For Finlay

by J. Nathan

  I glanced over at my seatmate. Her mousy features and messy hair appeared so much more prominent in such close quarters. We’d been at practices and scrimmages together, but we’d never been introduced. She was always busy trailing the coach and spouting off player stats to him.

  “I’m Finlay.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  I waited for her to offer her name. She didn’t.

  Alrighty then. A tight-knit friendship may not have been in the cards for us, but since we were the only two females traveling with the team, we were going to be roommates for the foreseeable future.

  Forester, one of the wide receivers, brushed by me as he squeezed down the tight aisle. I readjusted my elbow and glanced to the door just in time to catch Grady climbing aboard.

  As soon as his eyes met mine, a menacing smile spread across his ugly face. One too many helmets to the face had undoubtedly mangled his now crooked nose. He moved down the aisle and stopped beside me, his big form casting a shadow in the early morning sun. “Smooth move leaving me in class, water girl. Nicely played.” His eyes shifted to my seatmate. “Hey, Yvette.”

  My eyes shot to Yvette who smiled coyly.

  “What are you looking at?” Grady snarled.

  My eyes jumped back to him. His snarl was directed at me. “Wow,” I said. “For a second there, I thought you might not be an ass.”

  He actually snickered before the guy behind him shoved him, keeping him moving.

  Some familiar faces passed as they sought a seat in the rear of the bus. Brooks passed somewhere in the middle not bothering to look at me. The hoodie pulled over his head kept everyone out. I’d learned quickly that he mostly kept to himself, sitting away from everyone while focusing on the job at hand. Even still, I wondered how long he planned to stay quiet after the number of missed blocks his offensive line had in the preseason. Those screw-ups allowed him to take one too many hard hits. Hits that never should’ve happened. I wouldn’t blame him for being pissed, especially at Grady. That was his only job. Protect his quarterback and the idiot couldn’t even handle that.

  The ride to Tennessee was long and quiet. With coaches all around me, I heard nothing more than soft voices discussing play options and defensive formations. The players were unusually quiet. I glanced over my shoulder only once, noticing most of them slept, all with headphones covering their ears. Brooks was on the opposite side of the aisle, not too far behind me, studying a binder. I assumed he was memorizing plays. It’s what Cole did in his free time. Sometimes, when we were younger, I’d swipe his binder just to watch him freak out.

  Brooks’ eyes lifted.

  I looked away, not giving him a moment to think I was one of those fans. The ones he claimed found any reason to get near him.

  I was far from a fan.

  * * *

  I loaded up my cart with bottles and ten gallon coolers and rolled it out to the sideline. Our players, clad in white and red practice jerseys, were an unwelcome splash of color in the empty stadium, with its orange and white checkerboard end zone.

  The defensive coordinators ran the defense through drills, their whistles echoing through the huge empty stadium. The offensive coordinators called out play routes to the running backs. And Brooks and his backup alternated throwing passes to the wide receivers running out-patterns. Coach Burns’ voice reverberated around the vacant space as he barked out instructions, making it known that losing tomorrow’s game wasn’t an option.

  “Hey.”

  I spun around. Brooks approached with his helmet in one hand and his other hand outstretched. I hurried to my cart and grabbed a bottle, tossing it to him a good ten feet away.

  Caught off guard by my long throw, he scrambled to catch it.

  “I guess we’re lucky you’re not a receiver,” I said, the words rushing out of me before I could stop them.

  He stared back at me, his lips tipped slightly in the corners. “With that arm, maybe Coach’ll send you out there instead of me. My passes are clearly shit today.”

  Don’t do it. Please don’t do it. “Your timing’s off.”

  His head flinched back. “What?”

  “Your releases. They’re just a second too soon.”

  His eyes tightened. A cross between disbelief and condescension flooded them. “Says who?”

  I shrugged, wishing I’d kept my big mouth shut.

  He continued to stare at me long and hard, clearly trying to figure out where the hell I’d come from.

  “Brooks!” Coach yelled down the sideline.

  Brooks’ head whipped around.

  “Stop flirting and get the hell over here.”

  I spun away from him, instantly busying myself with my bottles. Fan-freaking-tastic. Half the sideline had heard the coach.

  More than once during the remainder of the practice I caught Brooks staring down the sideline at me. Most girls would’ve loved his attention. But it wasn’t like his eyes smoldered when he looked at me. They didn’t soften in a way that was intended to flatter—or get him laid. No. He stared at me like I was some kind of anomaly. A runt in an adorable litter.

  Like I was someone who made no sense to him.

  * * *

  I stuck in my ear buds and leaned back in my seat, waiting for the bus to take us back to the hotel. This time I turned on my music and closed my eyes, wanting to get lost in the sounds of anything other than football.

  Player after player walked by me, brushing against my arm, but I didn’t stir. Before long, I heard the loud scraping of the bus door closing and felt the bucking of the bus moving forward. Unexpectedly, someone poked my arm. My eyes sprang open. Brooks stood in the aisle looking down at me, his hair damp from a shower, his cheeks flushed from the heat. He motioned to his ears, indicating for me to take out my ear buds.

  I tugged them out, though country music continued to drift from them. “Yeah?”

  He stared down at me, his big blue eyes studying my face. “You were right about my releases.”

  There wasn’t a doubt in my mind why his passes were off. I’d seen Cole go through the same thing. We made it a game. Every time we practiced, he’d have to yell “one thousand” before he threw. That way he ensured he hadn’t rushed it. He gave himself that extra second. And like clockwork, he got his mojo back.

  Brooks stayed beside me, apparently waiting for me to say something—maybe even gloat. But I had nothing to gloat about. I spent my entire childhood playing football with Cole. How could I not point out the obvious to the guy who took Cole’s spot on the team?

  “You’re welcome,” I said, tucking my ear buds back into my ears.

  Brooks took the hint, continuing down the aisle to his seat. And away from me.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Finlay

  I now understood why ushers in concert arenas wore ear protectors. The volume in the packed stadium was an ear-splitting roar. The heat was even more intense than the previous day since the seats, now filled with fans, prevented fresh air from reaching us down on the field.

  With the second quarter well underway and our defense out on the field, I finally took a second to glance around the massive stadium with its three tiers. Fans clad in orange and white filled the seats. As anticipated, a smattering of red shirts claimed small areas of the stadium—diehard Bama fans traveling out of state to see their team.

  My family had traveled to countless games while I was growing up, loyally following the home team to provide support. For Cole, it had been motivation. Motivation to eventually wear the crimson uniforms that the players surrounding me had the honor of wearing.

  My eyes drifted shut for a long moment, just taking it all in. It’s what it would’ve felt like for Cole to be there. To hear the cheers from our fans and the boos from the home team’s fans—all wishing he fumbled or threw an interception. Regardless, he would’ve loved it—every intense second of it. I shook off the thought, not wanting to shed tears in the packed stadium.

  A ping of jealousy—and ha
tred—overtook me as I spotted Brooks seated on the sidelines wearing a headset and talking to someone up in the booth. Why did he get to play? Why did he get everything Cole wanted?

  We were trailing by three with just minutes left in the fourth quarter. I was beckoned to the thirty-yard line during a time out. Fred, the equipment manager, and I jogged out there with our bottle carriers. A rumbling roar surrounded us, fans eager for the game to resume. The offense was huddled up when we approached, listening to Brooks rattle off the next play. Hands thrust out from all directions. Most of the players shot a quick stream of water down their throats and tossed the bottles back at me. Brooks shot a stream through the bars in his helmet, but he didn’t stop like the others. He chugged half the bottle.

  I cleared my throat, intentionally.

  His eyes jumped to mine as he continued to drink. Once he stopped, he glared at me. “Problem?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not the one who’s gonna cramp up in the middle of the play.”

  His eyes flared beneath his helmet.

  I turned and jogged off the field, knowing the guy was in for a rough season if he didn’t smarten up.

  * * *

  I awoke with a start, my eyes instantly flying around the dark space. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was still in the hotel with Yvette snoring softly in the bed next to mine. I glanced to the nightstand and grabbed for my phone, checking the time. Four in the morning. That was about right. I placed it back down and rolled over, closing my eyes and willing myself back to sleep. But as much as my body needed it, my mind wouldn’t allow it. As soon as I found myself in any type of silence, the memories crept in. The regret. The guilt. The incessant sadness.

  I pushed myself up. Now what? We weren’t supposed to leave our rooms once we were in for the night. But Coach would’ve had to make an exception for an insomniac with issues. Especially since he and the rest of the staff would’ve been asleep for another two hours.

  I crept out of bed and ducked into the pitch black bathroom, slipping on my shorts, T-shirt, and sneakers. In the hallway, I tucked my ear buds in and made my way downstairs to the hotel gym. The motion-sensor light in the dark room switched on when I entered, illuminating the impressive space. Treadmills and elliptical machines lined one wall. The opposite wall housed the free weights.

  I stepped onto the corner treadmill, set my pace, and took off running. Music filled my ears as my thoughts trailed to a much-needed happy place. I tried to steer clear of the past. I couldn’t allow it to veer that way. Maybe I needed to find a counselor. It had definitely helped to talk to someone after losing Cole. And now that I only had one friend on campus, I desperately needed that connection with someone.

  Movement out of the corner of my eye pulled my head to the left. Brooks stepped onto a treadmill two over from mine with his own ear buds in. Of course he did. We couldn’t seem to stay out of each other’s way. He didn’t look at me as his machine picked up speed, his pace matching mine.

  As if he sensed me staring, he looked over. His eyes were emotionless, seemingly bored by my presence. Then just as quickly, he looked away.

  Ugh.

  I wondered if that would be our thing. Ending up in the same place. Exchanging cold glances. I sent a mental thought up to Cole. ‘If this is your idea of karma, I don’t like it one bit.’ I could imagine him laughing. Wanting to tease me. Saying something about not wanting to leave me with no one to talk football with. I loved talking football. I loved the game. I loved the strategy. And as much as I hated to admit it, Brooks was like Cole. Athletic. Driven. Capable.

  Brooks mumbled something I couldn’t discern over the volume of my music.

  My eyes cut to his. His ear buds dangled over his shoulders. I tugged mine out. “Huh?”

  “Just wondering what pearls of wisdom you’re gonna bestow upon me today.”

  “You need to stop hesitating when you drop back,” I told him, much to his obvious surprise. “Either do it or don’t. Did you see how those guys pummeled you?”

  “See it? I was under it.”

  “Yeah, well, your offensive line sucks. But you can’t give the defense a chance to get to you. Know where you’re throwing and hit the mark. Your receivers are good. They’ll get there.”

  He stared at me, his eyes narrowed slits.

  I wiped my face with the small towel I’d draped over the treadmill screen. “Don’t worry, you’ve got potential.”

  He choked out a cough. “Potential? I’m the starting quarterback for Alabama.”

  Those words—especially leaving his mouth—cut deep. The only reason he was playing was because Cole wasn’t. He best remember that.

  “I’ve got more than potential,” he assured me.

  “Yeah,” I said, my word clipped as I remembered why I despised him so much. “You’ve got a massive ego ready to destroy small countries.”

  “All great athletes have egos. You’ve got to.”

  Wow. My hatred toward him was growing by the second. “And you’re humble.”

  He laughed. Didn’t he notice I wasn’t laughing?

  We ran in silence. The pounding of our sneakers on the treadmills mirrored the pounding in my head brought on by his arrogance.

  “What’s your deal anyway?”

  I glanced over at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Not many girls know so much about football and wake up at four in the morning to run.”

  I scoffed. “Hope you’re not implying I thought you’d be here.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you were thinking it.”

  He smirked. “You’d be amazed at the lengths girls go to get my attention.”

  My eyes flared. “I suppose you think I took some crash course in football just to impress you with all my knowledge.”

  “Just saying.”

  My face scrunched as I pressed the arrow on the screen to quicken my pace. “Keep dreaming, superstar.”

  “Girls have done some whacked out shit.”

  My eyes jumped between the wall in front of me and Brooks. “First of all, I’m not about to steal your towel because it has your sweat on it, nor will I be swiping your jockstrap to sell online. We, my friend, are victims of bad timing.”

  “Bad timing?”

  “Yeah. Anytime you’re in my space, it’s bad,” I assured him as my pace accelerated and my eyes focused on the spot opposite me on the wall.

  There was another long silence before Brooks spoke again. “I’m not a good sleeper. It’s why I run at four in the morning.”

  I scoffed. “Well, it seems we have something in common.”

  “You too?”

  I shrugged. “What else is there to do at four in the morning? No one else is up.”

  He grinned. “Except me.”

  If I didn’t despise him so much, his smile might’ve stirred something in me. Something that had lain dormant for far too long. “So, you didn’t tell me. How do you know so much about football?”

  I shrugged. “Grew up around it. Followed Alabama my whole life.”

  “Now you’re living the dream.”

  “Something like that,” I said, knowing better than to bring up Cole.

  Though neither of us tucked our ear buds back in, we continued our runs in silence—during which time I counted thirteen marks on the wall, two lights out on my treadmill screen, and two hundred and twenty-seven steps that I’d taken.

  “I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Brooks said, breaking the silence—and my counting streak.

  I glanced over. “I didn’t think we were on any foot.”

  He smiled, not easily put-off by my distaste for him. “I’m Caden.”

  I tilted my head.

  He smirked, well aware I knew who he was. “And you are?”

  “Despite what most of your teammates think, I’m not Hey You, Sweetheart, or Water Girl. I’m Finlay.”

  He pursed his lips as if considering if my name fit. “Well, it’s nice to meet
you Finlay.” He didn’t say my name with a southern drawl, the way the local boys said it. It rolled off his tongue smoother. The way a west coaster would say it. “Finlay what?”

  My heart drummed faster, and it had nothing to do with the run. It had to do with him being the last person I’d open up to about who I was—who my brother was. “Grace.” My middle name shot out, technically making it a half-truth and not a total lie. I pressed the button on my machine to slow my pace, needing to cool down before stopping completely.

  “I like you,” Caden said.

  My eyes cut back to his.

  “Without the chip on your shoulder.”

  “I don’t have a chip,” I growled.

  He leveled me with unconvinced eyes, my tone speaking for itself.

  “Ever think you just bring out the worst in me?”

  He smiled. “Nope. But so you know, we’re not all Grady. I, for one, am a pretty decent guy.”

  “So, the rumors should be ignored?”

  “At all costs.”

  I almost laughed, especially since our conversation was the longest I’d had with anyone, except Sabrina, since arriving to school. And since I’d yet to leave his sorry ass alone in the gym, I’d apparently been starved for conversation of any sort.

  “What the hell is this?” Coach’s voice echoed through the room, yanking our attention to him standing in the doorway with fiery eyes.

  “Morning Coach,” Caden greeted him with a grin, like we hadn’t just broken a team rule.

  Coach’s eyes shot to mine. “I expected this from Brooks, Finlay. But not you.”

  My eyes cast down as I switched off my treadmill. I never wanted to do anything to upset the man who gave me a chance to start over and heal. “I’m sorry, Coach. I probably should’ve warned you. I have trouble sleeping.”

  “Oh, I…” Coach’s voice trailed off uncomfortably.

  I jumped off my treadmill as it came to a stop.

  The regret in his eyes spoke volumes. “Well next time just text me. Let me know you’ve left your room.”

  I nodded.

  “And you.” He glared at Caden, his finger pointing at him as his treadmill slowed to a stop. “You know better.” He gave Caden no time to respond, turning and walking out of the gym without another word.