His eyes connect with mine, stony and cold.
“It’s not a compliment.”
Knew I got ahead of myself there.
“I’m just setting the context.” He glances sideways to the locker room, his gaze landing on Owen. Then he beckons me to follow him onto the field. “You’re looking good because we have the worst defense in the league.”
I cringe when he says that. It’s not Owen’s fault. The team is young and inexperienced. They need more time. They need a coach who will care about them.
“I think—”
He raises his hand. “We don’t pay you for coaching advice, Evans. Especially when you have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”
I take a step back, gripping my helmet. I might not have any experience in the NFL, but I took St. Michael’s to the playoffs every year I played, and the national championship twice. I know this game better than anything.
“Coach.”
“No. You listen. I need you focused. Every other defense in the league would’ve put your ass in the ground and sent you back to the bench where you belong. Do you want that to be your NFL debut?”
“No.”
“Then fucking work harder.”
“Yes, Coach,” I say with a clenched jaw.
He points his clipboard in my face. “Make this session count, or your little adventure with your non-girlfriend is going to be the least of your problems.”
I stare at the clipboard in my face before looking him dead in the eye. “I know exactly what’s on the line.” My grip tightens around my helmet. “That’s why I’m still here.”
His eyes narrow as he drops the clipboard. “Good. Because the second football stops being your first priority, they’ll replace you without blinking.”
“Understood.”
“Good. Now go out and practice.”
He stalks onto the field, leaving me behind as the rest of the players filter out to join us. My fingers tighten on my helmet, butthat’s all the emotion I allow myself to show. Never in my life have I experienced a coach so... incompetent.
I thought trash-talking the players had phased out of the league, but I’m starting to learn more than ever why the Raptors underperform.
A little yelling won’t stop me, though. I’m going to work hard and prove to that idiot that this team is worth something.
As I jog out to the field, Reese and Dax catch up, flanking me on both sides.
Neither of them says anything at first, but I can feel them looking at me.
Dax finally nudges my shoulder with his. “I’m just trying to figure out if we should be planning your funeral or not.”
“Depends,” Reese says casually from my other side. “Did Coach threaten your career or your actual life this time?”
I huff out a small laugh despite being annoyed. “Little bit of both.”
Dax winces. “Damn, and here I was about to ask you to acknowledge that I make your coffee in the morning and throw to me more often.”
“I throw to whoever’s open.”
“Right, but I'm open more.”
Reese laughs on my other side.
