Page 29 of The Pact
Me: No injuries.
Three dots appear, then disappear.
Presley: From your mouth. Be safe out there, birthday boy.
I toss the phone next to me on the bed and look up at my ceiling fan, rotating on high, smiling like an idiot.
There’s a lot to look forward to today. My birthday, preseason game day, waking up to texts from people I care about, and plans for later. I guess it’s a group thing. Presley invited Alie, Liam, Aston, and Brody. I’m sure I’ll have a cake, and they’ll all tease me about my knees and getting older.
I love that Presley thought to plan it. She always remembers my birthday, just like I always remember hers.
Sitting up in bed, I can’t help but wonder if she’ll mention our pact tonight. It’s definitely on my mind today, but I won’t say a damn word.
Hours later, it’s kickoff. The stadium has the preseason energy that’s lighter than a regular season game, but still loud enough to get under my skin and get me game ready.
The turf is perfectly manicured. Fans shout from the stands, like it’s a playoff game. Coaches pace, and rookies bounce on their toes with nervous energy, wanting to prove they belong here.
I roll my neck, adjust my gloves, and stare across the line of scrimmage like the offensive guard personally insulted me.
He’s new. Big kid with a strong base. I can tell he’s nervous by the way he’s leaning too far forward. A weakness.
I can work with that.
The ball snaps, and the rookie guard comes at me hard, hands wide, trying to lock around my chest.
It’s cute, really.
I knock his right hand down and drive my left shoulder into his inside gap and rip through before he can reset his footing.The running back cuts right when he sees me in the lane and tries to bounce outside. But it’s too late.
I grab him low and drive him two yards behind the line.
The crowd roars.
Aston comes flying at me, smacking the side of my helmet. “Birthday boy! That’s what I’m talking about.”
I laugh, and we jog back to regroup.
Second down.
Their offense lines up in shotgun formation this time. Three wide, with the tight end flexed.
They’re going with a pass.
I can feel it before the snap. The way the center glances left, the shift in the quarterback’s stance, the tackle setting too deep … easy tells.
The ball moves, and I explode off the line.
They try to double-team me to wall me off. I drop low and use my legs to split them with enough force to make the center stumble backward. The quarterback steps up.
Big mistake.
I get a hand on his jersey just as he releases the ball, but enough to make him wobble and make the throw short.
Incomplete. Third down.
The crowd is awake, and so am I.
I look toward the sideline out of habit.
