Page 77 of Home Game

But something about having our field branded by the old guard in town did something to the place, something all the banners and paint in the world couldn’t.

“This is our house!” Whiskey shouts as he struts—shirtless, but thankfully in pants—around the locker room.

For whatever reason, our team has taken up barking. It doesn’t make sense because we’re the Mustangs, but Whiskey started calling this the dog house, and then Jody started barking. It took about two minutes for it to solidify into a tradition. It’s pretty cool that we get to start it.

“Gentleman!” Coach claps his hand against the back of his clipboard as he steps up on one of the benches.

I whistle with my fingers in my mouth—one of the best things my dad taught me—and everyone settles down to give Coach their attention.

Coach pulls his reading glasses from his pocket and slides them on his face as he peers at his phone. He glances around the room then back to his screen, lifting his chin as if he needs to adjust his focus on something.

“St. Mary’s, sixteen!” He’s telling us the Coolidge score. Everyone hushes, and the room gets even more silent, though only briefly.

“Someone got a safety!” Whiskey shouts.

The locker room booms with our laughter. St. Mary’s probably kicked three field goals to get to that score, but it’s a whole lot sweeter to imagine Coolidge getting sacked in their end zone.

“Coolidge High Bears!” Coach’s volume quiets us back down.

He draws out the tension, studying his phone screen, then making random eye contact with one of us. I smirk at him when his gaze lands on me, and he instantly glances back at his screen.

“Seven,” he finally announces.

We literally erupt.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Jody bellows, now matching Whiskey stomp for stomp as the two of them pound on their chests as they howl, faces up at the ceiling.

The vibe is infectious. And it’s impossible not to feel the electricity, most of us branded with smiles that stretch ear to ear. You’d think we were in the playoffs already and waiting for opponents to get knocked out, but it’s this rivalry that has fueled that. And that can be good. But we have a whole lot more to do, and while I love to see the guys celebrate getting a game up on them, I don’t want them getting complacent.

My gaze meets Coach’s, and he nods for me to step into his office. I hug Jody as he passes me and slap hands with a few of the other guys before slipping through his door and leaving it open a crack.

“Next week is going to be the real deal,” Coach says, eluding to the hometown rivalry that threatens to erupt on the field. “They’re going to be coming for us.”

“I know.” I think he can tell from my serious tone that I’m not under any false pretenses about how next Friday night is going to go. Coolidge likely lost tonight because Bryce was benched. I may hate the guy, but he’s a strong quarterback, and the backup is a sophomore. It’s actually pretty telling that the game was as close as it was with a young arm slinging for them.

“This week is going to require spectacular focus,” he says.

I nod.

“I agree.”

He sits in his chair and leans back with his eyes on me, every second uncomfortable. My gut is trying to prepare me, but in the back of my mind, I’m holding out hope that this meeting isn’t about what I think it is.

“You think right now is a good time for you to be hanging out with Reed Johnson’s daughter?”

Fuck.

I twist my lips, mostly to keep myself from telling him to do something to himself that will likely getmebenched. Coach Watts holds respect over winning. Hell, that rule is posted above his office door.

Respect Comes First. Winning Comes Second.

“Do you think there is a problem with that?”

He laughs under his breath and moves his hands behind his head as he studies me. He twists side to side in his chair, almost like he’s waiting me out. But if Reed himself couldn’t get me to leave his daughter alone, there’s no way Coach Watts is.

“You’re probably going to break another record next Friday,” he says, switching topics. Kind of.

I breathe in slowly through my nose.

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