“Fucking unfair,” Jordan muttered under his breath.
“No, he’s right,” Coach said. He wasn’t a bellowing presence in the room, almost never yelled. Was most effective when he was deploying this mystical fucking look that made it look like you’d disappointed him so epically that you could only redeem yourself by fixing it for next time.
He was one of the best coaches Nate had ever had.
“Still bullshit,” Jordan said, raising his voice more.
In the two years since they’d been together, Nate had gotten to know Coach Dell and felt like he was even pretty good at predicting what he’d do in any given situation.
Coach turned to Nate. “You wanna tell him why?”
Oh, he sure fucking did.
“Sure, Acker was running his mouth. He’s been at this a long time. Not surprisingly he knows how to get a rise out of you. Couldn’t beat you on the ground, maybe, so he goes to the next best thing. He makes you lose your fucking temper. Which you did, spectacularly.”
Coach Dell nodded, mild expression on his face still, and Nate let him take over from there. “And you know what’s gonna happen when that goes down in a game?”
Jordan glowered. He didn’t need to answer, because this had been one of the cons on his draft sheet. Coach and Sterling and him had dug in on all their new rookies, and Jordan’s temper—on and off the field, on top of his stupid antics—had been an undeniable red flag. But their GM and Coach Dell, too, had thought they could work on it. Could fix it, even. “Lots of guys think they’re hot shit in college,” Dell had pointed out quietly. “And they adjust to the NFL fine. He just needs a strong mentor.”
Nate had stupidly assumed that would be Sterling but of course it hadn’t been.
“I’ll tell you what happens,” Coach said when Jordan didn’t answer. His tone had grown firmer. Not quite steely, but intent. The tone he used when you weregoingto pay attention to what he said, or else suffer the consequences. “The guy’s gonna bullshit you the whole game. He’s gonna push you. And then at the worst moment, when we get a third down stop we really fucking need, he’s going to pull it out, the comment you can’t handle, and you’re going to get flagged. Automatic first down. And if you really lose it, like you did today, you’re looking at an ejection. Fines. Game suspension, even.”
At least Jordan looked partially cowed by that concise recitation of possible events.
So far, he hadn’t gotten more than a handful of penalties and none of them had been ones they couldn’t ultimately afford.
But that would change.
“And,” Coach Dell added, tone going pure steel now, even though he never once raised his voice, “that is your teammate over there. He’s your brother-in-arms. And if you ever lay one hand on one of your brothers again, I will make you wish you didn’t get up this morning. Is that clear?”
Jordan ducked his head.
“What was that?” Coach Dell asked pleasantly.
“Yes, Coach.” When he raised his head, Nate decided Jordan looked at leastmostlycontrite. There was still a temper burning in his eyes. Embarrassment, maybe. Humiliation that he’d been called out like that by his coach.
Nate wasn’t sure how he’d respond to that. If it would be now, or if he’d wait, slow-burning coals banked in his stomach.
He’d need to keep an eye.
Fuck. An evenclosereye.
Coach Dell nodded, and he walked off.
“Don’t say it,” Jordan ground out.
“I wasn’t going to say shit,” Nate said. “You ready to get back to the drill or do you need another minute?”
Jordan looked over at where Ross was standing, looking fairly relaxed from his posture.
“I’m good,” he said.
“Okay.” But Nate wasn’t going to be stupid and just observe. He wasn’t a linebacker, but he tapped himself into the drill anyway.
Jordan kept it together, at least, and then practice ended.
Nate hoped that he’d heard the last of it from Aidan but on his walk up to the locker room entrance, Aidan swooped in at the last second.
