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I rub the back of my neck, my muscles tense, that familiar pressure weighing on my shoulders. I didn’t even have somebody to blame but myself. Ever since I got back, I’ve been playing like shit, and Coach has every right to rip me a new one.
“I’m sorry, Coach.”
His bushy brows connect over his forehead as he frowns at me. “I don’t need your excuses. What I need is for you to pull your head out of your ass and pay attention to what’s going on around you! Can you do that, or do I need to send you to warm the bench? Maybe if you feel it digging into your ass long enough, you’d consider what you’re missing.”
Benched?
My eyes meet Blake’s over Coach’s shoulder. He shakes his head, his lips pressed in a tight line.
Fucking hell.
“No, Coach,” I say quickly, turning my attention to the man who has my career in his hands. “I’ll do better. I promise.”
I hold my breath as he just glares at me for what feels like forever. The whole field is eerie quiet as they all wait for the verdict. I can feel the eyes of all my teammates as they stare at me. Some are probably trying to figure out what happened to me, and others are weighing how they can use this opportunity to get ahead.
I’m so fucking screwed.
I want to let out a frustrated scream, but I hold it back.
“Fine, but this is your last warning. The next one, and you’re getting the boot.”
“Yessir!”
Pushing my teammate’s curious looks and the thoughts of Becky and my family to the back of my head, for the next two hours. I give my best to keep my head in the game and do the job I’m paid to do—keep the offense out of our side of the field as much as possible. And I do it well. The anger coursing through me definitely helps.
When the whistle pierces the air and Coach calls the practice to an end, I’m a sweaty, panting mess. Tugging my helmet off, I shove my damp hair out ofmy face as I listen to Coach’s post-game wrap-up. He makes a few comments about the last play before turning to the assistant coach, his trusty clipboard in hand. The guy was probably already preparing the plan of torture for tomorrow.
I grab a bottle of water on my way to the locker room just as Walker joins me.
“What the hell was that about?”
“Came to yell at me, old man?”
Blake glares at me, clearly not amused by my comment. “No, I didn’t come here to yell at you. What I want to know is, what’s making you play like shit?”
“Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?” I mutter dryly, quickening my pace, or at least, I try to, but Blake puts his hand on my shoulder and tugs me back.
“In the last year, I’ve known and worked with you. I don’t think I’ve seen you distracted once. When you’re on the field, one hundred percent of your focus is on that game, on the next play. But ever since camp started, you’ve been a mess. So don’t be a smartass, and tell me what the hell’s going on, Fernandez.” He tips his chin in the direction of my hand. “Is it your shoulder? I thought the PT helped.”
“It’s not my shoulder.” Instinctively, I roll them back. The sting is there for sure, but there is no pain. “It’s just an off day.”
For whatever reason, that makes his expression turn even more gloomy. “You don’t have off days.”
“Everybody has an off day.” I shrug. Turning around, I push the door to the locker room open. The chatter dies down, all eyes turning to me.
“What?” I lift my arms in the air, irritated my teammates are acting this way. “Nobody died. It’s just a freaking off day.”
My hands slap against my sides as I let them fall and march to my spot.
“Trylike freaking two weeks off,” Big J chimes in, helpful as always.
I give him a warning glare; Big J doesn’t seem the least bit fazed by it. “What? It’s the truth. Ever since you got back, your game’s been off. And people are starting to notice when Mr. Perfect messes up.”
“Perfect,” I scoff. “Hardly. Besides, I do have off days.”
“Not you, Monk.”
The throbbing behind my temples intensifies. I hated it when they used that nickname. I don’t even know when it started. College? Or just after I got to the pros? The fuck if I know. Those early days were so overwhelming it was hard to pinpoint what was what.
