“I’m a dick.” I wait for an answer that doesn’t come.

“Come on, buddy. You can tell me. Am I an asshole?”

From his perch on the couch, Cletus drops one ear and cocks his head. His tail flicks back and forth.

“Total ass?”

An excited whimper sounds from his snout as he jumps on my chest. And we have a winner. Total ass, it is.

But even assholes must take care of their pets. I roughhouse with Cletus, rubbing his belly and pretending to box with him. After he play-growls for a bit, I take him to the yard and run him through the weave poles, then in and out of tunnels on the agility course.

After twenty minutes, he’s panting hard, but he’s happy. I rub his head and scoop him up in my arms. “You’re a good boy.”

He rewards my compliment by licking my cheek. “That clearly means you don’t think I’m a dick at all.”

Another lick.

“I knew it. I’m not.”

But winning a dog’s love is easy. A woman’s is much more complex, and I wonder if Jillian thinks I’m an ass, since I’ve been dragging my feet. I should’ve called Ford, should’ve tracked him down this morning, because I sure as hell didn’t do that yesterday. We had a long practice, but that’s just an excuse.

I chose not to call him.

Because I’m fucking afraid.

I’m afraid like I’ve never been afraid before, and there’s no room in my life for fear since tomorrow is game day. I need to be in the zone, and only in the zone.

Even though the game is at home, we always stay at a hotel the night before, so I head to Trevor’s house to drop off the little dude. Cletus whines with excitement when he sees my brother. “Hey buddy, you want to hang out with your favorite Beckett tonight?” Trevor asks the pooch.

“I’m still his favorite person.” That came out more defensively than I intended.

“Just messing with you.” Trevor lifts his chin. “You okay? You look out of sorts. Did you talk to Ford yet?”

“No,” I spit out.

Trevor studies my face. “Are you having second thoughts?”

I shake my head. “No. No. No.”

He arches an eyebrow. Obviously, that was too much denial.

I’m not having second thoughts about loving Jillian, but I’m having truckloads of doubt about everything else in my life and how the hell to make it fit.

Seeing Garrett was a flashing neon sign that I could lose everything I’ve worked so hard for. Is dating Jillian a risk that could send me on the path to putting out feelers? Not directly. But I could lose other things if I’m with her, and I need to get some clarity on how to move forward with her and with football.

I need to be prepared for a worst-case scenario, but how the hell do I prep for that? Trouble is, I’m shaken to the core, and I don’t know how to put one foot in front of the other after what I learned about Garrett.

“Just a ton of stuff on my mind,” I mutter. “I’ll call Ford when my head is clear.”

Trevor claps me on the shoulder. “Good plan. Focus on the game and only the game.”

“Exactly.”

I take his advice, because if I let this weigh on me—what to say, how to say it—I’ll risk a fuck-up on the field tomorrow, and I can’t afford mistakes.

My secret sauce is focus, and in the last twenty-four hours, that skill has been slipping to an alarming degree.

At the hotel, I check in and shut myself in my room, guiltily grateful that Jillian’s not here tonight. Sometimes she stays at the game hotel, but the manager of PR is on duty tonight. That means I won’t be tempted to find her in her room, because God knows if I did, my remaining focus would be shredded like a credit report.

But total ass or not, I can’t leave her hanging. When I slide into bed, I tap out a text.

* * *

I lace up my cleats and adjust my pads. Rolling my shoulders back and forth, I repeat under my breath, “Ready. I’m ready.”

Harlan grabs his helmet from his locker. “You ready?”

That’s the question.

“Always.”

That’s the only answer.

He gives me a look. “Are you sure? You’re quieter today than usual. You haven’t busted my chops about a single thing.”

I could give him shit about being sensitive enough to notice my silence, but I’m in no mood. Instead, I blurt out, “Do you ever think about getting hurt?”

He tips his forehead in the direction of the stadium. “During a game?”

I nod.

“Of course.”

“What do you do about it?”

“Don’t write checks I can’t cash. Don’t make plays that are too risky. Do everything I can to make sure I don’t get in harm’s way.”

“But what if it happens anyway?”

“Then you deal with it, man. You just deal with it. Do I want it? Hell no. Do I think about it? Sure. Do I get out there and play as hard as I possibly can because that’s what I signed up for? Yes. Yes, I do.”

I let out a frustrated groan. “My head is a mess right now.”

“It’s game-time, man. That’s not a good state to be in.”

Pushing my thumb and forefinger against the bridge of my nose, I try mightily to shove away this awful feeling. If I thought jealousy was bad, it has nothing on sheer dread. “I ran into Garrett Snow. He’s done. Finished. Can’t play anymore.”

“That sucks,” Harlan says with a sympathetic sigh. “But it happens. It’s a risk we take. You have to find a way to get that out of your head right now.” He grabs my shoulder and squeezes, even though I can’t feel it through the pads. “We have a game to play. Just know I’m your brother-in-arms out there. I have the same worries.”

Some of the tension in me loosens. Maybe I needed to give voice to these fears to let them go.

He points to the exit. “When you go through that tunnel, you check them at the door. You leave it all behind because you put everything on the field. That’s our job. Let’s go do it.”

Offering a fist for knocking, I smack back. “Let’s do it.”

All I can do is what my father taught me. Give more than 100 percent. Give everything. This is what I’ve done my entire life on the field, and when I’m playing ball, I don’t have to worry about what to say or how to love a woman for the first time in my life. I do love Jillian. I’m madly in love with her.

But for the next sixty minutes, I have one job, and that job is to move the ball.

As soon as I run through the tunnel and onto the field, where I’m greeted by the cheers of our fifty thousand hometown fans, I leave everything behind.

It’s game-time.