor Cohen were a dangerous combination that led them to victory last season. But it seems as though they may have lost their touch, or more like Caleb Cross has lost his touch—”

I throw open the door to see him on the bed with an icepack on his knee and his arm covering his face. He doesn’t bother looking up to see who walked in.

My eyes land on the tv, and I walk up to it, shutting it off. Why does he choose to torture himself?

He lets out an annoyed, deep breath. “Trevor. Not now. I don’t want to hear any of your big speeches. I just want to lay here in my misery and die.”

“Dude, why are you so dramatic?”

He rips his arm from his face and runs his eyes over me. “JJ? What are you doing here?”

I drop my bag on the chair next to me. “I got in a little while ago. I went to a bar for a drink, waiting for you and the team to finish up the game and get to the hotel. I caught some of it on the TV.”

I shrug off my jacket, kick off my shoes, then jump on the bed right beside him, careful not to land on him since he may be a little bruised.

He groans. “I hate that you saw that.”

I wave him off. “I’ve seen you lose plenty of times. It’s nothing new.”

He snorts. “Thank you so much for your comforting words.”

“You’re welcome.”

“This was bad, though. Everyone’s talking about it. Maybe last season was the best one I’m going to have. Why did I think I could become one of the best?”

Caleb is a sore loser. Especially when it’s his fault. Obviously, football is a team sport, but sometimes it comes down to one player.

In that game, it came down to Caleb, and he fumbled the ball. In every literal sense. But now is not the time to tell him something he already knows.

“Caleb—”

He stares at the ceiling. “You hear what they are saying on TV? Social media is even crazier. Fans are under my comments, ripping me to pieces. Fuck. Then, they are bringing you into this. I can handle them talking about me, but they are trying to pin the blame on you too, which makes no sense.”

Why is it a default setting for people to blame women? I don’t play football. I wasn’t on the field, so I don’t get how it’s my fault. But, whatever. Damned if you do and damned if you don’t.

His self-pity party can go on for days if I let it. In college, he was moody for two weeks when he messed up.

But it’s time to get him back together. We both go through self-doubt a lot. With both of our careers, people are giving their take on who we are and what we do. But it’s what we signed up for. He knows this. He just needs a little reminder here and there.

Laying flat on my back, I stare at the ceiling with him. “Before any of this, it was just you and me with big dreams. We both craved something that we weren’t sure we could have. But we went for it anyway. I’ve watched you train yourself tirelessly to get to where you are. Remember?”

“Yeah, I do.”

I grab his hand. “I would wake up with you at four a.m. We would go to the field, and you would train while I sat to the side with my music and worked on my book. They don’t know you or your sacrifices. They don’t know us or who we are to each other. It’s easy for people to talk shit when they aren’t the ones with the heavy burden. Don’t let them get to you. One bad game doesn’t define you. You define you.”

“But do I deserve to be on this team?”

“It’s not about whether you deserve to be on the team or are you worthy. That’s not the right question.”

“Then what is?”

Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, I ask him a question that we already know the answer to. “Do you want it? To be the best? To help your team with another Super Bowl? To make history? Do you want it?”