Jefferson Lake One-Shot

One-Shot

Emmett's POV

"Don't die," Lee advised.

I snorted. "I'll try my best," I said, holding the phone between my ear and shoulder so I could lace up my cleats.

But I knew what he was implying, so I added, "I'll be fine."

There was some rustling on the other end, and then Parker's voice came over the line. "When does the game start?"

"An hour."

"Then why are you talking on the phone?" He sounded annoyed.

I chuckled. "Maybe I wanted to talk to you."

"You called Lee," said Parker, sounding unimpressed.

"You wouldn't have picked up your phone if I called you!" I protested.

"Get out there and win the game."

"But-"

He hung up.

"Rude," I muttered, but put my phone away and stood up, motioning for my teammates to join me as I jogged onto the field for warm-ups.

College scouts were going to be all over this game; it was the final of the tournament. We had to win. We had to play well.

I had to play well.

My asthma hadn't really bothered me in the other games. I mean, I had to use my inhaler-a lot, but otherwise I was okay.

Ten minutes from game time, my coach called me over.

"This team is good," he informed me. "Really good. They're fast, they're smart, and they're not afraid to take risks. The game is going to be tough."

I nodded.

"If you even feel a little short of breath, tell me or I swear I'll punch you so hard your asthma will be the least of your problems."

I tried to suppress a smile. "Sure, Coach."

"I'm not kidding," he warned.

"Yeah," I said, jogging backwards. "I know."

He was so kidding.

"Captains!"

I turned to run over to the referees.

"Winston," called Coach.

"Yeah?" I asked, glancing back at him.

"Don't lose."

"Wasn't planning on it."

Eighty minutes into the game, though, the score was 2-1 and we were losing. It really didn't help that I could barely breathe. But I didn't tell Coach; I couldn't stop playing. I didn't have much time left to get a scholarship and I had to use every minute given to me. Plus, it was the final. I was going to finish this game.

"Emmett!"

I knew what was coming, and I looked up to see an aerial ball heading towards the goal box from the right side. I began sprinting towards it, looking up to track the ball. One of the other teams' defenders was keeping pace with me, my lungs were protesting and I could barely breathe, but all I could think about was how awesome it would look if I volleyed the ball and scored.

And I did just that. Minus the scoring part. The ball went just over the crossbar.

I closed my eyes briefly, willing myself to jog back up the field as the other team prepared for a goal kick. Air rattled through my lungs and I started to cough. I put my hands on my knees and bent over, coughing.