I pause, just for a second, then I shout, “Let’s go to work and show Coach Masters how badly he fucked up.”
My team cheer, high-fiving each other as they push to their feet and we head toward the tunnel to the game that could change everything.
Dax claps his hand on my shoulder. “Nice speech, Z. Will you give me a pep talk like that before my date with Whit?”
“What date?” Reese interjects.
“The one I’ve planned in my head for when she texts me back.”
“And how long ago did you text her?”
“Two weeks.”
“I think you’re just going to have to take the L on this one.”
Dax brings his gloved hand to his chest. “Ouch. Way to wound a man.”
“Please. I think your ego could use a knock.” Reese bumps me on the side. “Try not to overthrow me this time.”
“Run faster,” I shoot back automatically.
As they jog toward the tunnel, I glance over my shoulder, and Owen is just getting up from the bench. I stop and turn. He rolls his neck and picks up his helmet.
“We got this,” I say to him.
He nods. “Yeah.” Then, without another word, he jogs past me, heading for the tunnel.
Once everyone else is out, I pull my helmet on and walk behind the rest of the team.
The tunnel is dark, but the rumbling of the stadium is already working its way through my body.
2-12...
Let's change the narrative.
The noise gets louder. The light at the end of the tunnel gets brighter.
I stop thinking and step out onto the field.
The New York Night Owls are already out, as I head to our bench.
My gaze drifts over to our competitors on the other side of the field. With a 10-4 record, they’re doing a hell of a lot better than we are and have a real chance at getting a playoff spot if they win tonight.
This game matters to them, but what they don't realize is that it matters to me more.
As I scan the bench for their quarterback, one of their players is frantically waving at the side, which gets my attention.
“What the—” I mutter just as the player takes off his helmet. The second I see the dirty blond hair and wide smile, I laugh. “Fucking, Sebi.”
I hold back a smile, instead I lift my chin in acknowledgement instead. He lifts his hand, and mouths, ‘what the fuck?!’
I wave him off, and he drops his hands, shaking his head, acting like I’ve mortally offended him. I roll my eyes. He’s acting like we aren’t meeting for drinks after the game. I’ll be more friendly then. Right now, I need to focus on beating his ass.
Coach Smith walks up beside me. “You doing the coin toss tonight?”
I nod, standing. “Then get out there.” He whacks my ass with his iPad to hurry me up.
I pull my helmet on and jog to the fifty, where Mason Moreland—another one of my old college teammates—is already waiting for me. Interesting choice. It’s usually the quarterback handling this, not the center, but I know exactly why they sent him out here.
