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There area lot of things I've never understood. Things that have happened to me and to those I care most about. Life can be messy at times, and fuck if mine hasn't been. The one thing I've always connected with, though, is football. The feeling of my cleats digging into the turf. The leather ball clenched within my hands. The drive to win no matter what it takes. Yeah, that I understand.
"Pick up the pace, Mason!" Coach Dayton roars. "Just because you're starting QB doesn't mean you get to be lazy! I want to see sweat!"
Mason groans behind me, murmuring a quiet "fuck off" under his breath. It's obvious there is no love lost between him and the new coach. I never got the opportunity to meet the last one, but according to some of the guys, he treated Mason Lockhart like royalty. Don't get me wrong, the kid’s got a good arm, but I've seen better. I've played with better.
The sun is brutal as it beats down on us. I don't think there’s anything worse than running suicides on one of the hottest days of the year, but Coach has his reasoning. The first game of the season is coming up in a few weeks, and we're never going to be ready if we keep slacking off.
"Five more and you can take a break, but only if you push it!"
Every guy on the team gives it their all and when Coach blows his whistle, some of us even collapse to the ground, Mason included. My legs are screaming, but thankfully, I've made it a point to stay in pretty decent shape. I slowly make my way over to the bench to grab my water bottle when Coach calls my name.
"Come over here," he tells me, waving his clipboard.
I jog toward him to show my enthusiasm. "What's up, Coach?"
"What's your thoughts on Lockhart?"
"I'm sorry?"
He rolls his eyes. "Mason Lockhart. Is he a good QB or do you think I should replace him?"
Okay, I don't know what he's trying to pull, but I would never sell out a teammate. Especially not Mason. That's like asking to be cast out into the darkness. This is his second year being starting quarterback, and they all love him. He might be a complete tool, but the guy can throw.
"Honestly, sir, I don't think you're going to find anyone better than him."
Nodding slowly, his shoulders sag and he relents. "Yeah, you're probably right. I just think he needs a fire lit under his ass. He's slacking off." He tosses the clipboard onto the bench and picks up the binder. "I wanted to run something by you while you’re here. I've got a few new play ideas, and I want to get your opinion."
"Mine?" I'd be lying if I said I'm not surprised.
"Don't sell yourself short, Carter," he tells me. "Just because you're new to the team doesn't mean I don't see your potential. You're a damn good tight end."
Pride fills my chest and I stand up straighter. "Thanks, Coach."
"Yeah, yeah." He waves it off. "Thank me by looking over these plays."
WALKING INTO THE LOCKER room, I should've known I was going to get shit for helping Coach. The fact that he asked for my help with plays instead of Mason's probably felt like a punch to the gut for an all-star QB. Still, I'm in no place to say no. Not with my spot on this team being so new.
"Aw look, it's Dayton's new pet," Logan teases.
Sam chuckles. "Does Coach want you to hold his hand during games, too?"
"Yeah, yeah," I call back. "Like any of you fuckers wouldn't have helped him if he asked."
Mason presses a ball against my chest. "Trying to steal my spot, Trayland?"
I roll my eyes and shove it back at him. "Don't even start that shit, Mase. I have no interest in being quarterback. I'd rather be the one scoring the touchdowns."
"Better keep it that way, too."
He gets up in my face, but no part of me is intimidated by him. I stand my ground and keep my head held high, not backing down for a second.
"Or what? I've seen you work out. You couldn't take me if your life depended on it."
The whole room goes eerily quiet as everyone watches to see what's going to happen. For a second, even I wonder if he's actually going to hit me. But instead, a smirk appears on his face and he takes a step back.
"You're not too bad, Newbie," he says, and you can practically hear the sighs of relief that fill the room, but none of them come from me.
There's an obvious tension between Mason Lockhart and me. You could say he's just not my cup of tea. I've seen the way he is at parties—getting girls drunk, only to take advantage of them. Apparently, the ones that throw themselves at him on a daily basis aren't enough. No, Mr. Giant Ego over here craves a challenge. Or at least as much of a challenge as you can get from someone half conscious.
