Page 169 of Forever Relentless

“That.” Coach Sutherland pointed at him with a gleam in his eye. “That feeling you just had. The fact that your dream just vanished? That’s what you’re out here playing for every day. All of you.” He glared at all of us. “The outside world? The comings and goings of trends,” he sneered. “It means fucking nothing. Nothing.” He glared at us all again. “Position on this field does not matter,” he said again, slowly. “Production does.”

His eyes slid to me for half a second before moving back to the line.

“Again.” He spat on the turf. “Matthews, show them again what a footballer looks like while their heads are full of shit.”

I jogged back to the tight end spot, but something about the way the team had gone quiet stuck with me.

The drill wasn’t about offense. It wasn’t about defense either. It was about reminding everyone whose program this was.

And apparently, today, I was the example used to remind the team that it was Coach Sutherland’s.

But as I lined up again, I noticed something else. He wasn’t watching me. Not really. Sutherland stood with his arms folded, eyes moving slowly across the field.

Not the play. The players.

The defensive line. The safeties. Dante behind the center. Even the guys standing off to the side, waiting for their reps.

He was reading the room.

Watching who looked pissed. Who looked impressed. Who looked like they wanted to argue. Who kept their heads down. And now he knew. He’d use it.

The leaks had rattled the program. Everyone knew it. No one was saying it out loud, but Coach Sutherland didn’t need them to.

This drill wasn’t about showing I could play tight end. It was about seeing who was still playing for him.

Dante glanced over at me before calling the play. Calculating. He knew it too, and he was pissed. Not at me, but at the cleverness of our head coach.

He’d just outmaneuvered us.

The whistle blew again, and this time, every pair of eyes on the field felt a little heavier.

I ran the play, but the defense doubled me immediately. Two bodies crashed into me before I’d taken three steps, and I didn’t gain a yard.

I never even saw who Dante threw to. I was too busy trying to breathe under a pile of bodies.

“Jesus, guys,” I muttered as I untangled myself from them. “I’m on your side.”

They laughed as they pushed off me, and I blew out a breath.

“Matthews, water break,” Holt called as the team jogged upfield.

“Thanks, Coach.” I headed for the sideline and spotted Briar near the bench. The camera was up, but I could feel her eyes on me before she lowered it.

“Your arm’s bleeding,” she said quietly.

I glanced down. A thin graze ran along my forearm, already streaked with dirt. I dumped some water over it. “Thanks.”

“He’s a clever bastard,” she muttered, moving a little closer.

“Yeah,” I took a long drink. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised he’d turn it into a lesson.”

Briar snorted. “This is why I said it was reckless.”

I didn’t answer, and she took my silence as agreement. It wasn’t, but we could argue about it later.

“Are you okay?” I asked, turning away from the field and pretending to adjust my cleat so I could look at her properly.

“I’m good.” She lifted the camera again and took another shot. She checked the screen. “That’s a good one,” she said softly. “Post it this afternoon. Make a silly joke. Let everyone watching see that the team keeps playing on despite all the noise. Show them you’re a Lion.”