AllFreeNovel
Share Us
CHAPTER ONE
NATE
Aroom can be fullof talented people, but it can be empty of those who have the heart to succeed.
Those were the words my high school coach said to me the first year I played lacrosse. Words that had never struck me as true until the moment I walked into my pregame session for my first varsity game at an away ground.
“Presence doesn't mean the same as present, Whitwood. There’s some soulless folk about, ones who work through a day without ever investing themselves in it. If you find those on a team, work your way around them. That mentality is contagious and it can ruin all the fucking potential in the world.”
I had nothing to say at the time but to offer a grinding,‘yes, sir,’.A tour in my mind around the room inhabited by my new teammates reminded me why my old coach took us to a championship level year after year.
Rippton U’s college lacrosse team–for all their extensive wealth–looked like it held a whole two quarters of talent, and more deadwood than any lichen could hope to overpopulate. My lacrosse career could die here before it began.
Nate Whitwood, hometown golden boy slumped by America’s wealthiest private university.
Yep, death in my first year at Rippton. Perfection. My father would have a field day with that. Maybe the school paper could do me a eulogy write-up in advance. I’d heard the red-haired journo student was a feisty little firecracker. But if we put the work in, and Coach stepped up, maybe–maybe, and it was a faint wish–we had a chance.
My eyes slipped around the room to find Coach Cockett. The dorky, slightly bored washtub of a coach stood quietly in his own space, slightly separate from the team. Every now and then he looked up as though he might speak before diving back to hide in his notebook, where he ostensibly scribbled plays.
The other players were seated in random positions around the stale sweat-filled locker room. Some hands made fists and flexed while others pressed their palms together as though praying for the awkward meeting to be over.
One player with a head full of dark, shaggy hair and bright eyes met my gaze, and I recognised Dylan Mountforth from training earlier in the semester. A few glazed-eyed benchers who could barely put one foot before the other at practices.
Finally, I found our captain, Beau Bennett. He leaned beside one of the borrowed lockers with a practiced bored expression I knew well, all muscle, though a hint of deadly intelligence lingered behind his eyes. His fingers flexed by his side as he waited for an inspirational speech from Coach that never seemed destined to arrive.
This was usually where my smart mouth threw up something that would break the tension pervading the alien university locker room, but I suspected that a smart ass remark would bring nothing but trouble in a team where neither I–nor my new teammates–knew where I fit yet.
Ignoring Coach, I looked back at the captain, Beau, who returned the favour. He held my gaze with startling blue eyes that saw plenty more than I wanted to give away, before his attention drifted around the room. Taking in, I suspected, much the same of what I saw.
His jaw clenched, folded his arms, and finally, he settled his hard gaze on me. "So, Newbie. How are you going to go with an extra twelve minutes in your game?" he asked.
The question could've been laced with venom, and though several of our teammates snickered, he didn't seem to mean the comment in a derogatory way.
"Never can tell," I said softly, just loud enough to be heard in the otherwise silent room.
Beau’s eyes narrowed. "You were the top player of your team, wherever the hell it is you've come from last year?"
I held his gaze and kept on smiling. My new captain had the classic good looks girls wanted: all dark hair and blue eyes, the son of a Fortune 50 company man, and I knew they probably dropped at his feet as the lead player of a college team, whether that team was successful or not.
"Some of the local boys helped me train for the longer sixty-minute games over the summer." I shrugged. "We might not be playing at this level, but we tried something I could train to.”
Those manicured eyebrows lifted–barely–to display his surprise, and the set of his mouth changed to something a sliver more welcoming.
It was all about micro expressions with this guy.
The guy I obviously needed to take direction from, considering Coach hadn't opened his trap yet, and was still scribbling in a fevered silence on his part.
Most likely directions to the toilet with a loop back to the bus over plays if I read him right.
"That’s something," Beau agreed. "But being the best in a small town school doesn't make you a hero or diva here. Understood?"
He flicked his gaze around the room, watching the disinterested players with their glazed gazes before flicking that last back to me, but I was watching him and expected it.
"Agreed," I answer, willing the rest of the team to emerge from their stupor. "Any tips on who we’re playing?"
Beau snorted. "Last year’s reigning champions. Cliffside. They are... formidable."
I sneaked a glance at Coach, but he was still scribbling in his pad. By my count we had a few minutes left before the ref called us onto the field. "Any weaknesses?"
