Focus!
Except I can’t. It’s like the way my legs moved that day in third-grade homeroom when I stepped involuntarily toward Serena and tripped. Like every time since, when I’ve caught sight of her and started moving without hesitation or thought. This time, it’s my eyes that betray me, because suddenly I’m scanning the sideline where the cheer team are finishing a routine, pom-poms glittering beneath the stadium lights, keeping the crowd pumped as they wait for the next play.
It’s the usual chaos. Coaches and staff and players and the cheer squad. But no blonde hair pulled into a ponytail. No sky-blue eyes and wide smile. No Serena. My chest tightens as I scan the sideline again, harder this time, but she’s not there. It doesn’t make sense. It’s game day on the biggest game of the season. I know the cheerleaders have been grinding through rehearsals all week, and Serena’s always right there with them. She doesn’t miss this. Ever. And then I remember the shadows under her eyes last time I saw her, the way she mentioned an appointment with her gynecologist. A cold thought slides in before I can shove it away.What if something’s wrong?
The thought breaks something in me. Cracks it wide open. Suddenly every memory, every thought about her, every emotion I’ve kept locked up tight for weeks—years, even—floods my body. The way she brings me bread for my game day toastritual. The way she said my name when I touched her body, like I was the only person in the world who existed to her.How I’ve missed her so much these past eight weeks, it feels like I can’t breathe.
And now she’s pregnant. My baby. Our baby. Panic is still whipping through me, but more than that is a dark loathing for how badly I handled things yesterday. Serena was scared and upset and trying to make it OK for me, and all I did was walk away. I left her.
I’ve been telling myself for weeks that I was doing the right thing by walking away. I thought that by keeping my distance, by not letting myself fall too deep, I could stop the cycle. That I could be different from my parents. But in trying so hard not to become them, I ended up doing exactly what my biological parents did to me. I walked away from a shot at love and family and a future.
And yeah, I might be freaking out. Terrified of how badly I will mess this up. And maybe I don’t know what it means yet, but I do know that I’m no coward. Suddenly my heart feels like it’s going to break out of my chest, and it has nothing to do with our final shot at the win tonight and everything to do with Serena and what a fool I’ve been.
“Chase.”
I turn and see Jake calling my name. He’s frowning beneath his helmet. He doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t need to. The message is clear. Get my head in the game. And so, I do.
We’ve fought our way downfield, and now it comes to this—one play, thirty seconds on the clock. The Desertraptors defense crowds the line. I scan the field, feel the weight of the moment, and call the play. The snap hits my hands. I drop back, and a linebacker explodes through the gap. I duck under him and reset my feet.
One breath. One shot. I let it fly. The ball cuts through the air in a tight spiral, tracking toward the end zone. Jake rises to meet it, snatching it clean, before streaking across the goal line.
Touchdown.
The stadium erupts. It’s the kind of sound that should light up my soul, but all I feel is a tightness in my throat. JT’s kick is good. A few seconds still hang on the clock. The Desertraptors get the ball back, but our defense smothers them. The whistle blows. Final score 24-20. We’ve won.
The team swarms. Everyone is shouting. Helmets thrown in the air. Hands hitting backs. Hugs. Cheers. It should feel good. It should feel like victory. But all I can think about is Serena and why she isn’t on the sidelines right now.
Another cheer goes up from the coaching staff. I turn and watch Coach Allen’s fist hit the air. It seems to catch on the wind and hit the crowd, the roar deafening. I hear the words ripple through the air like a drumbeat.
“Wild card!”
“Ironclads lost!”
We’re in. The Stormhawks are in the playoffs. And I feel… nothing.
Jake appears beside me, breathless, sweat streaking his temples. He grins. “Told you we’d do it.”
“Yeah.” I smile back, but it feels forced.
Jake reads me like an open book. Then his arms come up, and he pulls me into a tight hug. “You’re my brother, man. You have been since the second you arrived at Oakwood Ranch. And what I’m about to tell you comes from a place of love and experience.” He pulls back, looks me dead in the eye, checks I’m listening. “It doesn’t mean shit without someone there by your side. You’ve got that person, and you’re fucking it up.”
I swallow, wanting to explain. Wanting to tell Jake about the baby. About how scared I am. But Jake gets there first. “You and I both know you’re better than this.”
A weight drops in my stomach. I don’t know if he means on the field or off it. Both would be accurate.
He holds me tight again. “The playoffs, Chase. I don’t know how many years I’ve got left on the field. Or how long I’ve got left playing for my team. A new owner is coming in. Who knows what will happen next season? But next month, we have our shot at the Super Bowl, and I need you beside me and I need you playing your best. So figure it out!”
He turns away before I can reply. I watch him jog across the field. He hugs Mama, then Dylan, then scoops Harper into his arms and spins her in a circle, smiling as he whispers something in her ear. She laughs, and I swear I hear the sound carrying over the cheers.
I keep telling myself I’ll screw this up for Serena and the baby the way my parents did. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love Serena. Love her with everything I have. And maybe… that can be enough. If I want it to. I don’t know how to be a father. I don’t know if I can be the partner she needs. But I know this: The thought of her raising our baby without me makes my chest feel like it’s caving in. What if staying isn’t the mistake? What if leaving is?
The questions are chased away by another one. I’ve pushed Serena away, walking out on her when she was scared and vulnerable. Shown her I’m not reliable. What if I’m too late?
THIRTY-SIX
CHASE
The Hay Barn is packed wall-to-wall. Loud voices and country music blasting from the speakers. Stormhawks jerseys are everywhere. Fans and players shoulder-to-shoulder. Flic is behind the bar, somehow keeping up with the orders, even though it looks like she’s alone in the middle of the chaos. The air smells like spilled beer, sweat, and victory. The place feels like the heart of Denver tonight, which is why most of the team are here, ducking out of the official celebration after the speeches.