Breaking the Playbook [COMPLETED]

Chapter 3

The morning news blares from the TV in the living room, the volume turned up just enough to pierce through the otherwise peaceful silence of the house. I sit at the kitchen counter, nursing a cup of coffee as I flip through a stack of papers. The scent of freshly brewed java mingles with the faint aroma of bacon and eggs, but my attention is focused entirely on the news anchor's voice, which has taken on a tone of excited reverence.

"And in sports news," the anchor says, "Brooks Parker has just been named the NCAA's Player of the Year. The young quarterback has led his team to an impressive undefeated season, throwing for over 4,000 yards and 35 touchdowns. His leadership on and off the field has been widely praised, and many experts are calling him a top contender for the upcoming NFL draft."

I take a sip of my coffee, the warmth of the mug contrasting with the chill that suddenly sweeps through me. The name Brooks Parker has a way of doing that—of hitting me with a jolt of nostalgia and longing that I've tried to bury. As I set the mug down, my mind drifts back to a time when his name wasn't just a headline, but a part of my everyday life.

It was my junior year of college when Brooks Parker's name first became impossible to ignore. I remember that season vividly. The air was crisp with the promise of autumn, and the campus was abuzz with the excitement of football. Brooks, then a rising star at the university, had become the talk of the town. He was everywhere—on posters, in interviews, and in every conversation about the future of college football. He was the kind of player who seemed to defy expectations, a rare combination of raw talent and unwavering determination.

I was just a tutor, trying to juggle my own studies and responsibilities, but the gravity of Brooks' presence was impossible to ignore. We first crossed paths in a college library, of all places. I had been running late, my arms full of textbooks, when I literally ran into him. Books scattered everywhere, and as we both scrambled to pick them up, I caught my first glimpse of him up close. Tall with a strong, athletic build, Brooks had an intensity in his blue eyes that was both intimidating and magnetic.

"Sorry about that," he had said, his voice a deep, comforting rumble that seemed to vibrate through me. "Didn't see you coming."

"It's okay," I had stammered, my heart racing not just from the collision but from the way he looked at me—really looked at me, as if he saw more than just another student. "I wasn't paying attention."

Our meetings became routine after that, and every time we sat down for a tutoring session, I found myself drawn to him more and more. The way he talked about his aspirations and his dreams of making it big in the NFL was inspiring. And the way he listened to me—his genuine interest in what I had to say—made me feel special. It was clear early on that Brooks was destined for greatness, but it wasn't just his skills on the field that impressed me; it was his character, his humility, and the way he seemed to carry the weight of his future with a quiet grace.

Our conversations often drifted from academics to personal dreams and goals, and it didn't take long for me to realize that I was developing feelings for him—feelings that went beyond simple admiration. I tried to keep my emotions in check to maintain a professional distance, but there was something about Brooks that made it impossible to stay completely detached.

As his star began to rise, so did the attention he received. He was featured in interviews, sports magazines, and even a segment on national television that highlighted his journey from a high school standout to a college prodigy. Each mention, each headline, was a reminder of the growing distance between us. I watched with a mix of pride and heartbreak as his name became synonymous with success.

I remember a particularly memorable interview where Brooks spoke candidly about his journey. "It's been a long road," he said, his voice steady and earnest. "There have been sacrifices and challenges, but it's all worth it when you see your hard work paying off. I'm grateful for the support of my teammates, my family, and all the people who've helped me along the way."

I watched the interview with a lump in my throat, feeling a pang of sadness mixed with pride. Brooks had become a symbol of what was possible when talent met hard work, and I couldn't help but think about how different things might have been if circumstances had allowed us to explore what was between us.

The day he left for the draft was a bittersweet moment. We had shared one last conversation before he left, a conversation filled with unspoken words and lingering glances. "I'm heading to the draft," he said, his voice filled with a mix of excitement and apprehension. "I don't know where this will lead, but I'm ready for whatever comes next."

"I know you'll do great," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "You've worked so hard for this. Just remember that you have people who believe in you."

He smiled—that same smile that had captivated me from the very beginning. "Thanks, Lolo. I'll keep that in mind."

And then he was gone. The next few months were a whirlwind of headlines and draft picks. I watched from the sidelines, my heart aching with every mention of his name. The feeling of losing touch with him and not being a part of his journey was almost unbearable.

As I sit in the kitchen now, listening to the news report, I realize how much things have changed. Brooks Parker is no longer just a name I remember from college; he's a celebrated athlete with a career that's taken off in ways I could have only imagined. But the feelings I had for him—the connection we shared—are still very much a part of me.

I check my phone, scrolling through social media, to see if there are any updates about his current season. Photos of him in action, interviews, and articles praising his performance flood the screen. Each image is a reminder of the past, a reminder of what might have been.

The doorbell rings, breaking me out of my reverie. I head to the front door, wondering who it could be. When I open it, I'm greeted by a delivery person holding a large package. "Sign here, please," the person says, handing me a clipboard.

I sign quickly, taking the package and closing the door. I carry it to the kitchen table and tear it open, revealing a stack of envelopes and a few sports magazines. As I flip through the magazines, I come across an article titled "The Rise of Brooks Parker: From College Sensation to NFL Star."

I skimmed through the pages of the article detailing his achievements and the impact he's had on the sport. There are quotes from coaches, teammates, and even opposing players, all praising his talent and leadership. The last paragraph stands out to me:

"Brooks Parker's journey is a testament to his hard work, resilience, and unwavering dedication to the game. As he continues to break records and set new standards, it's clear that his story is far from over. Fans and analysts alike are eager to see what the future holds for this remarkable athlete."

I close the magazine, my mind racing with thoughts of Brooks and the way he's carved out his place in the world. His success is undeniable, but there's a part of me that wonders if our paths will cross again and if there's a chance to reconnect and explore what we once had.

I place the magazine down and look out the window, the evening sky painted in shades of orange and pink. The house is quiet, and the world outside is moving at its own pace. And as I sit there, reflecting on the past and the present, I can't help but feel a sense of anticipation for what the future might bring.

Brooks Parker has made a name for himself in the world of football, but he's also made an indelible mark on my heart. There's something about his presence in my life—something that refuses to be ignored.