I can turn things around on the field, I’ll be riding the pine for the foreseeable future. And that’s never happened before.
Coach ignores me for the remainder of practice while Kwiatkowski, our second-string wide receiver, runs through a handful of plays with Beck. And wouldn’t you know it, the junior receiver catches every damn pass thrown to him. It only compounds the feelings of powerlessness already wreaking havoc on me. I’ve been first-string since I stepped foot on campus freshman year. My spot has never been in question.
Now it feels like I could lose everything I’ve worked for in an instant. By the time Coach blows his whistle at the end of a two-hour practice, my head is a mess. I need to get out of here and figure out how I’m going to fix this problem.
Once in the locker room, I keep to myself. I’m not in the mood to joke around with these guys. Even though I remain silent, Beck doesn’t take the hint. Instead of giving me a wide berth, he drops onto the bench and peels off his jersey before tossing it in the locker.
I feel the heaviness of his gaze burning a hole through me. He might not give voice to all the questions swirling through his brain, but I hear them loud and clear. Beck and I have been playing ball together since we were kids. We recognize each other’s tells and quirks. Half the time, I know what play he’ll run before he does. The guy never has to seek me out on the field. I instinctively know where I need to be and get into position. As far as football is concerned, we have some kind of weird mental connection going on. It’s what makes us so good together.
It’s just another reason the last couple of practices are screwing with my head even more than Alyssa. Sure, everybody is entitled to an off day. It goes with the territory. But this has turned into more of a slump, and that scares the fuck out of me.
Especially with the season looming right around the corner.
What if I can’t turn it around in time?
This is my last year at Wesley. The goal has always been to go out on a high note with a winning season. I want to bring home a conference championship before taking my rightful place alongside my father in the personal finance company he founded. These are my glory days, the ones I’ll look back at with longing and fondness when I’m stuck sitting behind a desk for twelve hours a day, trading stocks and shoring up client portfolios. At this rate, I’ll be relieved they’re over.
I keep my gaze focused straight ahead. The last thing I want to do is field any questions or talk about the obvious elephant in the room. Everyone knows that once you do that, it becomes real. There’s no shoving the genie back in the lamp. With rough fingers, I rip off my jersey and toss it on the bench. Agitation wafts off me in heavy, suffocating waves. I’m all but choking on it.
The rowdy locker room turns quiet as Coach stalks through with his Wesley Warriors ball cap pulled low over his eyes and a clipboard clenched in his hand. Air gets wedged in my lungs as I wait for what’s coming down the pike.
As if I don’t know...
“Montgomery,” he barks, “get your ass in my office as soon as you’re dressed.”
I jerk my head into a tight nod but keep my lips pressed together.
Well, shit. This isn’t good.
Coach Taylor glares at the group of half-naked guys and barks out a few more victims. When he’s done, he slams the door to his office with so much force that it rattles on its hinges.
Devon Baker, a three-hundred-pound lineman, laughs, “Better bring some lube with you, Montgomery. Doesn’t look like he’s in the mood to give it to you gently.”
Like I don’t know that?
I glare at Baker before giving him the finger.
Our first game against Tennessee is in two weeks. If I can’t pull my crap together, there’s no way Coach will allow me to step foot on the field. They’re a tough team with a powerhouse of an offensive line. The thought of cooling my ass on the bench while Kwiatkowski takes my place makes me gut sick.
Beck clears his throat, drawing my attention to him. “So—”
“Don’t even say it, man.” I fall silent and rip off the remaining pads. It’s like they’re