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But knowing he was watching, making him my reference spot every time I got up shaking the stars off, made for a really good fucking time, made me wonder if guys who had people show up always played better. Made me wonder what it might have been like if I’d always felt special and important, if just one fucking spotlight on me, warming me up would have made a difference.
I got so fucking agro and hyperfocused, aching and drowning in sweat, making it my personal mission to get that Beast dick so hard he was begging to fuck me in the parking lot, that Coach actually booted my ass off for a water break. I sat there on the sidelines, breathing heavy, sipping on my cup and catching my breath, and Jesus the ground was hard. I was so goddamn ready to go home and lay on my stomach awhile, maybe do some whining about how sore I was, act like I didn’t want Caleb smothering me in attention, and then eating it up anyway.
“Looking certified out there, Food Stamps,” Howser said, dropping down beside me, pouring half his water over his head and flipping his hair back. I knew he thought he looked good, but that long hair looked limp and grimy and hot as hell as we sat there in another sundown heatwave.
I grunted, turning away from him, watching another mess at the end of the field. Walker throwing wobbles, tossing his helmet with more precision, and Ellis looking more and more scrambled while he tried to second guess what the fuck was going on.
“Too bad your fuck buddies can’t get their game together. Looks like I’ll be in there taking that glory Friday.”
“You wish,” I laughed, draining my cup and crushing it even though I was still fucking thirsty. “Whattayou had, ten yards all year? Hear they’re naming a spot on the bench after you.”
“Fuck you, bitch. We’ll see who’s on the bench. Guys play favorites with the rock, look what happens. Backed into a fucking corner when the bromance goes sour. Lot more than yips going on there, that’s a recall. Bout to shake up the casting here, you wait and see.”
He threw his water bottle out, spraying my shins, and I wiped that shit off as he pushed up and went jogging down toward Coach. I watched him plead his case until he either convinced him or wore him down— or more likely just asked for what was already on the sheet, because you couldn’t tell Coach T a damn thing.
But he tossed Ellis over to footwork, and everybody stopped and watched as Howser ran some routes nobody wanted to see him running. Yeah, he could catch, but he was no receiver. He had zero agility and no right turn and couldn’t stack up yards to save his life. Finding forty guys out of a thousand who could actually play decent ball was a lot harder than people thought, and filling out a uniform and flipping your hair around didn’t mean shit against Ollie Prep. He might be looking for glory, but broken ribs were a lot more likely.
He caught the fucking ball, though.
Pass was still ugly, and the route was uglier and I saw about fifty places I could take him down, but complete was complete, so what the actual fuck. I looked over at Ellis kicking cones in the air and felt honestly bad for the guy. He’d been telling me for a week something was up, taking extra practice, dreaming up ways to fix Walker even if they were stupid, and Howser was catching his ball. Nobody liked it, but sure as shit nobody hated it more than he did.
I kept my eye downfield and sidefield and over against the fence where Caleb was watching, which didn’t leave a ton of vision for me, but luckily I could bodyslam sleds with my helmet on backward, so I threw myself into the rest of practice with my full weight, until the sun was half down and the field was half shadow and Coach finally called us in.
“Saw some hard work today,” he said, nodding, not looking at anyone in particular, but he sure as hell better have meant me. “Lotta work left to do. I know Thursday’s usually light, but don’t count on that this week, I want you all dressing tomorrow. Plan on staying late and impressing me, we got decisions to make.”
The rumbles sounded a lot like the ones in the locker room, and were aimed in about the same direction, and you’d think by now guys would know how to shut the fuck up, but some people never learn when to ride the silence and GTFO, and it goddamn showed.
“You boys have shit to say?” Coach asked, and I knew that was loud enough to get all the way over to the fence. “You have a problem with working hard? Because if you do, I have a brilliant goddamn solution, it’s calledget the fuck off my field.Who wants to go? Riggs? Maxie? Howser? This too much work for you? Dressing on a fucking Thursday? That where you all draw the line? Prescott?”
Didn’t appreciate my name being dragged in the mud since I’d kept my damn mouth shut even though tomorrow was my last night to study. But I shoutedNo, Coachalong with everybody else because the guy clearly was chewing on his last straw.
“Alright then. Shut the fuck up and walk off this crybaby shit before I call a morning practice.”
Sure as hell wasn’t an empty threat, but he took the fury down about half, and we were just about to break when everything broke.
You justknowwhen a fight is brewing, even when you can’t see it, and everyone felt it, turned in a wave to the back of the huddle where Ellis and Walker were so close they might as well have been making out, in each other’s faces like whoa.
Whatever got them that far, I didn’t hear, only heard the tail end of Ellis delivering nobody’s favorite punchline.
“— your fucking problem? Why can’t you just loosen up. Like your mom.”
Walker grabbed him by the front of his practice jersey, yanking him forward rough enough to tear it at the shoulder, and then shoving him hard back against the sled— so hard Ellis bounced off and went sprawling in the grass.
“Shut the fuck up,” Walker said, standing over him, and Ellis just squinted up, shocked still for a second, and the way Walker was glaring, I’d have rolled away quick before I got cleat-stomped too.
The way the whole field went from half dead to fully invested, that just heated Ellis up though, gave him more energy than he’d had all day. He kip-upped like a motherfucker in all those pads, and goddamn you just wanted to flatten him sometimes for having moves he didn’t deserve.
“What up, Cap?” he demanded, getting right back up in Walker’s face, real close, like a complete asshole. “You mad? Get mad, then. I bet you can throw a punch about as well as you can throw—”
I don’t know if Ellis saw it coming, but I didn’t. I was just about to make a move and shove my way back there, thinking I’d pull them apart, and the next second, Walker popped him hard in the mouth, bloody knuckles, no fucking around, and everybody took a step back instead.
It was Ellis, so of course he looked more excited than pissed off to get hit in the face, and he came back quick, hitting Walker around the waist with an ugly tackle, but low enough to send them both sprawling on the ground, and suddenly it was a dodging, wrestling sideshow, everybody hooting and barking and howling like it was the fucking zoo.
Legit, part of me wanted to dive into the middle of it and start swinging too, I was just always ready to go, like Ellis that way, like a lot of people, I guess, pent up under the surface, looking for any excuse to roll in the dirt. But the rest of me saw broken arms and concussions and suspensions and the whole fucking season going down the drain, my scholarship along with it, and that part of me stayed chained up. I just stood there staring with everybody else and let Coach T break it up, shoving guys out of the way, bursting eardrums with that goddamn whistle until he blew so hard he spit it out, standing over them.
“Get up! Get the fuck up before I send you both on a zero-tolerance vacation. What the hell is going on?”
Walker and Ellis scrambled up on their feet, brushing themselves off and taking steps back, neither of them looking satisfied with stopping.
