Nix
Thud.
My body hit the ground hard, the air sucking clean from my lungs. I rolled onto my back and stared up at the crisp morning sky. That fucking hurt.
“Wilder, what the hell was that?” Coach Farringdon boomed across the field.
“You went down like a fucking pussy.” Darius Hench, our best defensive lineman snorted.
“Go fuck yourself, asshole,” I spat, even though he had a point.
I was off my game.
Hench knew it. Coach knew it. We all fucking knew it.
It was only the first practice of the semester, but the guys were looking to me to lead them all the way to the playoffs this season. They weren’t expecting to see their quarterback get his ass handed to him all morning.
But I couldn’t get Chloe’s words from Saturday night out of my fucking head.
She’s back.
Kye leaned down and offered me his hand, pulling me up. “You good?”
“I’ll live.”
“Listen, about what Clo said. We don’t even know—”
“Wilder, get the fuck over here, son. Now.”
“Jesus, he’s gunning for you today.” Kye shot me a concerned look.
“Nah, it’s nothing I can’t handle.” I tore my helmet off and jogged over to Coach and assistant coach Jameson.
“Talk to me, Wilder. What the hell is going on out there?”
“It’s taking me a while to find my flow, Coach.” The lie sounded convincing enough.
“Flow… it’s like watching Bambi drunk off his ass trying to play ball. Your aim is off. You’re dragging your ass around the field like you didn’t break two state records last year. Talk to me, son.”
“It’s nothing, Coach. I promise.” I scratched the back of my head. “Just need a little time to settle back in.”
His eyes narrowed, cool and assessing. Coach Farringdon was a good man. A strong leader who didn’t only demand respect from his players, he earned it. He’d been one of the few positive role models I’d had in my life.
But sometimes, I didn’t know why he pushed me so hard. This was it for me—high school football. It didn’t get any better than this, and I’d made peace with that a long fucking time ago.
“If there’s something I need to know—”
“There’s not,” I snapped, immediately reining myself in. “I swear, Coach, I’m good. It’s just first practice back jitters.”
“Jitters, my ass.” He grumbled, wafting his clipboard at me. “Get back out there and make the damn pass. We’re not leaving here until you do. Even if I have to explain to Principal Marston why his football players weren’t in second period.”
“You got it, Coach.” I pulled on my helmet and jogged back toward center field, giving the signal to my teammates. “Run it again.”
“Again?” Hench chuckled. “Haven’t you hit the ground enough already?”
“Just run the damn play,” I barked.
Hench was good. Real fucking good. But he had a big mouth and a tendency to push my buttons. Usually, I let it slide.