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What the hell? How did she find out about how I was failing?That was a hard pass. The last thing I needed was for Aspen to know how stupid I was. “I don’t need your help.”
She flinched at how harshly I’d spoken to her. I needed to leave before I said something I would regret.
I lifted Aspen to the side, stood, then left her room. The door slammed behind me, and I headed to the rear stairwell rather than cause problems for her with her floormates.
We needed to avoid each other before everything went to hell.
* * *
Sweat rolled down my back, and my legs and hips burned as Coach worked the other QBs and me through speed and agility ladder drills. With a short blast as he blew through the whistle hanging from his neck, we reversed, going backward. Two chirps, and my feet planted shoulder width apart, my arm cocked back and ready to throw the football grasped in my right hand.
“Elbows in, Bennett.” Coach’s expression never changed from hard-core determination.
I tucked them closer as a bead of sweat rolled down my temple. We weren’t throwing yet. I wanted to.
“Too tight, McAffrey,” Coach instructed. “On the shelf.”
On the ladder to my right, McAffrey adjusted his arms, the ball in the correct position on the “shelf” rather than at the midline, where it had been.
“Switch.” Coach shouted. “Both feet in the hole.”
With each blast from his whistle, we jumped forward and back. Pocket work was challenging but necessary to help us stay protected without thought. Our head coach’s work ethic was intense. His drive to mold us into the best versions of ourselves on the field made me work harder than ever. He liked to involve himself in some drills, usually led by the QB coach, and I felt the team's unity in everything he did and taught us.
He changed the drills before turning us over to the QB coach, who put us through different passes, aiming for accuracy, precision, and excellence with fewer throws rather than higher reps and average results.
Coach ran us into the ground at practice, making me regret the alcohol even more.
But I didn’t regret holding Aspen all night, and thinking about it made me feel less horrible about my hangover.
We ran extra drills with the offensive and defensive lines toward the end, and we wrapped up with extra sprints when he decided we weren’t working hard enough.
As I ran plays, I longed to escape to her bed and have her in my arms rather than deal with Coach’s yelling about how I was underperforming with my sprints out of the pocket, the ball tucked into my chest. And when our defensive tackle got a bead on me, I slid feet first. It was complete bullshit, and we both knew it.
Could I do better? Hell yes, and I would.
So long as I don’t get kicked off the team, I could deal.
I wanted to talk to Shane after practice, but my brother was nowhere to be found. Cole slammed the locker next to mine closed then leaned a shoulder against it. Damon sat to put his shoes on, but I could tell he was paying attention.
“Everything all right with you?” Cole frowned. “You don’t normally drink heavily during the week unless there’s a party. And there weren’t any worth going to.”
“I’m fine. I just had a few last night to let off steam.” My cousins were basically brothers, and I didn’t mistake their concern for anything but what it was. They were looking out for me. Still, I wasn’t going to tell them what had been bothering me last night, and having a few drinks wouldn’t blow my potential career. But there was a real possibility that it could implode sooner than I would like.
“Booze is coming out of your pores, and if you keep that shit up, it’ll affect how you play.” Damon stood, mirroring Cole’s concerned expression.
“It’s Shane.” I could share a partial truth without letting them know how bad things were. “Pretty sure he found out I meddled with Tracey, and he’s avoiding me.”
Damon snorted. “That chick is a gold-digger.”
“He’ll come around,” Cole said. “We could have a family meeting.” His lips twitched. “In the ring.”
For a long time, we had settled things with some good old-fashioned boxing, a fight club of sorts, and that was what I needed. “Yeah, that would work. He won’t stay in the same room with me long enough to talk. Hasn’t been sleeping at the football house, either. I think he’s crashing with Tracey.”
Cole grunted. “I’ll—”
“You can’t ask Piper.” Damon cracked him in the back of his head. “Riley will string you up by the balls.”
“I wasn’t going to, idiot.” Cole shoved him. “I’m going to pick up Riles from diving practice. Tracey’s got a friend on the team. I was going to ask that girl.”
