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“Yeah?” I glance over my shoulder, but his attention is already on the field, looking for his next victim to yell at.
“It’s good to have you back, Wentworth.”
I let myself take in the field one more time. “It’s good to be back.”
CHAPTERTWO
PRESCOTT
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you were coming?” Nixon asks when we get back into the locker room. “That you’replaying?”
I plop onto the bench in front of my locker. My legs feel like jelly from exertion, and a jab of pain spreads through my knee and into my muscles.
Fucking hell, this was harsh.
I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything else. I haven’t been properly conditioning in months. It’ll take some time to get back in my pre-injury shape.
You don’t have time for that.
“When were you cleared, dude?” Jamie, our running back, asks as more of my teammates enter the locker room.
“This morning. I came straight from the doctor’s appointment to tell you assholes the good news.” I press my hand against my thigh, my fingers gripping the tense muscles. “Not that you seem to appreciate it.”
“You had your doctor’s appointment today?” Nixon crosses his arms over his chest. “What the fuck, dude? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I didn’t want you to hover over me like a fucking hen, Cole.” I push to my feet, gritting my teeth to brace for any possible pain. “Now, will you give me some space to change, or are you waiting for me to whip my dick out so you can all appreciate that bad boy?”
Harry, one of our kickers, shakes his head. “One would think you’d be happy to be back.”
“I would,” I glare at my teammates. “If you all weren’t as nosey as women.”
Manni bursts into laughter, slapping me none too gently over the shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, Wentworth.”
I straighten, rubbing at my sore shoulder to match my throbbing knee, my eyes falling on the sophomore wide receiver who took my spot last year.
Joshua Sullivan.
He’s watching me silently from the bench on the other side of the room, his lips pressed into a tight line.
“It’s good to be back.”
Finally, my teammates go about their own goddamn business, leaving me alone. Not my best friend, though.
“What?” I ask Nixon, pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it on the bench. I was sweating so badly from the workout the coach put us through; the damn thing was clinging to my skin.
“Seriously, why didn’t you say anything? I could have gone with you.”
And have my best friend, who’s set to enter the draft next year, be there in case the doctors tell me that I’ll never be able to play again? Fuck that.
“It’s fine. It’s not the first nor will it be the last appointment I do on my own. Besides, you had practice.”
Nixon’s eyes narrow at me, silently calling out my bullshit.
“Seriously, dude. It’s fine.” I turn to my locker, put my combination in, and pull out my duffle. “I’m fine.”Just feeling the consequences of not practicing for months.“I’m back on the field, so it’s all good.”
Nixon turns to his locker.Fucking finally.“I still think you’re an asshole for not telling anybody what’s going on.” He looks at me over his shoulder. “Not like that’s something new, but still…”
No, it’s not. I’ve been a grumpy asshole these last few months ever since I got injured, and even more when the injury took its sweet time to heal.
