Page 72 of Fighting Fate
"Seriously, though, no barking orders, no teammates complaining, and no fear of getting smacked in the wrong place by a rogue ball. Just me, chillin', soaking in that fall sky," I murmur more to myself, but Coach can hear.
His head dips, and I catch it out of the corner of my eye. He gives my shoulder a friendly squeeze. The rest of the gang saunters over, heads craned to the sky, as if they're trying to figure out what we see up there—which, in reality, is just a whole lot of nothing but the wide-open sky.
I let my head drop down, and about a dozen other guys are pulling the same stunt. Coach decides to break the silence, grumbling, "Okay, enough with the daydreaming, you bunch of dreamers. Let's refocus on winning that game tomorrow."
Cam jumps in, coming to our defense. "Hey, we were just following Miles' lead. He's my mentor, after all."
I roll my eyes as Coach puts on his best serious face, but there's a hint of a smile hiding behind it as he shakes his head in response. "Smartass," he mutters before wandering off toward our linebacker coach.
The whole team bursts into laughter, whooping and hollering, and they start heading back into their positions for practice. I'm about to do the same when I hear a familiar voice. "You doing okay, man?"
I glance over and notice Luke beside me. We both gaze up at the sky once more, and that previously dissipated tension returns in full force. However, instead of dwelling on that, I make a decision. "Honestly, Sutton, I'm not sure," I admit for the first time.
His head snaps back into place so quickly, undoubtedly wearing a quizzical expression.
Where do I even begin? How do I put into words the myriad of challenges I'm facing? On one hand, there's the mountain of academic work piling up. On the other, there are these feelings for Milli that I can't quite shake off. After our night out at the tavern—our laughter mingling, her soft touches, and those looks she gives me, filled with desire and something more—I'm pretty sure there's something real brewing between us. It took every ounce of restraint not to lean in for a kiss or suggest heading back to my place with Luke. But deep down, we both know how that scenario might unfold.
And there's really one person I feel comfortable sharing most things with, but I can't rely on her indefinitely. After all, graduation is looming this year, and I'm about to dive headfirst into medical school, complete it, then move on to the residency and who-knows-what-else phases.
Breathe, Miles. One step at a time.
Drawing a deep breath, I finally meet Luke's gaze and shake my head. "It's nothing major, just feeling the heat with finishing the semester strong and the upcoming Panthers' Day Game."
It's not a complete fabrication; those are genuine concerns, after all.
Luke gives me a skeptical look, one that says he's not entirely convinced, and advises, "How about taking things one day at a time?"
That suggestion resonates with me. One step at a time. It's like a gentle nudge to open up, a reminder to live in the moment.
I nod, taking in what he's saying. "Just concentrate on the game tomorrow, okay?" he concludes, adding, "And as for wrapping up the semester, there's time to stress about that later."
His words coax a chuckle from me. "Out of sight, out of mind," I mutter to myself.
With a playful slap on my back, Luke jogs back to the field, rejoining the others. I watch them, a sense of camaraderie in their laughter and banter.
Navigating through the storm—overcoming cancer, confronting my deepest fears—has led me to a profound sense of thankfulness. The times spent with my team, the shared laughter, and the unbreakable bonds we've formed, these are the moments I hold dear. They stand as vivid reminders of life's beauty, a life brimming with endless possibilities and fresh starts.
Stepping into the huddle, I'm enveloped by the team's collective energy and fervor for the game ahead vibrating through us all. "Alright, boys," I announce, a smile spreading across my face, "let's zero in on these play-action plays."
Their response is immediate—grunts, shoves, a readiness to dive in. We form up, each player in position, ready to dissect the details of our play-action strategy.
I run through the plays, ensuring everyone understands their role, from the offensive line's blocks to the receivers' routes. Every element of our play-action pass needs to be precise, a well-crafted illusion to outwit the defense.
We delve into the specifics: my role as quarterback, the depth of the fake handoff, the offensive line's convincing blocks. Mastery here isn't just about knowledge; it's about execution under pressure.
Our wide receivers and tight ends dedicate themselves to running routes with crisp, surgical precision, while the linemen focus on perfecting their blocking techniques. I practice the fake handoff over and over, then set up to deliver perfectly timed, pinpoint passes. It's like crafting a symphony of movement on the field.
We go through the play-action plays repeatedly, refining our timing and coordination until it becomes second nature. The rhythm of the practice field mirrors the rhythm of a seamlessly executed play. There's sweat, there's the sharp sound of Coach Kreft's whistle, and there's a relentless drive to run it again and again until it becomes flawless.
The practice wraps up with a highlight—Will, my go-to receiver, pulls off an impressive spin move that earns a round of applause. I grin in admiration. Grabbing my water bottle and towel, I take a refreshing gulp, signaling the end of another brutal practice.
As I'm about to head to the locker room, Coach calls out. "Miles, heads up! The guys' showers are out of order. Use the ladies' across the hall."
"Got it, Coach," I respond, knowing I'll probably have the place to myself—most of the team prefers their own showers. Plus, I anticipate a scenario where, upon returning home, Luke and I would be vying for the shower. So, it makes sense to take care of it here. Besides, sometimes I hit the library to study, and everything I need is right on campus, so why bother leaving and returning?
Total waste of time, in my opinion.
As I begin my trek toward the locker room, a faint melody catches my ear. Not the usual locker room speakers, but more like a phone's speaker. I continue walking, and when I round the corner, our football team's locker room is on one side and a plain women's locker room on the other, typically used by female staff or managers. I know they're all out on the field right now.