I stepped in-between him and the crew. “If you can all please make your way to the press room, we will have full interviews with the players, including Leo Hernandez who is setting up now. Holden will be in later. Thank you.”

I didn’t wait for them to start shouting more questions despite me telling them we were done on the field before I was ushering Holden away — which was comical, since he towered over me and was at least twice my mass.

“Thank you,” he uttered as we moved through the crowd.

“You know, you’re bigger than me. You could have stopped that way before I did.”

“I don’t want to be rude. I’m captain. If anyone needs to field the rabid reporters, it’s me.”

I smiled. “You’re too good for the world, Holden Moore.”

When we finally got to the tunnel that led into the stadium, security warded off anyone not on or with the team. Holden ambled toward the locker room while I set straight for the press room.

It was only maybe sixty seconds, that walk of quiet, but it was just enough to let my mind drift to Clay.

A month.

It’d been almost a month since we broke up, and I still couldn’t think of him without my entire body curling in on itself. I wasn’t lying around broken and pathetic, but I was certainly far from moved on, far from forgetting him or even so much as thinking about trying to date someone else.

Every time I saw him out on the field, my heart warmed with the desire to cheer him on, to be the one he ran to after the game, the one he swept into his arms. Then, I’d hate myself for it, and do everything I could to avoid him — only to be sick when I didn’t see him even more than when I did.

I pretended like I didn’t notice him when my every sense was tuned into him, so much so that I had more than a few questions burning into my brain. One of the most pressing was why I hadn’t seen him with Maliyah in over a week now. She no longer hung onto him after every practice, or tried to suck his face off after a game.

They seemed friendly, cordial, but… not romantic.

Why I was so engrossed in the details, I didn’t know. Masochism was something I was becoming well-suited for, I supposed.

But today, it had been especially impossible to ignore him.

He’d had quite possibly the most monster game of his career. He had not one interception, not two, but three — and one of them he ran back for a touchdown. He was on fire, and I knew the reporters would be clamoring to talk to him after that.