Chapter Five

"I told him that I don't do relationships, and yet he still follows me around like a lost puppy asking if I want to be his girlfriend," Jane rants, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she lies on her stomach atop her bed.

While she's talking about boys, my mind is wandering on about a few different things.

"I don't know what to tell him anymore. I don't want to be a bitch, but I have to be, or else he won't get the hint. I told him that I don't want to go out with him, and I even told him that I was hooking up with Jonathan Parker, but he didn't stop," Jane continues.

My fingers twitch toward my phone when I think about how my mom still hasn't called to explain why Danny was in the hospital yesterday.

"I mean, really? You're that desperate for a girlfriend that you don't mind I've been hooking up with Jonathan freaking Parker?" She drones.

My thoughts shift to the game tonight, and I inwardly cringe at our probable loss. This morning at practice, Brady O'Donnell looked like as good of a quarterback as my dead dog. He couldn't complete any passes, nor did he know how to throw the ball away during an impending sack.

"Hello, earth to Lily," Jane says, and I blink before glancing at her exasperated expression. "Were you listening to anything I was saying?"

Sheepishly, I try, "Jonathan Parker?"

She rolls her eyes and then looks at me seriously. "What's on your mind, Lil? You've been zoned out all day."

I think about telling her of Danny's trip to the hospital yesterday, or maybe about my own trip to the medic center with Vincent, but instead, an automated response leaves my lips.

"Just tired," I shrug, waving off her concern with yet another lie.

Jane eyes me suspiciously. "You sure?"

I plaster a fake smile on my lips. "Positive." And then, looking for any out of the conversation I can get, I check the time and see that I should leave for the game soon. "I've got to head to the stadium."

Jane believes my lies and smiles brightly at me as I get off my bed. "'Kay! Tell the boys hi for me."

I give her a blank look. "No."

She pouts, "Why?"

"You know why," I point a finger at her accusingly. "You will not mess with my friends."

Jane grins devilishly and laughs, and then bids me goodbye as I leave my dorm. I shake my head at the crazy girl. Jane was beautiful, and had the entire population of boys falling at her feet. And, naturally, she loved it. Jane wasn't like normal girls; she didn't want a relationship or any of that sappy shit. No, she just wanted a hookup.

She was more of a player than Vincent, and that said a lot. She could get with any guy she wanted and have them wanting more, so I refused to let her make any advances on the guys on the football team. I was friends with Jane, and I've seen the way she plays guys. I wouldn't let her do it to my guy friends on the team.

I head to the stadium earlier than usual because I didn't feel like spilling my feelings to Jane, so when I arrived, I was the first one there. I grabbed the medical bag and first aid kit from Sandra's office before heading to the field, intent on sitting on the sidelines scrolling through social media until people arrived.

However, when I walked into the field, I saw I wasn't the only person here. There was a person doing sprints from the goal line to the twenty yard line, and when I got closer, I saw who it was. Tentatively, I dropped the bags by the sideline and made my way to Vincent, who had yet to notice my presence.

When I got near, he looked up and saw that I was here, and stopped running. I walked over to him by the fifteen yard line, his hair matted down and forehead glistening in the sweat that coated his stained tee shirt. He didn't look pleased to see me: in fact, when he saw me walking toward him, he turned and started walking toward his water bottle.

"Vincent," I say behind him, following him to his things.

He didn't answer, but instead grabbed his towel and wiped his face off, then chugged his water bottle, adamant about ignoring me.

"Bradshaw," I whine. "Come on, talk to me."

I don't know why I wanted to talk to him. Actually, I do. I want to apologize for being the reason he's sat out at the game tonight. I just didn't know why I cared so much about apologizing. We were mean to each other all the time, caused one another misfortunes, yet this time it was different.

This time, it messed with his football. And I knew that was too important to him to be waved off and forgotten.

Still, he just ignored me, dropping his water bottle by his towel and returning to the goal line before taking off in his sprints. I glare at his back as he runs, already ticked off. He was about to make me run, and if there's one thing I hate more than anything else, it's unnecessary physical activity.

With a dramatic groan, I take off in a sprint, barely keeping up with his long athletic strides.

"Just talk to me! I want to apologize," I shout in between pants.

Vincent barks out a laugh, but doesn't falter for a second as he touches the twenty then takes off sprinting toward the field line. "Apologize? Since when do you apologize?"

He whizzes past me, and I turn to start running after him again, muttering, "God, I'm out of shape." Then I say louder to him, "There's a first for everything."

For once, I actually catch up with him, having to work twice as hard to keep up with his long strides, and he spares a glance at me for the second time since I got here. I'm not proud of how much I'm huffing and puffing after the minute of running, but hey, at least Vincent is finally paying attention to me.

"Fine, but only because you look like you're about to pass out," Vincent stops running. "And I'm not carrying you to the medic center again."

I stop running and catch my breath for a moment. "Right, about that. I wanted to say I'm sorry for being the reason you're sitting out at the game today. I know you hate getting sat out."

He watches me, looking somewhat puzzled, before his expression neutralizes and he shrugs. "It's not your fault I didn't tell Coach the real reason."

My brow furrows. "You didn't tell him about bringing me to the medic center?"

"No," Vincent says evenly, looking at me. "You didn't want to tell me what happened, so I thought you wouldn't want me to tell Coach. I told him I overslept."

My expression drops. He didn't tell Coach the real reason he was late? He definitely wouldn't have gotten sat out of the game if he told Coach Baxter he was helping me. But the fact he was thoughtful enough to care about my privacy, and was willing to let Brady O'Donnell be the quarterback for a night, changed my opinion of Vincent Bradshaw.

Even though he was an arrogant, narcissistic, obnoxious meathead, I respected him.

"Thank you," I blurt honestly, genuinely appreciative. "You should tell him, though. Maybe he'll let you play tonight."

He shakes his head, letting out a wry laugh. "He'll play me, don't worry."

I raise my eyebrows in question. "How can you be so sure?"

"In case you didn't notice," Vincent shoots me his winning grin. "O'Donnell sucks. He's going to cost us the game if he plays two halves. Coach is going to give in and put me in second half."

Unimpressed, I retort, "Coaches are stubborn hard asses when it comes to their players, Bradshaw. I wouldn't bet on it."

He looks at me, sizing me up, and puts his hands on his waist. Then he asked seriously, "Who taught you so much about football?"

My dad. But I could never tell Vincent Bradshaw that information without eventually telling him about his death, and that Danny was now suffering from the same illness. I didn't let my expression change or falter at his question, and forced a smile.

"Always been a fan," I answer evasively, then change the subject. "Kiss Coaches ass and maybe he'll play you."

Vincent eyed me, suspicious of my attempt to change the subject, but nonetheless lets it go. "You just watch me throw a touchdown pass before the game is over. I'll make it happen."

I roll my eyes at his cockiness and mock, "So humble."

He grins boyishly. "My best attribute, if I do say so myself."

His arrogance, for once, doesn't piss me off. Which is extremely surprising, because everything that comes out of his mouth usually makes me want to punch him. Vincent glances over my shoulder then walks toward his belonging on the sideline, not even looking as exhausted as I from his pre game workout.

I hear some distant chatter and turn around to see some of the guys walking onto the field with their bags. I can pick out Andrew from the bunch, thanks to his unusually large frame, and make a note to check his leg before the game. When I turn back around to Vincent, he's picking up his towel and water bottle.

He glances at me and nods toward the locker room. "I'm going to change. See you when I get that touchdown pass."

I scoff at his cockiness and he just smirks before heading to the locker room. I turn and walk towards Andrew, intent on making sure his leg was better, so he doesn't hurt himself further. I approach the group of boys and see Andrew was walking in with Max, Trevor, and Rory.

When I near closer, Trevor sees me and grins as he waves enthusiastically. "Hey, Lil!"

"Hey Trev," I greet. "Hey Max, Rory," Then I look at Andrew and point at him. "Come with me, I'm going to check your leg again."

Andrew made a face and whined, "Do you have to? It feels better."

I narrow my eyes at him. "I'm not going to be the reason you're out the rest of the season with a calf injury, got it? Now man up and come with me so I can check you over."

Without another word, he complies, and steps toward me and away from his friends. Trevor, Max, and Rory all start laughing.

"Dude, what's the point of arguing? Lily will always win," Max muses.

I grin at him. "Damn straight. I'll see you boys later."

Trevor chuckles again. "See you, Lil."

Andrew and I walk over to the sidelines and, as I check his leg, the rest of the team trickles to the locker room and back onto the field. Sandra and Coach Baxter arrive while I'm working with Andrew, and Coach starts the pregame stretches.

After I make sure Andrew is okay to play today, I hang back on the sidelines and try to finish some homework, but the constant noise and commotion keeps me from getting anything done. I end up watching the guys practice and the other team arrive.

As I watch Brady practice, he actually throws a few good passes, and I begin to realize I was worrying for nothing. We could win this game, and the loss wouldn't be my fault.

• • •

We were losing the game.

And it was all my fault.

Brady was throwing passes being intercepted by the defense, getting sacked, making quick throws, and missing his targets. The game was painful to watch, and you could tell every time Coach flinched when O'Donnell messed up.

By halftime, the score was 7-24, and it was looking hopeless by now. I leaned against the lockers in the locker room, behind the boys who were kneeling on one knee, waiting for Coach Baxter to give them a little halftime pep talk. All the guys had their heads hung low, like they were awaiting a scolding, except for one.

Vincent Bradshaw looked desperate and incredibly eager to get out there. All game, he was practically crying out every time Brady threw an interception, or added on yards for getting sacked. Now, though, instead of looking angry and helpless, he looked ready. I knew he was confident that Coach would put him in, and at this point, I was hoping he did too.

Coach walks in the locker room with the defensive and offensive assistant coaches behind him, looking exhausted from the frustrations of the grueling game we were in the middle of. He stops in front of his players and looks around for a second before he begins speaking.

"Boys, we sure as hell didn't get this far this season to quit just because we're down a few touchdowns," Coach begins. "The defense out there is looking amazing. Keep doing what you're doing out there. Now, our offensive line needs some work."

At this, the boys grunt in agreement, and Brady silently ducks down in embarrassment.

"Bradshaw," Everyone holds their breaths when Coach makes eye contact with Vincent and says the words we were all praying to hear. "You're in next half. We're going to be doing plays from the yellow book."

Vincent nods stoically, but I could still detect the smugness behind his eyes. He knew he was going to get put in, the devil. Coach continues talking about what plays they'll be running next half, and I'm not surprised that they're our back up plays that are guaranteed to pick up a few yards. Everyone perks up, and the atmosphere in the room shifts.

It was obvious that Vincent was a key component on the team, and I was sure he was loving the fact that everybody needed him. With the remaining minutes of halftime, the boys huddled up and Vincent started riling the guys up, getting them all shouting and hollering and jumping up and down.

I felt relieved when I saw Vincent's number 11 on the field when the next half started. The first play, he stepped back and looked around before launching a perfect pass into Trevor's arms, who then pivoted and took off down the field, getting tackled at the forty yard line. The stadium went wild at the awaited return of their golden quarterback.

Within the third quarter, we managed to even the score out with our two touchdowns, making it a close 21-24. It was no surprise that Vincent was the reason for this change, but he still had yet to throw a touchdown pass. However, when our defense intercepted our opponents pass and got the first down at the twenty yard line, it looked like he was about to get his touchdown pass assist.

There were six minutes left in the fourth quarter when we got the interception. Luckily for us, it was close to our goal, and when we gained possession, we were only twenty yards away. I heard Coach Baxter call play 13, which is his go to touchdown pass play. Trevor was supposed to run into the end zone and run right, and Vincent would throw him the ball.

I watched in anticipation from the sidelines as the crowd roared in the stadium. My eyes were zeroed in on Vincent's jersey as the offensive line set up, and then he finally called it. Vincent grabbed the ball and his eyes went directly to Trevor, who was already in the end zone, but hadn't made it to the right yet. My eyes widened as

I caught the flash of the opposing teams color behind Vincent.

And then, as the ball left his hands, Vincent was sacked by a three hundred pound defensive lineman. I watched the opponent tackle Vincent, and saw his helmet slam against Vincent's knee, which then made them both fall into the ground awkwardly. For Vincent, his head hit the ground first, then his knee bent in a way a knee shouldn't bend.

Trevor caught the ball in the end zone and scored a touchdown, but my eyes were wide and staring where Bradshaw had gotten sacked. The defender got up and brushed off the hit, and I stared at Vincent, still crumpled on the ground, waiting for him to get up. But he didn't.

He lifted his head and I could see, from halfway across the field, the pain and panic in his eyes. His mouth opened and I'm sure he let out a scream, but it was drowned out in the stadium from all the cheers. Some players surrounded him, and I finally snapped out of my daze.

Vincent Bradshaw was injured. And I had go help him.

My heart pounded in my eardrums as I scramble to grab the medic kit and run out after Sandra onto the field.

Coach was a few feet in front of us, and asked the boys to move back. I saw a referee come over, but I was too focused on Sandra and Vincent.

I could hear him panting when I neared him, and got on my knees beside Sandra to assess the damage. Sandra carefully flipped him on his back, and I saw the minor pivot of his knee alone made Vincent ground his teeth and clench his eyes shut.

"Vincent, what hurts?" Sandra asks, her eyes checking his body.

"His knee," I answered for him quickly. "His left knee."

He nods, forcing his eyes open as he clenched his jaw. "That asshole got me with his helmet and my knee twisted."

"Can you walk?" Sandra asks next.

He balls his hands into fists and tries to push himself off the ground, but I can see he's struggling putting weight on his injured knee. When I see his arms shake and body about to give out, I intervene and put one hand under his shoulder and help him stand.

Vincent exhales roughly and leans on me as I struggle to keep him standing. The guys on the team are all taking a knee and watching in rapt interest, as well as fear. If their star quarterback was injured, and the second string was horrible, what would that mean for the team?

"Get me off this fucking field," Vincent says quietly, and I turn my head to see his eyes begging me. "Please."

He wanted to get away from the sympathetic and disappointed gazes that the entire stadium gave him. It was the same every time a player got hurt: the entire crowd was focusing on him, thinking about how his injury would affect the team, and how it was a shame he got injured.

Now, it was Vincent getting injured, and the prospect of him sitting out for the rest of the season scared everyone.

I nod once and look at Sandra. "Let's get him into the locker room. Grab his other side."

She didn't like me telling her what to do, but nonetheless, Sandra complied. We helped Vincent hobble off the field, barely putting weight on his left leg, scared that he would further hurt himself in the process. When we reached the silence of the locker room and set Vincent down on the bed in the physical trainers office, I finally exhaled in relief.

Once Vincent was sat down, Sandra turned her stormy eyed gaze to me. "You don't ever tell me what to do. That's my job. Don't you dare take control without my consent again, do you understand?"

Like a child getting scolded, I wanted to shrink away, but just nodded and mumbled, "I'm sorry."

"Seriously?" Vincent surprises the both of us by voicing, and I turn to see him staring at Sandra incredulously. "She was helping me, which is more than I can say about you. You were about to let me fall over when I couldn't stand up. At least she's actually doing her job."

I stared at him in complete shock that 1) he stood up for me but more importantly 2) he stood up for me to Sandra. She was by far the scariest member of this team, Coach Baxter included. Her eyes were ablaze as they stared back at Vincent, clearly just as shocked as I by his outburst, before she narrowed moved her gaze to me and narrowed her eyes.

"Fine, Lily," She says in an eerily calm voice. "You're in charge of Vincent's recovery."