Dante jogged over. “You good?” he asked, his voice low.
“No.”
“Cool,” he said. “Can you be good for two hours?”
“Shut up, Spence.”
He smirked. “Glad we clarified.”
I stepped back into position.
Focus.
Focus.
Stop thinking about Nashville. Stop picturing Hadley leaning over a laptop, fingers tapping, that look on her face like the whole world was a problem she was about to solve. That look that made her eyes brighten and madeherimpossible to look away from. The way she tapped her pen on her notebook when she was trying to pretend nothing affected her. Stop caring where she is, who she’s with, and whether she’s safe.Stopnoticing things aboutherin general.
Whistle.
Snap.
Route.
I planted on the wrong foot. Noah read it instantly and cut me off. Dante had to adjust mid-throw, and the ball sailed out of reach.
Another incomplete.
Coach made a sound like he’d swallowed a whistle.
“Slater! What the fuck did I just say?” he screamed at me.
I closed my eyes, counted to five, tried not to punch something.
Dante jogged up and leaned in. “Dude. Get your head out of your—”
“Don’t,” I snapped.
He lifted both hands. “Just saying. You’re not doing her any favors by imploding during drills.”
“I’m not—” I stopped. There was no point lying to the man who’d known me for three years.
Noah jogged up to us and patted my shoulder like I was a malfunctioning vending machine. “You want to talk about it?” he asked.
“No.”
“Want to pretend you’re not thinking about it?”
“Iam not—”
He raised his eyebrows. “Awfully loud for someone who’s not thinking about something.” He smiled a wide shit-eating grin. “You’re making me look really good, though. Keep it up.”
I swore under my breath.
Coach blew the whistle again. “Reset! Move it!”
We lined up for the next rep.
My lungs were tight. My hands were shaking. I’d never been this distracted on the field before. Not even during last season’s championship drive.