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Barker, a safety, chuckled. “You’ve said that exact same thing the last three years.”
“He means it for real for real this year, though.” Wyatt, one of our linebackers, grinned, and Coach flipped him off.
“I do. You all represent my dream defense here. We’ve got two solid seasons under our belt. We worked out some kinks during camp, and the win against Vegas proves that. There’s no damn reason we shouldn’t get there as long as you all keep your heads out of your asses. It’s time to bring it home, boys.”
“Fuck yeah,” Wyatt whooped, and we all joined in until the room sounded like a zoo gone wild. Coach rolled his eyes with a smile and then smacked his palm against his thighs, his usual signal he was done talking. “Now, get out of my film room and go rest up. I’m planning on tearing all of you new assholes at Tuesday’s practice.”
“Sounds kinky,” someone joked as we all stood and started filing for the door.
“Whitt, lemme talk to you for a minute,” Coach called out.
“Sounds like you’re up for asshole tearing first.” Barker clapped me on the back as he passed, and I laughed, checking him with my shoulder.
I hung back, waiting for Coach, and then we stepped into the hall, heading for the locker rooms, where I’d left my gear.
“You’ve become a true shutdown cornerback,” he said as we walked. “You read the quarterback’s eyes, jumped the route, and made that interception the other day. That little game changer fired up the whole team. You’re making smart decisions and capitalizing on them. I just want you to keep doing it the whole season.”
“I will,” I promised, trying not to let my expression show how fucking chuffed I was at the praise. I didn’t know if it had something to do with all the time Tucker and I spent together or the shift in our dynamic having a trickle-down effect, but I’d been able to focus during camp and preseason like never before, and even I could feel the difference when we played.
“How’s the hip?” he asked next. I’d had a rough meeting with the turf during the game, but it’d been worth it for the win.
“Nothing to worry about.” It’d been twinging today, but it wasn’t anything some ice and heat therapy couldn’t resolve, I didn’t think. Still, it was a reminder that my body wasn’t gonna hold out in this sport forever, and one bad hit would probably knock me out permanently. That knowledge was like a shadow that never fully left me. I hoped to manage at least one more season after this, though, and possibly two. Beyond that, I had no fucking clue. Tucker and I had talked about it extensively because he was feeling the same pressure. And, like me, he was hoping for a few more seasons. “I’m not leaving this career without a ring,” he’d said, and by the determination in his voice, I knew he meant it. Didn’t mean either of us wouldn’t be forced out, though. It happened all the time. Contracts weren’t renewed or were bought out. I didn’t want that for either of us. I hoped we both could leave on our own terms, and I hoped that was reflecting in how I’d been playing.
“Good,” Coach said. “You just let me know if you need anything extra. PT, massage. I want you in top form, want to see you take Sanders’ record.” I’d idolized Deion Sanders as a kid. Watching replays of him on the field had been like watching lightning strike. Over his career, he’d had fifty-three interceptions, and nine of those he’d returned for touchdowns. I was at five, and I had every intention of at least matching him.
“I’m on it, I promise. I want it, too.”
“Just know I plan on keeping you around until you say ‘when,’ Whitt. So stay on top of your game, and we’re good.” He winked at me and nodded me toward the locker room. “Go sleep the rest of the day. Give that hip some more time to heal.”
“Yessir.”
I didn’t sleep, though. As soon as I was home, I called Tucker. We talked almost every damn day. “You alone?” I asked when he answered.
“Yep.” The drawl in his voice sounded relaxed, which I loved hearing. More so when it was right next to me, but I’d take this as second best. “I’m sprawled on the couch. I hung out with Andre some today, and now I’m beat.”
I flopped onto mine after grabbing ice packs from my freezer to put on my hip. “Me too. Coach asked me about my hip. I told him it was fine.”
Tucker laughed. “Fucking liar.”
“Fuck off, it’s not that bad.”
“You get that special shit Houston uses?”
“FedEx says it’ll arrive tomorrow, Dad. Settle down,” I said, trying to sound irritated even though I was smiling. Cullen had mentioned some specially compounded shit that Houston used for his knee injury, and Tucker had found the source and ordered some for me immediately after he’d seen the game. Though I wouldn’t admit it, I’d fucking loved him for it, too.
“What else did Coach say?”
“That he’s going to tear us new assholes on Tuesday. And then we’re going to the Super Bowl.”
Tucker laughed. “We’ll see.”
“Bet. Hey, you want to FaceTime for a sec?”
“Why? Want to see me naked, baby? Miss me?”
“I absolutely do,” I said, not even bothering to hide it. The sleepiness in his voice had the unintended side effect of making me hard, remembering the last time we’d been together.
It already felt too long.
