Breaking the Playbook [COMPLETED]

Chapter 28

BROOKS' POV

The stadium lights were blinding as I stepped onto the field, the familiar roar of the crowd reverberating through my chest. This was supposed to be my sanctuary, the one place where everything else faded away. But tonight, it felt different. The weight of everything that had been building up between Lolo and me—the tension with her father, the media's relentless scrutiny—it all clung to me like a second skin, suffocating and heavy.

I tightened my grip on the football, feeling the rough texture beneath my fingertips. I needed to focus, block out everything else, and just play the game. But even as I ran through the drills, the plays, and the motions, my mind kept drifting back to Lolo.

We had a plan, or at least, we thought we did. Pretending to break up, acting like we were just teammates in public, while sneaking around in the dead of night. It sounded simple enough, but living it was another story. Every time I saw her at practice, standing on the sidelines with her father, it took every ounce of self-control not to walk over and pull her into my arms. But I couldn't. Not with everyone watching. Not with her dad's eyes always on me.

"Brooks! Focus, man!" The coach's voice snapped me back to the present, sharp and commanding. I nodded, shaking off the thoughts of Lolo and trying to bury them deep, at least for now.

We were midway through a scrimmage, and I could feel the tension radiating off my teammates. They weren't oblivious to what was happening. The media had been buzzing with rumors and whispers of something going on behind the scenes, and it was starting to seep into the locker room. The camaraderie that once flowed effortlessly was now strained, and I knew I was at the center of it.

The ball was snapped, and I moved, my body reacting on muscle memory. I dodged, pivoted, and threw, but the connection wasn't there. My pass was off, the ball spiraling wide of its target. A collective groan rippled through the field, and I cursed under my breath. Fuck, I needed to get it together.

"Shake it off, Brooks," one of the receivers called out, slapping my back as we reset. But I could see the concern in his eyes, the unspoken question—What the hell is going on with you?

I gritted my teeth, pushing the frustration down. Another play, another missed connection. The frustration was growing, and the pressure was mounting with each mistake. I could feel the eyes on me and the silent judgment of my teammates, the coaches, and even the fucking crowd. The last thing I wanted was for them to think I couldn't handle my shit.

But the truth was, I wasn't sure I could. Not with the way things were unraveling. The more I tried to push it all aside, the more it seeped in, poisoning my focus. And I couldn't shake the feeling that if I didn't figure it out soon, it wasn't just my game that would suffer. It was everything.

The scrimmage ended with a final whistle, and I jogged off the field, my muscles burning with exertion and frustration. The coach was waiting, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. But I knew that look. It was the one he gave when he was about to lay into someone.

"Brooks, you're off your game," he started, his voice low but firm. "What the hell's going on?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but what could I say? That I was fucking up because I couldn't stop thinking about Lolo? That the weight of keeping our relationship a secret was tearing me apart? I knew better than to bring my personal shit onto the field, but fuck, it was bleeding into everything.

"I'm good, Coach," I lied, hoping my voice didn't betray the turmoil underneath.

He narrowed his eyes, clearly not convinced. "This isn't just about you, Brooks. The team needs you to be at the top of your game. Whatever's going on, you need to handle it. Now."