Page 2 of Game Plan

Five yards to go.

How could such a short distance feel like I was running for my life? It seemed like I’d been escaping these white and red jerseys for a much longer race.

Two yards to go.

My pulse pounded in my skull.

All my senses were attuned to each detail surrounding me.

A hand clamped my ankle.

No. This couldn’t be happening.

Squatting a little to anchor my feet to the ground, I leaped forward in the biggest jump I could muster.

Touchdown.

I threw the ball down and lifted my arms above my head. “Fuck yes.” Relief and pride waltzed through me. A wave of teal swallowed me, and I got lifted off the ground as my teammates cheered, and the small crowd who had come to see us play today erupted into screams and applause in the bleachers.

For a second, I searched the crowd of teal and navy-blue jersey supporters, just in case Melinda Shepard had been there, cheering me on, and I wasn’t aware. Like she had done last fall when we were seniors at Elk River High.

My heart deflated when I couldn’t spot her and remembered she wouldn’t walk on the field to congratulate me this time or banter with me about my ego.

My teammates lowered me, and Craig jumped into my arms like we did after every win. He tapped my helmet. “Proud of you, Mase. So fucking proud of you.”

“That pass you caught in the second quarter, I’m having goose bumps just thinking about it,” I said, tightening my grip around his shoulders. These days, I tried to give my brother hugs and some much-needed love as often as possible, most of the time using football as an excuse to pull him into my arms. “You’re a superstar, man. I’m so glad Coach let you start today.”

He said nothing, but from the way his arms wrapped around my body, I could tell he had longed to hear those words.

One day, I would get my brother back—the funny, though sometimes stuck-up, guy I’d always been looking up to. My best friend since the day our parents had brought me home from the hospital. My almost twin. The guy I would die for any day of the week if it meant protecting him from the same fate.

Rutherford, a running back on the team and one of my roommates, neared us. “Good job, Mase. Fuck, we beat the Stallions. The Phoenix will be the team to watch this year. I can feel it in my bones. We’ll be fucking celebrities by the end of the semester. You have one hell of an arm, QB.”

My grin probably reached my ears.

I had been leading the team for about six weeks now, including the preseason camp, but already the guys considered me their leader. The thought warmed my heart.

If we kept playing like this, we’d reach the top position in our division, and I’d be one step closer to my ultimate dream of playing pro.

“There’s a party tonight. To celebrate our win. Are you in?” Rutherford asked as soon as I stepped into the house we shared. Craig and I had scored rooms in a house with two other players on the team, instead of the dorms, which was a sweet deal, considering we were only freshmen.

I dropped my book bag by the staircase and slouched onto the couch beside the one he was sitting on with Amber, his long-time girlfriend, who had her head pressed on his shoulder, holding one of his hands. I was still riding the high from our earlier win, but the exhaustion from the game had kicked in. I had to get moving soon, or else I wouldn’t leave this couch all night. I’d spent the last two hours at the library. I had a paper due Monday that I hadn’t started until after the game earlier, so I’d needed some calm and quiet to focus and get it done.

Devin Rutherford, Carson Bailey, Craig, and I lived in a two-story townhouse just outside of campus. Blonde wooden floors, mushroom-gray walls, and dark cupboards, it looked better than any apartment I thought I’d ever share with a bunch of football players in college. In the living room, two black leather couches perpendicular to each other, that Bailey’s parents had gifted us since they were remodeling their house, were set before a giant TV screen mounted on the wall. Empty vintage wooden crates had been affixed together to create some sort of media storage unit where we stored bottles of liquor, DVDs, and video game consoles. The room opened onto a small patch of grass we called our backyard through a wide patio door.

An old chest that had seen better days doubled as an ottoman and a coffee table. In one corner was a weird-looking, red velvet hand-shaped chair Rutherford had found in a garage sale, that no one ever ventured to sit on, and a large plant my mom had sent over as a move-in gift because she joked a house full of testosterone would need some fresh oxygen. Rutherford had named it Bob and dressed it with a cap and a pair of sunglasses.

Both Craig’s and my rooms were located upstairs on the second floor, while our teammates slept on the main floor, their bedrooms connecting to the hallway leading to the double garage, the laundry room, and a four-piece Jack and Jill bathroom.

Even though Craig could have picked the master bedroom, my brother chose the smaller one, barely wide enough to house a queen-size bed. I ended up with the larger bedroom that included a small desk, an en-suite bathroom, and a walk-in closet, more spacious than the room I lived in back home. The old Mason who used to fuck like it was his life’s mission would have loved the setup.

Rutherford set his girlfriend beside him, rose to his feet, and disappeared down the hallway leading to his bedroom.

Amber straightened up. “Are you a free agent?”

I pointed to my chest. “Me?”

She perused the room. “Huh, who else?”