Page 6 of The Lies We Tell Ourselves

“Time to get up, Cap,” Buchanan said as he held his hand out to haul me up. I wavered on my feet for a split second, the adrenaline pounding through me dulling the aches I knew I’d feel later. “You good?” He looked at me through the bars of my helmet with a grin. “We fucking did it.”

“Fuck yeah, we did.” I slapped him on the back and ripped my helmet off before we jogged down the field to join the rest of the team. I snickered as the angry bellows from the coach reached my ears. “Wouldn’t wanna be Chad right now.”

“Yeah, he’s getting whipped.” The evil smirk on Buchanan’s face said it all. We all hated Chad Prescott, but we had to deal with him day in and day out. The guy thought he was a god and the world’s most talented player, when in fact, he was mediocre at best. But his daddy was minted and had invested heavily in the team—new uniform, training gear, and a private bus for us to use when we traveled, decorated in the team colors.

“Nothing less than that prick deserves,” Vieck added as we stepped up next to him. I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling the wet strands from my eyes and blinked away the drops of sweat from my lashes.

“Head on the game, boys,” I grunted. They nodded, shut up, and focused.

“How do you expect to take state playing like that?” Coach bellowed, his blue eyes like ice as he stared each of us down. It felt like we were looking down the barrel of a gun, and his finger was on the trigger. Our life and our futures were in his hands. “You’re playing like a bunch of headless eejits, not my top-tier guys. You are all on probation. Everyone’s starting place is in jeopardy if you continue like this! I will not have my name tarnished by association.”

“But we’re trying, Coach,” Chad whined like a spoiled brat.

“Shut it, Prescott! You have no room to talk. That was the worst sack I’ve ever seen. You run slower than my grandma when she’s using a walker. Hargraves shouldn’t have been able to get that throw in if your game was en pointe.”

“What the fuck ever,” Chad muttered under his breath, loudly enough for me to hear. The prick. Judging by the red flush on the coach’s cheeks, so did he.

“Prescott, you’re on locker room duty for the foreseeable future.”

“What the f?—”

“Do not finish that, young man, unless you want to be stripped of your captaincy.” Chad stayed silent, but if he were a cartoon character, there would have been steam pouring from his ears. He ripped his helmet off, threw it down the field in full diva mode, and stalked off toward the tunnel.

“Holy shitballs.” Stevens whistled as we waited with bated breath for Coach to blow.

“I will not tolerate insubordination on my team. I don’t give a fuck who your parents are or how much they donate to this college. When you’re on my team, I demand your respect at all times, not just when it’s game day. You are ambassadors of Briar U and you must—at all times—lead by example.”

“Yes, Coach!” we shouted, as Chad’s figure faded into the darkness of the tunnel under the stands.

Coach took a deep inhale and pinched his nose. “Now that’s out of the way, I have arranged for you all to act as chaperones for the new students starting today.” The collective groan that rang out made me chuckle. Nothing was worse than helping a bunch of away-from-home-for-the-first-time kids find their dorm rooms. I hated dealing with criers, and there always were on drop-off day. Fuck this shit! “On the whiteboard in the changing room, you will find your assigned buildings. The clipboards with room details are on the bench next to it.”

“Just what I wanted to be doing after the session from hell,” Vieck whispered in my ear.

“Tell me about it.” It took everything within me to hold back the eye roll I was desperate to unleash.

“Well? What the hell are you doing standing there? Get your asses showered and get to it.”

“Yes, Coach!” Chatter ensued as we headed to the locker room, mixed with pained groans and a hell of a lot of whining. Christ, it was just my luck that I’d be stuck with a team that behaved like ungrateful kids. This was going to be a long year, and fuck me, it had only just begun.

“I can’t believe we got stuck with the scholarship kids,” Buchanan moaned as we trudged across campus to our dorm. We had enough time to dump our shit in our rooms before heading over. I was lucky to get a single this year due to being team captain, but was still in the same building with the other guys so we could bond as a team. All the footballers were housed in a state-of-the-art building with a private gym, all the equipment donated by none other than Daddy Prescott. I’ll admit it was nice as fuck—new, clean, and an en suite in each room. It made a nice change after the filthy communal showers in the locker room.

“Should only take a few hours, so stop your bitchin’!” I sneered as I pushed the button for the elevator. My guys were on the top floor of our building, and it was nice not to have to listen to idiots running up and down the halls at all hours of the night.

“I know, but I wanted to get laid.”

I scoffed. “Your dick’s not gonna fall off if it doesn’t get wet for a few hours.”

“True.” Buchanan shrugged. “But he’s a lover, and he’s been lonely.”

“That’s what your hand is for,” I snapped, looking over my shoulder and pulling my key card from my pocket to open my door. “Dump your shit, and I’ll meet you downstairs in ten. I gotta hit the head first.”

“Cool. See ya then.” Buchanan disappeared through his door, and it felt like the first time I could breathe all day. My room was simply laid out with a bed, closet, and desk. I didn’t personalize it like the other guys. I had no time for that shit. I was here for one purpose—to get scouted and drafted to the NFL. Nothing else was acceptable. Everything else was a distraction.

No sooner had my gym bag hit the floor, than my phone rang. The most obnoxious sound made my ears want to bleed, and my heart stopped. Shakes racked my body, and saliva pooled in my mouth, the acidic quality making my gut churn. I took a deep breath, braced my arm against the door, and clicked on the green phone icon on the screen. “Dad?—”

“Don’t you fucking ‘dad’ me. I heard practice today was shit. What’s the meaning of this?” I stifled my sigh, knowing it would only lead to a verbal lashing. I closed my eyes as his rant continued and wished I was anywhere else but here. “Well? What the fuck you gotta say for yourself, kid?”

“Sorry, sir,” I ground out, but it was as if he didn’t hear my words or chose to ignore them, which is par for the course with him. I tuned out after five minutes as his tirade continued, barely aware of the grunts of acknowledgement I made.

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