“Wilfork!” he barks across the field.
The entire defense stops. Owen slows near the sidelines, his shoulders tightening before he turns to face Coach.
Masters storms toward him with his clipboard tucked under his arm, already talking before he fully reaches him. I can’t hear every word from here, but I catch enough of it.
“You’re too fucking slow.... missed multiple assignments... unacceptable leader.”
Just like earlier, Owen stands there, taking it. He doesn’t even try to defend himself; he just stares ahead while Coach tears into him in front of everyone.
The energy shifts around us. Guys suddenly become very interested in their gloves. Their cleats. The turf.
Nobody wants to watch, but everyone’s trying to listen.
Dax clears his throat loudly beside me. “Alright,” he says, clapping his hands once. “Who wants tacos?”
A few heads snap toward him.
“What?” Reese asks dryly.
“I’m serious,” Dax says, rubbing his belly, trying to make a show of himself. No doubt so they’ll forget about Owen. “I’mstarving, morale is low, and I think we all deserve tacos after surviving this practice.”
That gets a couple of tired laughs from nearby players.
“You buying, Dax?” someone calls.
“Absolutely not,” Dax says immediately. “I’m emotionally supportive, not financially supportive.”
More guys start chiming in after that, the tension easing just enough for people to finally look away from Owen.
“We’ll head in,” Reese says quietly to me after a minute.
I nod once.
Dax follows his gaze toward Owen, immediately understanding that I’m waiting.
“Don’t take too long,” he says. “Because if Reese starts ordering for everyone again, we’re all ending up with grilled chicken and sadness.”
Reese rolls his eyes. “You ate all of it.”
“Against my will.”
I shake my head as they jog toward the tunnel with the rest of the team. I pretend to be busy looking through plays on one of the iPads.
Soon the field starts emptying out until only a handful of coaches remain scattered near the sidelines.
Owen is the only player left, still getting ripped apart by Coach Masters.
“Evans?” I glance over to see Coach Smith approaching.
Unlike Masters, Coach Smith actually looks at people when he talks to them.
“You heading in?” he asks.
“In a minute.” My eyes drift back toward Owen. “Just waiting on something.”
He follows my gaze and sighs quietly. “He’s hard on you guys.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
