summer.”
A small whoop raises up from the crowd and as we disperse, Torres yells. “I love you, Coach! You’re the best!”
“We’ll see if you still feel that way when we’re through. You know we don’t do easy days here, not even first day back.”
Chapter 9
Silas
I get my ass handed to me.
Multiple times.
By multiple people.
I’m focused. My head is in it, but my body just isn’t. Between my binge weekend and my punishment at the beginning of practice, my legs are too fucking slow and my arms too weak to hold the ball as tightly as I need to. I keep making stupid little mistakes, and odds are that I’m going to leave practice with a damaged eardrum from all the yelling.
Coach is on me because he’s still pissed about the fight with Levi. Coach Gallt, the running back coach, is all over me because he’s taking over offensive coordinator from Coach Cole now that the team is settled. The entire offense is his responsibility now, which means my failures come down on him. So, he’s coming down on me . . . hard. And some little asshat freshman (the same freaking one that passed out on my couch Friday night) is all keyed up trying to outdo me, soaking up every bit of praise like he’s just won the freaking Heisman.
All of the noise just keeps swarming around me, and I can hear myself fucking panting for breath, and I’m melting in this heat, and I’m so damned frustrated I could scream.
“Damn it, Moore!” Coach Gallt yells. “I’m sick of watching you screw up. Is this what this season is going to be like? Because if so, Williams is gonna take your place in no time.”
I don’t even know who Williams is, but when I get a good look at the cocky grin on the freshman’s face, I figure it out. His name is Keyon, or something like that. I don’t give a fuck.
I rip off my helmet. To do what . . . I don’t know. My head is about to explode, and I feel like I can’t breathe with it on. I’m about to mouth off to Gallt when Coach Cole cuts in. “Go get some water, Moore. Shake it off.”
I do what he says and head off to the sidelines. I gulp down a few mouthfuls of water and dump the rest over my head. It’s so dry and hot out that the water feels like heaven. Or as close as I’m likely to get to it anyway. I go to repeat the process when McClain sidles up to grab a drink of his own. Unlike me, he’s been killing it today. I had no fucking clue when Levi got kicked off the team that Carson would ever be able to replace him, let alone be better than him. But he did it . . . is doing it every day. Knowing him, he probably didn’t take a single day off all summer.
“You all right?” he asks.
I wipe some of the water and sweat from my forehead and say, “Fine, QB. Just an off day.”
“Yeah. Of course.” He nods, but I can tell choirboy has more he wants to say. He doesn’t wait long to get to it, either. “Listen, that lady who showed up at your party . . .”
Damn it. I knew this would come eventually.
“What about her?”
“Who is she?”
“Nobody,” I say. “She doesn’t matter.”
“It’s just . . . you seemed pretty freaked about it, and Stella thought she might be—”
I shove my helmet back on my head.
“I said she’s nobody. Leave it alone, McClain.”
“You took off so fast after she showed, and next thing I know you’re calling me to pick you up from a police station—”
“Listen. I’m grateful that you came to get my sorry ass Friday night. I am. But I’m not Ryan. We’re not gonna talk about my shit while we lift or whatever the hell it is you two do. You and I will just play ball, okay? That’s how this friendship works. All you need to know is . . . I’m fine. I’m good. Same as I always am.”
Or I will be. As soon as I get rid of this fucking hangover.
I spin to walk away, but not before adding, “And tell Stella to mind her own fucking business, too.”
The rest of practice doesn’t get any better. In fact, it just
A small whoop raises up from the crowd and as we disperse, Torres yells. “I love you, Coach! You’re the best!”
“We’ll see if you still feel that way when we’re through. You know we don’t do easy days here, not even first day back.”
Chapter 9
Silas
I get my ass handed to me.
Multiple times.
By multiple people.
I’m focused. My head is in it, but my body just isn’t. Between my binge weekend and my punishment at the beginning of practice, my legs are too fucking slow and my arms too weak to hold the ball as tightly as I need to. I keep making stupid little mistakes, and odds are that I’m going to leave practice with a damaged eardrum from all the yelling.
Coach is on me because he’s still pissed about the fight with Levi. Coach Gallt, the running back coach, is all over me because he’s taking over offensive coordinator from Coach Cole now that the team is settled. The entire offense is his responsibility now, which means my failures come down on him. So, he’s coming down on me . . . hard. And some little asshat freshman (the same freaking one that passed out on my couch Friday night) is all keyed up trying to outdo me, soaking up every bit of praise like he’s just won the freaking Heisman.
All of the noise just keeps swarming around me, and I can hear myself fucking panting for breath, and I’m melting in this heat, and I’m so damned frustrated I could scream.
“Damn it, Moore!” Coach Gallt yells. “I’m sick of watching you screw up. Is this what this season is going to be like? Because if so, Williams is gonna take your place in no time.”
I don’t even know who Williams is, but when I get a good look at the cocky grin on the freshman’s face, I figure it out. His name is Keyon, or something like that. I don’t give a fuck.
I rip off my helmet. To do what . . . I don’t know. My head is about to explode, and I feel like I can’t breathe with it on. I’m about to mouth off to Gallt when Coach Cole cuts in. “Go get some water, Moore. Shake it off.”
I do what he says and head off to the sidelines. I gulp down a few mouthfuls of water and dump the rest over my head. It’s so dry and hot out that the water feels like heaven. Or as close as I’m likely to get to it anyway. I go to repeat the process when McClain sidles up to grab a drink of his own. Unlike me, he’s been killing it today. I had no fucking clue when Levi got kicked off the team that Carson would ever be able to replace him, let alone be better than him. But he did it . . . is doing it every day. Knowing him, he probably didn’t take a single day off all summer.
“You all right?” he asks.
I wipe some of the water and sweat from my forehead and say, “Fine, QB. Just an off day.”
“Yeah. Of course.” He nods, but I can tell choirboy has more he wants to say. He doesn’t wait long to get to it, either. “Listen, that lady who showed up at your party . . .”
Damn it. I knew this would come eventually.
“What about her?”
“Who is she?”
“Nobody,” I say. “She doesn’t matter.”
“It’s just . . . you seemed pretty freaked about it, and Stella thought she might be—”
I shove my helmet back on my head.
“I said she’s nobody. Leave it alone, McClain.”
“You took off so fast after she showed, and next thing I know you’re calling me to pick you up from a police station—”
“Listen. I’m grateful that you came to get my sorry ass Friday night. I am. But I’m not Ryan. We’re not gonna talk about my shit while we lift or whatever the hell it is you two do. You and I will just play ball, okay? That’s how this friendship works. All you need to know is . . . I’m fine. I’m good. Same as I always am.”
Or I will be. As soon as I get rid of this fucking hangover.
I spin to walk away, but not before adding, “And tell Stella to mind her own fucking business, too.”
The rest of practice doesn’t get any better. In fact, it just
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