"Tell me about the pressure, Daniel," I said, leaning forward on my desk and resting my elbows against the dark leather pad. The leather was cool under my forearms. It grounded me. Daniel mirrored me without thinking. He rested his forearms on his broad knees, head bowed.
Those hands—calloused, built to catch footballs under stadium lights—were trembling. Not much. Just a faint shake at the fingertips."It's the expectations," he admitted softly, looking up through dark, heavy lashes. "Every coach, every scout, every guy on the squad expects me to be unstoppable. On the field.
He gave a short, humorless laugh. "When I feel like I'm falling short, I try to fix it myself. I stay up half the night."I leaned back slightly, tilting my head. The chair shifted under me. "What does staying up loo
