[Complete] Ariel and the Bandits

29 - The Recovery

After losing our last two games back to back, I questioned my ability to play a game setting aside everything else in my life. I have done it before and it makes me angry that it feels more difficult to do that these days. We could really use a win right about now.

"Hike," I shout.

I look at Aldrich. Damn, covered. Bowers is wide open. This was my chance. I pull my arm back and release the ball. It's a great spiral, but upon my release, I get tackled. Pain surges through my back as my body makes contact with the ground.

Andrew Calkins, one of our former wide receivers who left the Bandits for the Free Agency, towers over me. God, I wish I could kick him.

It's not that I didn't like him... No, I don't actually like him. He didn't like me very much either. Andrew once said I was the fun police and didn't know how to have a good time. I was driving him home after bailing him out of jail for resisting arrest at a nightclub in downtown Chicago after he "assumed an aggressive stance" toward the police. Like there's a lot of reasons to detest cops and take a stance against their corrupt behaviors, but bringing your borderline alcoholic tendencies to a stop isn't one of them. No surprise that he and Brandon got along just fine.

Calkins stands, but not before using my right shin as a place to step. "Looks like the team is slowly falling apart without us huh?"

Calkins' shoulder is pulled back, strong enough to push him down to the ground. "Don't fucking touch him," Liam warns.

"Oh, the guard dog still works," Calkin mocks.

Andrew stands face to face with Liam. Well, more like forehead to chin. Players from our team and theirs came rushing over to separate them. Jake picks me up off the ground.

"You okay?" Jake asks.

"I'm fine," I assure him.

One of the referees blows the whistle along with a flag. It's a ten yard penalty to the defense. We were able to get five yards away from the end zone.

We line up and get ready for our final play. I look to my left, ahead of me, then to my right. The screams of the crowd ring my ears. Some shouts are cheerful and hopeful while others echo the loss neither side wanted to take. Even when the odds don't seem to be in our favor, I don't intend for our team to take another loss.

I scratch my nose to indicate our next move. I take a small pause and tap my foot twice. "Blue, go."

The boys open a screenplay. I pretend to throw before I swerve and make a run for it. I run. There's a wave of energy radiating from the defense-- one I sense not that far behind me.

When I feel arms come around my waist ready to pull me back from reaching the end zone, I lunge forward, clutching the ball tightly against my chest before making my body dead weight. My helmet lightly dribbles against the artificial grass as the heavy load of other people's body weight sits on top of me. The roar of the crowd drowns my ears. When the person is lifted off of me, I turn my body to push myself up on my feet. My teammates swarm and tackle me into a group hug before I even get the chance to look at the scoreboard.

With all the commotion, shoulder shaking, and helmet pats my eyes catch the scoreboard. From what was 22-25 changed to 28-25. The team disbands from the hug and the person in my line of sight is Liam. He takes me into a hug and pats my back.

"You did good, mate," he says in a strange accent.

I remove my helmet. "Was that supposed to be English or Australian?"

"Don't know." His smile is contagious. As soon as the two of us step off the field, the weight of pain and tiredness hits me. I hit the showers, sauna, and then ice wrap my shoulder and calf. Liam's a few steps ahead of me as I stare down at my phone checking notifications regarding tonight's game. Ally lets me run my twitter account since I don't really post anything other than replies to fans' comments.