If at first you don't succeed, then level the playing field and take a second chance.
Two years ago, Ellie Harrison collapsed under the weight of her past and the fallout that caught up with her. Like a shell of her former self, she retreated away f...
"I don't know what happened to your head, LT..." Coach Williams stood over me in the locker room at halftime, then knocked his knuckles on the top of my helmet. "But if you feel like pulling it out of your ass, then we could really use you out there."
Coach spoke in a low voice, to where only I heard him as I sat on the bench at my locker, my head hung low and my shoulders drooped. Like the entire fucking day, I'd been off in my timing, judgments about play calls, and unfocused all game long. I hadn't thrown an interception, just tossed away a lot of wasted opportunities out of bounds, but I'd been sacked twice by an Arkansas State defense that I should've ran circles around with minimal effort.
"Sorry Coach," I mumbled and tipped my chin into my chest protector.
"Don't be sorry." His hand gently clamped onto my shoulder. "Just be you. Whatever's bothering you son, grab ahold of it, channel it, and use it. Not how you start, it's how you finish."
He's right.
"Yes, Sir." I took a deep breath and excused myself into the toilet area, where I splashed cold water onto my face, then glanced at my reflection. Beneath a ruddy pink flush from the game, my skin was tinted gray and my eyes looked dull and lifeless.
My pride took a hit when I admitted Coach Williams was right, Dad's news about how he upgraded his new family affected my mind and game today. Like a small virus, his news leached into my brain and festered there until my focus wasn't on the game.
The longer I stared at my reflection, the more my features blurred into random shapes and lines, the more a heated anger burned in my gut. My jaw clenched tight, my hands gripped the cold porcelain edge of the sink, and a sense of clarity cut through the mental fog I'd limped through for the entire first half of the game.
I'll show him.
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After another one of Emmitt's rousing halftime amp-up speeches, Wes' hand patted my shoulder while we walked down the tunnel towards the field. The clicks of our cleats on the concrete were the only sound between us until he replied, "You okay, bro?"
"I will be," I gritted out and strapped on my helmet and chin guard. "Let's fix this."
Down two scores at the start of the second half wasn't a position I'd found myself in regularly. With silent determination, the Husky offense took the field readied that we rectified that deficit and our defense came out from halftime renewed and made their stances when it counted.
From my first snap, my feet responded, my eyes read the field clearer, and play by play I connected on passes and planned better running routes. We slowly picked up momentum, like a delayed start off the gates, but churned up the field yard by yard against the Red Wolves until the next time I was tackled was when my feet crossed over the endzone, the football tucked tight against me.
"That's one," I growled out at Seth when he slapped his hand on my helmet, then patted Darius on his back for the block that let me through.
The Husky fans woke up in the second half, until they roared with renewed life. Push by push, catch by catch, we clawed our way back down the field with every chance we had until the scoreboard read 21-21. The redemption road was long, hard, and we sacrificed blood, sweat, and possibly a few tears on Arkansas State's side. I saw the same fatigue swirled with grit and determination in every pair of eyes in each offensive huddle, until a smile finally spread across my lips.
