Off the Field

Chapter Twenty-Four

Hi guys! Happy Easter to you all!! This has been a great break - I finally went and watched McFarland USA which was AMAZINGGG I loved it and definitely recommend it. And I also stayed up till 3 am one night writing this chapter...which is the last chapter of this book. I can't believe that I'm actually finishing this; it's really unreal. I'm not sure I'm happy with it - I'm gonna be editing soon, probably - but here it is. Please comment and let me know what you think of the ending and the book in general, characters and stuff - I need lots of critiques for editing.

Thank you SO much for reading this and sticking with my shaky updates! Love you all! Keep watch for new stuff hopefully coming soon :)

Gracias! <3 vb123321

Chapter Twenty-Four

"You playing in Finals, Coop?"

I thought if someone asked me that again I might explode. The guys were worried, I knew, about me and about their shot at winning, so I struggled to remain sane, but it hurt more than I cared to let on because every time the answer was the same: I don't know.

The next couple days after the victorious Semis were some of the hardest of my life. My dad had an uncanny way of knowing that I wasn't recovering as quickly from this concussion as usual, which had mixed consequences. On the one hand, I didn't have to take the history test that was waiting for me at school because I had massive headaches and a doctor's note to prove it. On the other, the headaches were keeping me off the field – and I hated it.

"How about practice tomorrow?" I asked Thursday night. I hovered in the doorway of my dad's office, half-in and half-out. "I swear I'll take it easy – just shoot some drills –"

"I don't know..." My dad ran a hand through his hair, looking tiredly at the stack of papers on his desk. "Your mother told me you had to take more ibuprofen after school today because your head hurt. I don't know if you should be exerting yourself yet."

"Everyone gets headaches." I shifted from foot to foot. "C'mon, I'll be careful."

He met my eyes doubtfully. "I don't know..."

I was sick of I don't know.

"You said I might be able to play Finals, didn't you? How the hell am I supposed to if I'm not even allowed to put on my cleats?"

"Daniel, don't swear at me," he said sharply, but he stopped as I exhaled in frustration and slumped against the doorframe, one hand gripping my hair. With a different expression, he got to his feet and moved away from his desk to stand next to me. "Listen, I know this is hard –"

"I should be fine now!" My anger and helplessness rose to the surface; I looked at him pleadingly. "I thought you're supposed to recover from concussions faster than this – I've never had headaches this long after –"

My dad put a hand on my shoulder. "You know the doctor said it was a bad one. At a certain point, your brain has to fight harder to bounce back. This is normal."

"Well, normal isn't good enough," I shot back, wiping a hand across my mouth. "What if it doesn't get better in time for next week? What if I can't play? I have to play, okay, I have to make up for last year –"

"Are you still beating yourself up over last year?" He shook my shoulder a little roughly, his mouth a thin line. "We've talked about this, Danny; no one blames you for that. Don't feel like you have to prove yourself to anyone, least of all to me."

I looked up at him in confusion, unsure if there was a compliment in there or not. He had a strange expression in his eyes as he studied my face, and after a moment he said, "All right, I'll make a deal with you. Come talk to me after school tomorrow, and if you tell me honestly how your head's feeling, I'll let you practice."