Free Over the Middle: A Sports Romance by Lauren Landish Page B

in the metal side, but doing nothing to relieve my frustration. I head into the locker room and get strapped up, still not sure what's going on inside me.
    We get the kickoff, and jogging out to the huddle, I'm off balance. Normally, I'm the guy who's settled down while the defense are the ones who are pressed out of control, but this time, I'm the one bordering on the edge, seeing red, and we haven't even started.
    "Duncan? Hey, Duncan!"
    "What?" I ask, growling. "Just get me the fucking ball," I hiss, going up to the line. I drop my hand down and look across to the Clement defensive end, sneering. "You're my bitch."
    "We'll see," the end sneers back, and suddenly, the ball snaps. I'm caught off guard. Isn't the play supposed to be on two? The end fires off the line and plasters me, driving me back and down to the turf before I'm barely out of my stance. Tyler, who was expecting me to release to the outside, is forced to throw across his body to our split end on the other side, who at least caught it for a three-yard gain. "You’re gonna have a long fucking day, boy."
    The words are no joke, as at halftime, I have no catches, and I've spent more time on my back than I have since freshman year. Jogging down the tunnel to the locker room, I'm pissed, and we're losing, fourteen to ten.
    "Duncan, you okay today?" Tyler asks me after Coach Bainridge gets done chewing out the offense's collective asses. He's quiet, and the long streak of dirt on the front of his shirt shows that he's not the only one who's taken a few hits out there so far. "Seriously, you sick or something?"
    "Or something," I say, and Tyler nods. He opens his mouth, and I hold up my hand. "Don't ask."
    "I won't, but I need to know. If you're fucked up, I need to check down faster, go to the other options," Tyler says. I feel kinda bad for him. His stats are nearly as horrible as mine, and our only touchdown is because our special teams ran back a punt to the four-yard line, so close a child could have punched it in for a touchdown. "Do I need to check down?"
    "You do what you need to do,” I say, still pissed. "We'll take care of it in the second half, okay?"
    "All right," Tyler says, but I can see he's not convinced. He moves off and starts a discussion with Coach T and some of the other guys for the rest of halftime while I stew.
    The second half starts, and our defense stuffs the Clement offense for a three and out, so we're ready to go soon. Going out to the huddle, I can see it in the eyes of everyone in the huddle. They're not confident in me, and it pisses me off more.
    I line up, ready to go. Tyler’s called the same play that got me injured in the Green and White Game. The problem is that my route is a crossing route right over the middle of the defense, supposedly at a depth that is too deep for the linebackers but too shallow for the safeties to jump on things. If I run it right, it's a great seam route. If the linebackers are on it, I can get laid out, especially if the pass is high.
    The ball snaps, and I cut across the middle. Tyler takes his three-step drop and releases the ball, just a little high, but you expect that with a pass over the middle of the line. I go up for the ball. It's still a few feet from me . . .
    I get blasted in the chest and chin, throwing me to the turf so hard and fast, the wind is knocked out of me. I look up to see Nick Hostler grinning at me, but he takes off before I can do anything, and I realize that Tyler's pass has been intercepted and we're scrambling to stop the free safety who caught the ball from doing anything.
    My sights are on Nick Hostler, who's trying to block for his teammate. I charge at him, but he's too far ahead, and the Clement safety goes in standing up for a touchdown. I see the ref raise his hands, and I can't hold it back any more. "Touchdown? What the fuck do you mean touchdown?" I scream into his face. "Were you so fucking blind you missed the pass interference?”
    "Back off, 83," the ref