Just One of the Guys
Chapter Seven

Nash

"Blue, forty-two. Blue, forty-two. Hut, hut," Bryer yells, moments before he hikes the ball to Shelton. At the snap, I take off down the field, readying myself to catch the ball as Shelton throws it. He's got a damn good arm and hits his target ninety-nine percent of the time. There's a reason he's one of the most sought after QB's in College ball, but he's nothing if not loyal to his hometown team. He's a legacy, his family having attended school here at A&M for as many generations back as the school has been in existence. That's one hundred and forty-five fucking years of loyalty out of the Watlington family.

As I near the twenty yard line, I look over my left shoulder and ready my hands to catch the ball as I watch it falling from the sky, straight towards me. Like I said, the guy is bloody good. Reaching up, the ball lands right in my palms and I grasp ahold of it, cradling the leather covered ball to my chest as if it were a baby I dart to the right, narrowly missing being tackled by one of my teammates as I inch closer to the endzone with every step I take.

*Ten more yards*, I think to myself as I pick up my speed, my sights set on making a touchdown. *Seven more yards, five, thre-fuck!* Suddenly, I'm sailing through the air, then landing hard against the astroturf. All my breath is forced from my lungs as I land hard, and my chest aches as I gasp, trying to get in even the slightest breath of air. A large, heavy body settles over me for a moment, before hitting the ground next to me.

"Fuck!" The guy moans, a pained edge to the curse, that causes me to turn my head towards him, realizing that it's Martinez.

"You okay, man?" I ask, noticing him grabbing ahold of his right knee.

"My knee..." is all that he manages to get out before I hear Coach's voice.

"You boy's okay?" he says, stopping next to Martinez and kneeling down so that he's able to get a better look at what's going on.

"Hey, Orio," he hollars, glancing towards the sidelines, he must get Orion's attention because he continues to say, "get the medic, Martinez fucked up his knee."

A chorus of "dammit", "shit", and "fuck" can be heard from several of my teammates as they huddle around the two of us.

Feeling stupid that I'm still laying down with everyone surrounding us, I sit up and get a better look at Martinez's knee and see that it's now swollen to twice the size of his other knee. "You okay, Jennings?" Coach asks, glancing up from Martinez just as I replace my knees.

Pulling my helmet off and sitting it on the ground next to me, I nod at the coach, "Yeah, just had the wind knocked out of me. I'm good."

Just then Orion and the team medic stop next to Coach, the medic automatically getting to work cutting up the leg of the joggers that Martinez wore for practice.

"Fuck, those were my favorite joggers..." Martinez growls, placing his hands at the top of his head, then groans and begins holding his breath as the medic begins messing with his knee.

"Alright guys, let's just call it for the night." Coach says, glancing around at all of us as we continue to huddle around Martinez, practice forgotten.

"He's gonna need to get x-rays on this knee, Coach," the medic says, drawing his attention away from the lot of us and back to Martinez.

Not a single one of us makes a move, and he must sense our reluctance to leave our injured teammate, "there's nothing that you can do boys. Hit the showers. I'll update with his status as soon as I know what we're dealing with here." Coach says, shooing us with a motion of his hands, but turning his attention back to whatever the medic is telling him.

Turning, we all begin making our way off of the field and toward the locker room.

"Fuck, I hope he's okay," I mutter to myself.

"It's a risk we take every time we step out onto the field," Bryer says, putting his hand on my shoulder and squeezing a little bit, "but I hope to fuck he's okay, too. He's a damn good player, I'd hate to see him miss his Senior season due to an injury."

"I just feel bad, he was going after me," I say as we stop at our lockers, grabbing our toiletries.

"Not your fault, man," he says, training his piercing green eyes on me, "don't let it get you down."

I just nod, unable to shake the feeling and follow him to the showers.

"Good job out there," Coach says as I exit the locker room, pulling my phone out of my back to call Em and let her know that I'm heading home, "You would never know that you've never played before. You're a natural." "Thanks, Coach," I say, nodding my appreciation as I pull up Em's contact, "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yep. Have a good night, Nash." Coach says, clapping me on the back before making his way on into the locker room.

I press dial on Em's name and put the phone to my ear, listening as it continues to ring over and over again before her voicemail picks up, "Hey, just letting you know that I'm heading home. I'll see you here shortly," I hesitate a moment, feeling silly since I'll see her in about ten minutes, but still feel the need to say those three little words, "I love you, baby. Bye."

"Nash, wait up," Shelton says, as he begins jogging to catch up with me, "I'll walk with you."

"Oh, I'm just going home," I say awkwardly.

"Yeah, I figured." At my questioning look, he chuckles, "I live a few houses down from you and your girl. She's cute, by the way. What's her name?"

I raise my eyebrows in surprise, not having expected anyone that I knew to live near us.

"Um, Emerson, and thanks," I reply, not really knowing how to respond.

"How long have you two been together?" He asks, trying to make conversation and fill the silence surrounding us.

"We started dating our sophomore year," I say, remembering our cover story. It simultaneously feels like I've known her for that long and yet, not that long at all. Which makes sense, considering we've actually only been together for about seven months, not the three years that our cover suggests.

"A couple of years then," he says with a nod of his head and a sad smile that makes me think he wishes he had someone for more than just a momentary release.

"Actually," I say, chuckling, as we turn onto our street and spot my house, confusion filling me at seeing that it doesn't look like there are any lights on inside. "It was our sophomore year of High School. I'm only a freshman."

His head whips around, a look of shock on his face at that revelation, "fuck, man! Seriously?" I just nod in response, "I thought you were older than that."

"Nope," I mutter, becoming distracted as I try to figure out why there aren't any lights on.

We're silent for a bit as we get closer to my house, Shelton bends down and picks up a bag from the middle of the street that I immediately recognize as Em's.

"What the fuck?" I growl, snatching her bag away from him and glancing around the street, not understanding why her bag was left in the middle of the road. A bad feeling overtakes me and I take off in a dead sprint towards my house. "What's wrong?" Shelton asks from right behind me.

"This bag is Em's, something is wrong." I say as I rip the screen door open, replaceing the front door still locked. "Fuck!" I shout, fear lancing through me as I pull my key from my pocket and shove it into the handle and shove the door open. "Em?" I holler her name as I rush through the front room, checking each room until I'm at the back of the house, no sign of her anywhere. "Fuck!" I growl, pulling my phone from my pocket and immediately dialing Hernandez's number. "Hernandez," he says, in lieu of greeting.

"She's gone!" I state, cutting him off from anything else he may have said, "I can't replace her."

"What do you mean?" He asks, concern lacing his tone.

"I mean, she's gone!" I growl, burying my free hand in my hair and pulling, "Her backpack was abandoned in the middle of the road, she's not home, and she's not answering her phone!"

"Okay, son, calm down. Let's not jump to conclusions." Hernandez says, trying to placate me.

"Where is he?" I ask, the fear that her father has gotten to her more real than anything else that I've experienced since the loss of my sister. "W-what if...what if h-he-"

"Calm down!" Hernandez demands, cutting me off, "If she is missing, we will do our damndest to replace her and get to the bottom of this."

"I..." I gasp, a sob escaping me as I kneel to the floor, images of worst case scenarios flooding my mind. Memories of how I found Karissa melding with those of Em until they are one and the same. "I can't lose her." I manage to whisper out, unsure if he's even able to hear me.

"I'll do my best to ensure that that doesn't happen, Son." Hernandez says softly, "That girl is like a daughter to me, and I will do everything I can to make sure that she comes back home to you."

"Th-thank you, S-sir." I hiccup in the middle of saying sir, my emotions overwhelming me.

"I'll be in touch," he says and then the line goes dead. Sliding my phone from my ear, I fall to my ass on the hardwood floor and bury my head in my hands at my knees as all of the hurt from my sister, and everything that Averi and I have gone through since we met, along with the overwhelming fear that I will never see her again consumes me.

"Umm..." The voice and the creaking of floorboards startles me, reminding me that I hadn't been alone when I arrived back home, "should we, ya know, call the cops or something?" Shelton asks, coming to kneel down next to me, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.

Releasing a sigh, I shake my head, not even knowing what to say. *What can I say? If this isn't in relation to her father, I would be risking revealing our identities.*

"No," I mutter and lift my head to look over my shoulder at the man kneeling next to me, "that was a detective that I was speaking with. He will take care of everything."

"You have a detective on your speed dial?" he asks, looking dumbfounded.

"I" I start to say, but am cut off by the ping of an incoming text. Glancing from Shelton down to the screen, I see that it's a message from Hernandez.

**Hernandez: I've got the cops on their way. For the time being, maintain your cover. We don't know that this is in relation to her father and don't want to compromise the two of you if it isn't. Answer any and all questions the best that you can with the backstory that we gave you. Let me know if there is anything more that I can help with, or if I need to step in.** **Hernandez: Good luck, Son.**

**Nash: Thank you.**

"He's an old friend of Em's," I say, in way of explanation, which is not exactly a lie, just not exactly the full truth either, "fuck!" "You going to be okay, man?" Shelton asks, after a few minutes of awkward silence.

"Fuck, man. I don't even know." I tell him honestly, not even able to think beyond the right now.

Looking around the kitchen, everywhere I look I see memories of Em and I. Taking her against the counter when we first moved in, how we made it a point to christen every single room and surface that we could replace, some more than once. Her dancing and singing along with some Taylor Swift song, using a wooden spoon as a microphone as she belted out the lyrics and shook her hips along with the beat.

The night we got caught in the rain on our way back from exploring town, and completely drenched, we made love on the rug in the living room floor, erasing the cold that had settled into our bones from the rain and bringing warmth to our bodies as we ground against one another.

"Everywhere I look, all that I see is her." I mutter, glancing at Shelton for a moment, groaning at the thought of going to bed and her not lying there next to me, not having her body pressed up next to mine as we drift off to sleep. The sound of sirens in the distance alerts me that the cops are on their way, "will you stay here while I talk with the cops, they may want to speak with you too, since you were with me when I realized she was missing." "I'll stay here as long as you'd like me to," he says, a sad look in his eyes, "I know what it's like. What you're going through..." he mutters cryptically.

"What do you mean?" I ask as the first cruiser stops in front of the house.

"Let's get this over with first," he says, standing up and nodding towards the front door, "we can talk more after."

"Thanks, man” I say, genuinely grateful for him being here with me as we head towards the front door, crossing the threshold just as an officer reaches the first step of the porch. "Nash Jennings?" He asks, looking back and forth between Shelton and me.

"Yes, sir. That would be me," I say, stepping forward and grasping ahold of his hand and shaking it before releasing it and dropping my hand back to my side.

"I'm Officer Kirkwood. Do you mind if we step inside to talk?" he asks, nodding behind me.

"Not at all," I reply, stepping back, and moving out of his way, dread filling me at the thought of all of the lies that are fixing to roll off of my tongue in order to maintain our cover. *Please, dear God, please be okay, baby*, I pray as I follow the officer into the house, a second officer that I hadn't noticed joining us, drawing up the rear.

"Okay, Son," Kirkwood says, pulling out a notepad from his pocket, "if you wouldn't mind, just start at the beginning..."