Maybe I can’t have romance and football. Maybe I need to choose one or the other.
No!
Stop that shit.
I’m not buying into that.
That’s ridiculous.
Instead, I send Brooke a text so she knows I’m thinking of her.Hey honey, I’m zonked. Going to bed. See you tomorrow.
We meet the next morning for an early coffee on the Promenade before she goes into work. Patrick and Cara join us at an outdoor table at Big Cup Café.
“Tough loss,” Patrick says with sympathy.
“I played horribly,” I reply, still sullen.
“You didn’t seem that focused,” Patrick says without judgment. Just the awareness of someone who’s seen most of my games.
Brooke tilts her head, listening. “You think that was the issue?” she asks, she’s not quite buying what he’s selling.
“It reminded me of your senior year,” Patrick says. “When you had a few rough games that October.”
I blink. Holy shit. Yesterday’s gamedidfeel a lot like those clunkers.
The painful memories crawl to the surface. Marie was an exchange student at college my senior year. I met her at a party at the start of the semester and was instantly taken. I started spending more time with her, seeing her on the reg.
“Just…” Patrick starts, then stops.
“What happened then?” Cara asks.
Patrick waves a hand, like he’s covering it up. “Just a few bad games.”
“And what was the reason, sweetie?” Cara asks Patrick, pushing harder for an answer from him.
Ah, hell. Poor Patrick’s about to get a grilling from his woman. Over me. I need to tell them. Not him.
“I met someone. I was really into her. And I had a few bad games because she was all I could think about.”
The confession is full of remembered embarrassment over how I played. Brooke frowns, but then she erases it, her face a tabula rasa.
“But it’s not the same,” I say quickly.
Except, what if this situationisthe same? What if I can’t balance football and romance?
“And you missed a meeting the other morning?” Brooke asks, reminding me of yet another fuckup this past week.
I look away, ashamed over that too. “Yeah, but I rescheduled with Paul, so it’s all good.”
Patrick clears his throat and points to the interior of the café. “I’m going to grab a coffee.”
“Me too,” Cara says.
Once they’re inside, Brooke meets my gaze and says gently, “So there have been other times when you struggled to balance football and dating?”
I swallow uncomfortably. If I say yes, I’ll sound like I don’t have my shit together. But then, maybe I don’t. I stay quiet.
“Senior year of college is an important time,” she adds, her tone full of understanding. “With recruiting and the draft and such.”