6. Chapter 5

I walk into the locker room dreading the guys teasing about this whole Brie thing. It's not the first time that a woman and I have been the subject of gossip. Normally the back and forth with the guys is fun, but this is Brie and I'm not sure how I'm going to handle them ribbing me about her. It's not that I'm into her, it's that I've always been protective of her from the moment she moved in with Marie and Rich after her parents died.

She was so sad, and I just remember wanting more than anything to make her smile. Making her smile and laugh was something I lived for when she came to visit with her parents before the accident. She was always so happy. But after her parents died her eyes were red rimmed, filled with sadness, and haunted. It took months before she could smile again, even just a little.

When school started, Susie and I made a pact to protect Brie. We warned everyone that if anyone was mean to her they'd have to answer to me. It worked, except for that one time with Johnny Smith, but after that incident everyone thought twice.

Now she's being gossiped about and all I want to do is fix it. I know better than anyone how this type of thing can affect you. Knowing Brie, she'll be able to handle it, but I still hate that I put her in this position. Sometimes my family and friends pay the price for my career choice.

I'm used to the press, it comes with being a professional football player. Brie isn't.

"Hey hashtag Briosh! Wanna tell us what's going on with this hot new girl of yours?" Derek Michaels, my quarterback, starts off the jabs.

"I noticed she was wearing my jersey," Johnson throws in. "Maybe it's me she really wants and you're just a replacement."

The laugh that comes out of me is short and I feel my shoulders tighten. I know Johnson is joking but he doesn't know that Brie wearing his jersey is a sore spot. Get over it Owens, you don't have feelings for Brie.

"Keep telling yourself that Johnson, Brie has a soft spot for kickers. She feels like you don't get enough recognition. Think of her wearing your jersey as pity, not desire."

"WOOOOOOO," comes a collective taunt from the team.

"Owens throwing down fighting words," Darius pitches in. "Sorry Johnson, but I watched the video. I would say that the first part of hashtag Briosh only has eyes for the second part. Whoever recorded that video caught the heat coming off the two of them. I was waiting for the video to burst into flames." He blows on his fingers.

"I've known Brie forever, there isn't any—"

"Owens," Coach McGee interrupts before I can finish. "In my office."

"Sure, Coach." I put my duffle bag in my locker and head over to Coach's office. For some reason I can't get this smirk off my face.

"Owens, how"s the shoulder?"

"A bit sore, but okay." It hurts, but I'm not telling Coach that. This is the final year of my contract. Getting a new one with the Mavericks is what I want. I grew up in Pleasant Hollow, Colorado, I want to finish my career with the team that I rooted for as a kid. That means that this season will determine if that happens or if I end up somewhere else. An injury right now is not helping that scenario.

"I want you to head down to physical therapy and have Shawn work with you. I'm also having them schedule a CT Scan, MRI, and possibly an ultrasound."

"That's not necessary, Coach. I'm fine—"

"You're not fine, Owens. You forget that I know you. Yesterday after that hit you struggled to get back on the field, and when you were on the field you lost your temper. You only do that when you"re frustrated, or in pain. And it wasn't frustration."

I sigh as I think how an injury could waylay my season. Playing for another team isn't a horrible thing, it's just that I love being able to spend time with my family and the Woodburys. Weekly dinners, grilling, having them come to the games. That would all change if I had to play somewhere else.

"Look, Owens, I know you"re worried about how this will affect your contract. Heck, I'm worried about what having to sideline my number one receiver will mean." He intentionally comes over and grips my injured shoulder to prove that I'm hurting and I wince. "But you hurting yourself even more is worse for everyone. Understand?"

"Yes, Coach."

"Good. Now head down to PT and let them do some work on you. They will let you know when the tests will happen. And Josh?"

"Yeah, Coach?"

"Congratulations on becoming a bread." I scrunch my forehead as I try to figure out what he's talking about. Then the laughter falls from my lips. "Her name is Brie too, right?"

"Yeah, hashtag Briosh is not a thing. You know how those gossip rags are." I wave a hand dismissively.

"If you say so," he says as he looks down at the papers on his desk. I stare at him, Coach rarely brings up what gossip columns say and now I'm curious. "Anything else, Josh?"

"No, I'm good," and then I hear myself asking. "Coach?"

"Yeah?"

I hesitate. "Nothing." I changed my mind. There is nothing to talk about.

"You sure?" He arches a brow.

"Yeah. Sorry, the injury is just playing with my mind."

"Gotcha," he says looking back down at the papers on his desk. "Head down to PT and let's see what they have to say."

"Will do. Thanks, Coach."

By the time I get back to the locker room everyone is in the weight room doing their "easy" Monday workout.

I head over to PT worrying about what might be wrong with my shoulder. When it comes to injuries as a receiver, a shoulder injury is not good. Being able to extend your arms and catch is essential.

As fear of the unknown overwhelms me, thoughts of #Briosh get pushed aside.

Physical Therapy didn't go like I had hoped. Shawn is concerned about my injury and scheduled the CT scan and MRI for first thing tomorrow morning. He's worried that the injury itself is more than a sprain based on some of the instability he felt.

I'm definitely in more pain than I was when I injured my other shoulder. He has me doing strengthening exercises for now, and we'll know more after the scans tomorrow. My head is spinning. It's not like me to panic but I'm truly worried about what this means for my future with the Mavericks.

Being traded or playing for other teams is part of the career I've chosen. I know that and I'm not sure why the idea of having to play somewhere else bothers me so much. Yeah, I wouldn't get to see my family as much, but I could fly in pretty frequently. My feelings around this aren't making sense.

I change into some shorts and a t-shirt. I need to work some of this nervous energy off. I pop in my earbuds, start my ‘80s workout playlist and head out of the house for a run. I pass through Main Street and head out to the road that leads toward the interstate. It's the perfect fall day for a run. Cool breeze, leaves just starting to change colors, and blue skies.

"Burning Heart" by Survivor starts playing just as I turn onto route 512. The only thing in front of me is road and corn fields. The wind rushes past me and I feel the tension ebb from my body as the endorphins kick in.

Up ahead I see a blue Volkswagen Jetta on the side of the road with the hood up. A woman with long chestnut hair and glints of red walks from in front of the car. I feel a smile creep across my face. Just then Brie turns and looks down the street. I know the moment she realizes it's me. She crosses her arms over her chest and leans back against her car.

"Go ahead Owens. Make fun of me. I know you're dying too."

"It's your lucky day. I'm not in a teasing mood." Her eyes widen in surprise. "Do you need any help?"

She reaches out and touches my forehead. "Are you feeling okay?" I swat her hand away as my heart races at her touch. The heat from her hand still lingers.

"I'm fine. Geez. Can't I just be nice. Did you run out of gas again?"

"Ladies and gentleman, he's back." She rolls her eyes. "No, I didn't run out of gas."

I stare at her with wide eyes and she laughs. She's notorious for running out of gas. I don't know how many times she's been stuck on the side of the road swearing that it's something else.

"I swear. My gauge says I have a half tank," I open my phone and look up Bill's, our local mechanic, contact.

"Who are you calling?" Brie asks.

"Bill so he can bring you gas."

She laughs and swats at me. "I'm not out of gas," she yells.

"Sure you're not." I smirk as she sticks her tongue out at me.