Page 8 of Pack End Game

Shoes.

There might not be time to make myself more presentable, but I do need footwear that won't cause me to sprain an ankle on the way to the stadium. To get to Milo for half-time, I'm going to have to–I hate to even think the word–run.

I rush to the entryway closet and drop to my knees to dig through my accumulation of shoes that have been deemed unworthy of a place in my bedroom closet. For once, fate smiles upon me, and I quickly come up for air triumphantly in possession of a pair of bright white sneakers in unworn condition. They look a little silly when I lace them up over my fuzzy, striped socks, but I'm dedicated to choosing function over form on this singular occasion.

Love for my brother spurs me on as I spare a few precious seconds to grab three necessities: my phone, keys, and the coat I can't bear to leave behind.

My outfit is a complete disaster, with the fuzzy socks, space ship pajama pants, food-stained college sweatshirt, and hair pulled up in a tangled knot on top of my head. No one is going to think twice about the fact that I'm also wearing an oversized men's coat.

Chapter Three

Zak

"The other teams in the league like to put us down for being Sloths. They think we're slow and weak. Stupid. But we're not stupid, are we, Sloths?" Our head coach's face is a dark shade of red as he stands in the center of the locker room, his gaze circling the team.

"No!" we shout collectively, practiced in this part of our pre-game pep talk.

"Sloths move slowly to conserve energy and avoid being detected by predators," Coach continues. "They're comfortable being underestimated. They know what it takes to survive the game, isn't that right?"

"Yes, Coach!" we shout even louder, the general energy of the room amping up as Coach fires us up with shaking fists and the Nature Channel-worthy spiel he started the year our team was established.

Coach Lamb's ridiculous locker room speeches are usually one of my favorite parts of game day, second only to the moment where my pack gets home and collapses on the couch together until one of us–usually me–works up the energy to order a late dinner to be delivered. Today I can barely seem to focus on the words, a restless energy buzzing under the surface of my skin.

I take a long pull from my water bottle, but the ice water does nothing to cool me down. Spencer catches my eye from the other side of the locker room. He looks as restless as I feel, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

An antsy quarterback isn't good news on game day.

This is our last game before facing off against our biggest rivals, and the only team in the league whose mascot gets them laughed at more than us, the New England Crabs. Both of our teams joined the pro league only three years ago, creating an instant rivalry between the two fan bases in their infancy. Our teams do enough trash talking leading up to our games that if you weren't in the know, you'd assume we've spent decades as rivals.

Our upcoming game against the Crabs is probably why we're both on edge. The team we're playing tonight is ranked one spot above the Crabs, and we're currently ranked just behind both. Everyone will make assumptions about how we'll play in the rivalry game based on our performance tonight. This is our chance to prove we deserve to be ranked higher than our rivals going into that match-up.

Coach takes a deep breath and raises his hands, commanding all of us to be still and quiet for dramatic effect. The locker room falls silent as anticipation builds up for the last few moments before we go out and take the field. A shit-eating grin crosses Coach's face.

"Let's get out there, team, and show everyone what Sloth pride looks like. Let's not back down until their team does what a Sloth likes to eat!"

"Leaves! Leaves! Leaves!" we all chant as the rowdiness instantly leaps up to level ten. I bounce on my toes, jumping next to the guys on either side of me as we all lift our hands in the air.

Spencer leans back against his locker with his arms crossed over his chest. When the team gets hyped, he gets focused. He's not the kind of guy to participate by jumping around like an errant school kid, but that doesn't faze any of us these days. We all know he's just as dedicated to this team as any of us. He proves that by playing his heart out on the field and dedicating himself to his role as team captain.

"Let's go, Sloths!" Anthony, a wide receiver built like a brick house, bellows out.

He's met with the sound of the team chanting, "Sloths. Sloths. Sloths." as guys begin to trickle out of the locker room with their helmets in tow.

The time has come for us to line up and warm up on the field before the game, but I take my time following the rest of the team out. I turn back to my locker and take a deep breath, trying to force my shoulders to relax. A hand claps me on the back a moment later, a familiar touch that warms my tense muscles.

"You good?" Spencer asks, his voice a low rumble.

It's no secret that Spencer, Freddie, and I are a pack, and the team is cool about it. Out of respect, though, we try to keep affection to a minimum at work.

"Why are you trying to steal my line?" I joke, flashing a smile at Spencer over my shoulder. Usually, I'm the one checking in on him, since he has one hell of a poker face. Freddie and I are both guilty of wearing our hearts on our sleeves. Spencer usually knows when something is up with me without having to ask. "I'm alright. Just keyed up about the game."

Spencer's lips barely tip up to return my smile. "No, there's something else. Something feels off. You feel it, too, don't you?"

"There's definitely something in the air." I nod and turn to face him. "This game could be huge for our league ranking. I'm sure that's all this is. There's been a lot of buzz leading up to these next two games for us."

He shakes his head slowly. "There's something else."

"I believe you," I reassure him, reaching out to clasp my hand on his shoulder. "But until we know what it is, we probably ought to focus on the game. You can go back into watchful Alpha-mode when we get home. Right now, our team needs you to have your head in the game, Quarterback." I punch his shoulder lightly with my fist before reaching around him to grab my helmet from the bench.