That fucker…
“It’s not serious, Coach,” I lied.
He read me like a play-book.
“Tell me the truth. She going to distract you?”
“No, Coach. It’s under control. Football first. Always.”
“Damn straight,” he said then glanced down at a printed spreadsheet. “Your stats are looking solid, but I want you to try to push yourself a bit farther this next game. Can you do that, son?”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Why the hell do all of you guys say my name every time you answer?”
I cracked a smile.
“I’m not sure, Coach.”
He waved a hand through the air in front of him.
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I’m too damn old, but I want one more big win.”
“We’re going to deliver it this year, Coach.”
“Well, make sure you’re not spending too much time chasing tail.”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Get the hell out of here,” he said. “Remember, give me double.”
I stood and walked out of his office, determined to find Trey and give him a piece of my mind. If Coach thought I was fucking around with a social life, he would stop helping me do my absolute best and increase my chances of hitting the pros after I graduated.
Many players like me dreamed of hitting it big, even if the average career of a football player was only about five or six years at most. And most of us had no chance of making pro. I believed I would make it, and that made me special.
Coach saw my potential, and I didn’t want to let him down. At the same time, a little down-time with Brooke wouldn’t be a bad thing. When I walked into the locker room, I saw Trey sitting on a bench, waiting for me. He stood up, holding out a palm.
“Calm down, buddy. He tricked it out of me.”
“You need to mind your own damn business,” I said, walking over.
The other players crowded around us.
“I don’t go around blabbing your secrets.”
“You don’t know any of my secrets,” he said.
“Oh, no? How about what happened at the Med-Center.”
His eyes widened.
“Who told you?”
I grinned, still having no idea, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Was it Brooke?”