Page 31 of Fighting Fate

It's the looming end of my football career, but I don't say it.

"Is it the new professor, Mrs. Abben?" Luke suggests with a wink, hinting at her attractiveness. "She's quite the looker."

I internally cringe. How does Luke manage to excel in football and academics when he's so fixated on women and flirting? I readjust my helmet, giving it a couple of taps, trying to refocus.

"Dude, you sure you're up for finishing practice?" Cam asks, concern in his voice. "You're looking a bit pale."

I quirk an eyebrow at the suggestion. Pale? Really?

Luke throws an arm around my shoulders, a bit more forcefully than necessary—or maybe I'm just more sensitive today. A sharp pain shoots through my temple, making me wince.

"Yeah, he's fine. Just not his best day." Luke quickly covers for me.

Cam lets out a snort. "That's an understatement. You've been off your game for the last thirty minutes."

Shaking my head, I try to dispel the fog clouding my mind, forcing myself to focus. The heat, the sweat, the echo of practice around me—I should be in the moment, yet my thoughts are elsewhere. I grit my teeth, fighting the headache that's setting in.

"Chasen, everything okay?" Coach's voice pulls me back, and I turn toward him, trying to appear unaffected.

What's with all these questions? I'm standing, aren't I?

"I'm fine, Coach. Just need a moment."

He gives me a nod, though his concern is apparent. I can't stand this feeling of vulnerability, of weakness. It's a place I never want to be in.

I push the frustration aside and inhale deeply, forcing myself to refocus on the practice.

Panthers' Day is looming, and the stakes are high, especially with a father like Drew Chasen. His expectations have always been sky-high, leaving no room for anything less than perfection. With his dream of me entering the NFL almost within reach, the pressure is suffocating.

If I don't snap out of this soon, I risk being benched.

I can almost hear his criticisms: "What was that out there, son? You know better than to drop passes like that," or "Those throws won't land you a spot in the draft, let alone the top picks."

Don't get me wrong, I love my dad. But at times, his intensity is overwhelming, as if he's trying to relive his own dreams through me. It's a heavy burden, but in the end, he's sacrificed a lot for me. Now, it's my turn to step up.

I understand that my dad's harsh coaching and demanding words are his way of showing support, his attempt to secure an NFL opportunity for his only son. Yet, back then, what I truly needed was simply a father. Not a coach, not a mentor, and perhaps, even just having him as a friend might have made a bigger difference in my recovery.

Brushing my fingers through my hair, I make my way into the locker room and lean against my locker, its echo filling the silent space. Opening it, I notice my phone illuminating with my dad's name. Predictable. This has become his ritual ever since training camp started, phoning after each practice to dissect feedback and scout evaluations. A pounding headache grips me, zapping all my energy, making the thought of enduring another one of his exhaustive debriefs unbearable. Choosing to ignore the call becomes my only moment of relief.

A gentle tap on my shoulder makes me spin around to find Luke looking at me, worry etched across his face. I arch an eyebrow in curiosity, giving him the floor to speak. Yet, he hesitates, leaving a silence that nudges me to break it with a, "What's going on?"

"You looked a bit off today," he notes with concern.

I give a nod, right as I'm hit once more by a stabbing pain in my head, mimicking a drill twisting into my skull, dispersing my thoughts into chaos. The chatter of my teammates fades into a vague hum behind me. I want to request some room to breathe, yet the words stubbornly refuse to materialize. Gritting my teeth, I fight through the agony.

"Someone get him water," Coach commands sharply, and instantly, a teammate dashes off to comply.

I shut my eyes, trying to escape the relentless noise and pain. It feels like forever before a water bottle is thrust into my hand. I drink eagerly; the coolness offers some relief to my dry throat, but it does little to quell the pounding headache.

"Maybe we should take him to the hospital." Luke's voice reaches me, tinged with worry. I understand his intentions are pure; he's always been one to care deeply. But the last thing I need is for my coach and teammates to think I'm weak just because I'm battling a bit of dehydration and fatigue.

"No," I croak out, dismissing the suggestion. A hospital is the last place I want to be.

Stepping back from my locker, I wave my hands around, trying to reassure everyone. "See? I'm fine."

Cam smirks. "Is that your best stripper impression, Chasen?" Some of the guys laugh.

Coach, familiar with our banter, rolls his eyes but still looks concerned. He suggests, "Maybe you should see the nurse, just in case?"